Best Reunions Poems
Members no longer with us
But still in our hearts
Here amidst reunions
A few less place settings
And empty chairs
Ghosts quietly mingle
Stealth and incognito
Among all the hugs
Smiles chatter laughter and stories
Barely noticed yet included
Far from forgotten
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Timeless Reunions
by Odin Roark
Regret mingled with other flotsam,
Longing found a corner and wondered,
Mistakes were numerous, all grinning confidently.
Knee jerks were like always,
Their passion without reason at the ready.
What an affair,
This reunion to end all reunions.
He had made himself the center of attention long enough.
His ego-mirror was worn and beginning to blur.
It was time, he knew.
After all, everything and everyone
Had sent him an invitation.
So…
Applauding disappointments,
Thanking them for introducing him to paradox,
He next shook hands with injustice,
Thankful he’d avoided its wrathful guillotine.
Gifting a wink to fate hovering overhead.
Spotting modesty and humble keeping to themselves,
He enjoined them with some bubbly,
Toasting them for their perseverance
And apologizing for not being more attentive.
As the night grew long,
He continued looking for love.
He knew its nature well,
Having often experienced Tennyson’s maxim:
‘Better to have loved and lost,
Than to have not loved at all.’
Still…
There seemed little tenure left
Before time would…
And there She was.
There He was.
There it All was.
Love’s state of being
The reflection of semblance
He’d heard so much about,
Tried so hard to find and hold onto.
His dance card remained full for the night,
As he spun through his illusions one last time
Before dawn broke and the bright light embraced him,
Guiding him to the other side
Where further trials and errors for celebration
Were waiting.
He smiled.
Hugs
Kisses
Embraces
Joyful Greetings
Pleasant Memories
Nostalgic Songs
Tears Falling
Goodbyes
Hugs
I will sometimes be asked how it came about
that my children have one set of grandparents,
and I know just what you are thinking now,
but hear me out, an all of this will make sense.
I’m explaining this for one final time
to put all these blasted rumors to rest,
the odd position my family is in
did not come about due to incest!
It began when I, Armond Carruthers,
fell in love with a beautiful girl.
Her name is Denise, and she is my light
in this crazy and much-confused world.
See the two of us were high school sweethearts,
been together since our junior year,
managed to build something that could outlast
the blind passion of our teenage years.
But during our freshman year of college
we decided that we couldn’t wait,
maybe we were just a pair of young fools,
but we went ahead and set the date.
Now this is the point the story gets strange,
both of us were raised by one parent alone,
my father died in a car accident
when I was six, mom raised me on her own.
Denise’s mother was out of her life,
she cheated on her dad when Denise was four,
her father George did all the upbringing,
he gave her all of his hear and then more.
We were just nineteen when we got engaged,
her dad George was a fit forty-one,
my mother, Kristen, was just thirty-nine,
wanted to do something nice for her son.
She was us to focus on our studies,
and would gladly help plan the wedding,
that she and George would make things run smoothly,
we both thanked her, and let them do their thing.
They both must have seen something they liked,
though neither one of us realized it then,
they kept meeting up to ‘plan the wedding’
again...and again...and again…
All this time we just thought it was nice
that these future in-laws were getting along,
figured it would make holidays easy,
you can say we both read that one wrong.
Of course they did not tell us all this,
and the wedding was done in fine style,
neither realizing that for two months now
my mother knew that she was with child…
When three months later it became obvious,
both our parents sheepishly let us know,
to say we were stunned does not describe it,
but later to the courthouse we did go.
And as if this surprise wasn’t enough,
when my mind struggled to make some sense,
I received even more life-changing news,
my Denise was also now pregnant…
CONCLUDES IN PART II.
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When, at reunions, your classmates look
old except for you,
you feel triumphantly younger, from
your own point of view.
Don't you ever fool yourself, look into
other mirrors.
With less vain eyes, look closer for
unaccounted errors.
Don't refuse to see through vanity's
insecurity,
bloated by tightly tucked-in tummy,
hyperacidity,
Eye bags, deeply-furrowed brows, fine,
bluish veins and crow's feet,
against the flow of River Time, there's
nothing but defeat!
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Peter (my bf) and I are keeping it modest, practicing the art of the small things. Among our repertoire of pleasures are simple conversations, after long, exhaustive school days, in non-technical language.
Shall we wax poetic-ish?
Ever, my heart had blazed as if branded by fire.
Then love finally arrived to sweetly quench that unseen, smoldering blaze..
Fate, for a while, like scissors, came between us.
But having thus far proceeded, I did sorely miss the confections of closeness.
So, I shamelessly plotted to conjure sordid-reunions.
You may damn the force of my weaknesses and think me devilish,
but I am, after all, a living, female thing.
Do I relive that awful trauma? No, living in the past is like reheating nachos.
No one wants that.
Or do we? We take so many pictures, now-a-days.
Are we sore afraid of losing our yesterdays?
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Songs for this:
matters of the heart by lovlaine
Oh Honey! (I Love You) by Peach Tree Rascals
Backyard Boy by Claire Rosinkranz
Manon (Mary) and I, sat in the Tuileries gardens, by the Louvre Museum. Her 7 month old daughter, Devyn, on a blanket in the grass, was earnestly practicing a roll from her tummy to her back - of course, we coo’d and applauded each success.
We’d been girls together, years ago, in 5th and 6th grade - we were ‘like thieves at a fair’ back then - playing ‘la marelle’ (hopscotch) and pétanque until the boys, in early exercise of their ‘ed privilege’ ran us off the court, scattering us like birds.
She wrote me off a few years ago. But to be fair, I was missing. Growing up, my family moved around like we were on the run. I’d come back to Paris some summers and we’d check-in, but summer schedules are ephemeral and years turned into distance and a seemingly permanent silence.
Her last voice message, from 2017, is still on my phone, her voice bright, cheerful and expectant. I listen to it every once in a while, holding my phone to my ear, like a private seashell.
I was moved to China, where I’m told - thank you, Grandmère - I picked up a brash, incisive, Cantonese, ‘overly-direct’ manor, while Manon,went on to Institut Villa Pierrefeu, a finishing school in Switzerland.
Her hands move like ballerinas, her voice is as clear and refined as
Baccarat crystal, her look - bixie-cut chestnut brown hair, a white, Fontaine Zuave shirt over black, ME+EM Italian Linen Wide-Leg Trousers with Keds canvas sneakers, is Parisian simple and elegant and her posture is effortlessly perfect - she makes me feel like a scrub in my black Beatles t-shirt and jeans.
I passed Manon on an escalator, two days ago in Le Bon Marché.
I was going up, she was going down, with this little Devyn doll on her hip. The little firecracker I’d only seen on Instagram was dynamite in person. Her little expressions are bright-eyed and somehow familiar, their laughs - mother and daughter - are the same, rolling, lilting trills I know by heart.
My watch showed 69°f as we sprawled picnicking on a tree-lined embankment of the slithering green Seine. Rain clouds were gathering to the south - the river acts like a compass -which can be handy. Looking back on friendships is fun, but now we’re looking forward - which feels like home.
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Songs for this:
New Toy by Lene Lovich
My Old School by Steely Dan
Angel by Sarah McLachlan
"Soon we'll all be free, to exist courageously.”
Quote ~ by Poet
Somewhere over the horizon the sun will shine
Multicoloured rainbows will cast their magic spell
Dark clouds above will disappear in ample time
Signs that tell all is well, freedom from torrent swell.
Streets will come alive again, shops will buzz again
Children abled to play with their pals in fresh air
There’ll be people singing and dancing in the rain
Glad to be out and about without fear or care.
Nothings ever made to last, all things come to pass
Once again we will all be on our merry way
Living the dream, forgetting nightmares of the past
When dawn wakes to a glorious newly sprung day.
There’ll be sweet reunions of family and friends
Elders won't be alone and confused anymore
Jubilation there'll be when the pandemic ends
And a welcome mat lies before the household door.
Somewhere over the horizon the sun will shine
Streets will come alive again, shops will buzz again
Nothings ever made to last, all things come to pass
There’ll be sweet reunions of family and friends.
*
1st December 2020
My Created Form Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
...All of this took place just six years ago,
and it’s got more confusing since that time,
my mother gave birth to my wife’s sister,
who is also a sister of mine.
Two years later they would do it again,
and this time it turned out to be twins,
my mother and siblings all have George’s name,
with his daughter now named for my kin!
When people ask mom of her maiden name,
and realize it’s the same last name as me,
they all assume I was born of wedlock
when my mom had been happily married!
Denise and I had three of our own,
and live nearby, just a mile’s distance,
most children go to play with their cousins,
ours go play with their uncles and aunts.
My two oldest boys are now the nephews
of two uncles who they exceed in age,
my daughter’s best friend is my sister, her aunt,
it’s enough to turn anyone gray.
Now don’t get me wrong, I love my siblings,
there should be no doubt about that fact,
the problem is that so many people
seem to lack entirely in tact.
When they learn my kinds have two grandparents
they immediately assume the worst,
heard people whisper my wife is my sister,
more than once it’s made me go berserk.
And I worry what my children will face
when they grow old enough to understand,
all know how kids tease, they’re damn merciless,
children’s pain will torment any man.
Sometimes I wonder if we should have regrets,
but thankfully those thoughts do not persist,
odd as we are, if mom had done different
then half of my family wouldn’t exist.
Bizarre as it all may seem to you folk,
looking back, there’s nothing I would change;
and to answer the question you’re all thinking,
yes, our family reunions are strange.
Class Reunions
© Ben Burton 1/3/2018
Some may not recognize you
That many seasons by
Not meaning you've aged poorly
As surely as their sight
And memories mistaken
Of whom or where or when
Diminish not the pleasure
Of treasures sealed therein
Old tragedies are weathered
Among rejoicing souls
With recollections sharper
Of happy long agos
No sudden restoration
Of weary legs or hand
Yet, mind games are abundant
Of tag and kick the can
A phalanx of reunions
The class seems less complete
Until that final bell rings
All students fast asleep
Deborah’s 50th high school reunion starts today…one year late
because of Covid last year it was dismissed…
but vaccinated and wearing a mask this year she’s attending
which gives me this opportunity to reminisce…
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
We stood up for kindness…for peace and love
our symbols were the peace sign…the flower and the dove
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
It’s when we first experienced war and killing and bombs
in a place many of us had not heard of before…in the south of Vietnam.
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
We learned how our world of psychedelic and tie-dyed colors could quickly turn to black
when some of us who fought in Vietnam…never made it back.
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
We were shaped but not defined by that war…
We were sure we saw the world a little differently than those who came before.
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
and many of us would grow up to be
more independent,
more accepting
more innocent and free…
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
And though it’s been…now…quite a while
We know…even if our taste in clothing has changed…kindness…peace and love will never go out of style.
We were children of the ’60’s and early ’70’s…
Who are no longer children…who have grown
Who now have lives and families
children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren of our own…
Who when we think about the last 50 years
often pause and wonder how…
How we children of the 60’s and early ’70's
are in our 60’s and early ’70’s now.
The day was long and greedily waited,
in near unspoken secret - like a thing
delightfully and enchantingly wicked.
We are reunited - simpatico - my love, lover and I.
We ravish each other and lavish each other
with flattery, endearments and entire pleasure.
We live sweet centuries in those tight hours.
Happiness changes the tenor of things.
Rains of feeling combine in torrents,
like the tinkling notes of a harp make symphony.
Our minutest nerves are instruments of joy.
Mornings start with exquisite excitement and
the dense reel and stagger of intoxication -
because we’re drunk with the fullness of life.
Leaves on trees called chestnut, linden and hazel, stir
gently in the breeze - those faint shoos and rustles, times
nature’s fractal design - blare, in effect, like terrific trumpets.
At night, as we walk together under cooling summer skies,
the stars in the far-flung firmaments, seem to huddle together
and whisper, like sisters, of life and the mysteries of earthy love.
We are the dust of those constellations - are we but spies?
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Songs for this:
Thank You My Angel by Over the Rhine
Perfect Day by Povo
Goodbye Sunday by Everything But the Girl
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*Med-school orientations start tomorrow
I think of the beautiful reunions we have had through the years,
Mom and I would reserve the craft kitchen.
Each of my relatives would bring a delicious dish of food,
Our mother would insist that we make a long table where we could sit.
I supplied the paper table cloth, paper plates, beverage cups and napkins,
Then the table was beautifully set, at Christmas I brought some Santas for the table.
What a good gathering with our relatives,
Father would say a prayer before dinner.
We even dinned in the exclusive formal dinning-room,
What good memories we all have.
Our brother Tom would bring music to accompany our dinner,
A delightful time together where we enjoyed another conversationally.
We dinned all together with excellence,
Each person wore their favorite fashion.
Then thanks to God we all returned home safely,
To live our dreams and goals.
We all talked about our accomplishments and experiences,
A very nice time together and everyone drove for miles to be there.
You think back about all these beautiful experiences,
Good memories which we will always treasure.
Author:Gwen von Erlach Schutz.
We’re off to New Haven - hurry, hurry -
we’re jammin, crammin, slappin`
and slammin` everything into our bags.
“Fifteen minutes to take-off,”
Michael announced, “the chopper’s waiting.”
with hugs all around we separated.
Our roommates too, are all catching flights
vectoring in from various sites -
our motley group will reassemble tonight.
Pew rated Yale one of the hardest universities
to get into in '23 - so is it really a certainty
that our cardkeys will let us into our residency?
Fall grades came out yesterday - Lisa and I are all grins
- we’ll have thirteen days to visit and settle in
and reorganize things before Spring semester begins.
I hope that your vacations were as fun as ours
but the New Year’s begun and in a matter of hours
we’ll resume the school grind, our holidays devoured.
.
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NOTE: Michael was just hurrying us along, it takes ~30 minutes, in Manhattan, to go from Central Park South to the TSS Heliport - but it’s not like they’ll leave without us.
Nothing is new
Even me and you
All re-lived
In time frames anew
Thread through this heart
Tread to that soul
Weaved and walked
Million years ago
Warmth of that smile
Recalled by this being
Comfort and peace
No one else could bring
Meet you again
Some day, somewhere;
Different face,
Same old gaze