Best Storehouse Poems
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
Memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes come waaftng down its stairs to me.
My poor heart tears to hear that poignant melody.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
When I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory
Picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed.
And a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
And I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
And play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
For the Sweet Valentine Poetry Contest of Nayda Ivette Negron
“The heart hath its own memory, like the mind, and in
It are enshrined the precious keepsakes, into which is
Wrought the giver’s loving thought.” Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Dear Treasure Chest
Invaluable is tender love’s domain,
that ruby red that lies beneath the breast.
But just as precious is the treasure chest
which houses our intelligence - the brain.
With memories exquisite to retain,
this coffer is the one that serves us best.
And likely we’ll not know how well we’re blessed
till luster of our keepsakes starts to wane.
The ruby oft is lost; we pay a toll.
Yet time and time again, that gem we find.
Not so within the storehouse of our soul
when strands of fond remembrances unwind.
Dear treasure chest of which we’ve no control,
what good the heart when pearls fade from the mind?
For the contest of Sara Kendrick
An old house I am led to -it is the symbol of
memories in cobwebs - like those of old lost love.
A storehouse for so many things buried in my mind.
I open up its creaking door to see what I might find.
Lovely notes come waaftng down the stairs to me.
My poor heart tears to hear that poignant melody.
It brings to me the image of one afternoon
when I walked with someone in summer by the dune.
I listen to the tickling of the ivory,
picturing two people splashing each other by the sea.
The music now is drifting to me soft and low.
I see the setting sun. We’re bathed in crimson glow.
Beautifully and slowly the notes keep being played.
In the arms of my old love rhythmically I’m swayed.
The keys of the piano now are pounding fast.
In the moonlight he and I are making love at last.
Finally the keys are played as if they were caressed,
and a bitter sweetness swells within my breast.
Slowly creeping up the stairs I go to learn the truth.
Who has played this long-time buried memory of youth?
On the old piano’s bench, I see an imprint lies,
and I think I can hear my phantom lover’s sighs.
Sweet ghost valentine, will you please return
and play again that melody of love for which I yearn?
Submitted June 26, 2022
for Mark Toney's the '2022 Poetry Marathon Mile 5' Poetry Contest
All the treasures I possess
are precious to me,
they're just "things" to others
but part of life for me.
Each little picture or vase
has a history all its own.
Each one holds a memory
completing what I call home.
Through time as each was added
another memory was built
and I love everything I own
without regret or sense of guilt.
God has given me each one
they are mine to treasure
and I think he smiles to know
they bring me constant pleasure.
From the storehouse of my life
he is building for me
a home far better than this one
mine for all eternity.
Some day all these treasures
will rest in other hands
as I pass beyond this life
into the one he has planned.
There I think I will discover
as he welcomes me home
he has been collecting treasures
each with a memory of its own.
Tozer, deep - thoughts
well explored with-
in the realm of man
Thankfulness, for what man
cannot touch -
deep mysteries of an eternal God
our speech, no matter
how profound cannot reach
the depths, God’s eternal
storehouse
A few things stored:
his love, grace, mercy
What’s left to explore:
(between the parentheses
of eternity)
Custodian of nostalgic memories,
I cannot help but glance at it everyday,
for it holds in its fold nearly forgotten stories,
that in the distant past used to make my heart sway,
now awaiting the urge within my soul to recreate
and so relive the charm of mystical echoes,
that here and now I may again celebrate
highs of yesteryears as also the lows.
What at first grips my fickle attention,
are not books or photo albums stored therein
but rather thick layers of dust that cause tension
and so the trusty bookshelf welcomes my break-in,
hoping that I may learn from error of my neglect,
reforming lethargic habits and pick up a book
and by doing so, at least offer some respect,
even if it ends up as but a cursory look.
Oh worthy storehouse of knowledge,
I applaud your ability to serve with verve,
judging me not irrespective if I acknowledge
the comfort you provide, which I doubt I deserve
for although many a friend has come and gone
your stoic presence in my life is reassuring,
to elevate my mood if I become forlorn
and so your presence is my mooring.
23-February-2023
Write an Ode Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Jeff Kyser
..............Baby Steps Out..
..........There's a waiting world
.......Doctors nurses eager staff
......A doting father, mother in pain
.....It is said that we chose our birth
....An act of free will, desired destiny
....The paths are all charted by our will
....This birthday I decided to recall..loll
......A memory jog, back to time of birth
.........An unborn peeping into his future
..............The little steps on roads ahead
.................Unfolding destiny milestones
.....................Cherished moments in wait
.....................Some vivid some smudged
.....................Hand drawn on masterprint
..................Paths to travel people to meet
................The resting places n thirst stops
...............Careful leaps on stepping stones
...........The journeys that were yet to unfold
.........All vivid in storehouse before take-off
.....In the sojourn I was told: Precious is birth
...In baby steps or our giant strides a purpose
.The joys or sufferings are like passing screens
There is an axis a polestar guiding & connecting
A constant the unchanging in all that is changing
Distracted get our senses by colors cacophonies
.Not difficult to lose the picture in such a journey
...Precious is birth- holds many a promise....es ....
......like many seeds...finding ground.. ..yes !!
.........pods germinate ..stored... ..loved ..
...............friends near far ...unmet :)
......................thank you.....<3.....
.................................Fam ....frnds
.........................................................for remembering
.............................................................flowing wishes
I so enjoyed my escape into your beautiful mind.
Traveling along synaptic highways,
moving at the speed of thought.
I journeyed to our yesterdays,
happy thoughts encased in light.
Your storehouse of hugs and kisses,
all those smiles that shone so bright.
I saw that look,
as you gazed in the mirror.
Head resting on my shoulder,
you feeling me near.
The taste of orange crush on your tongue.
Were we ever that young?
I could have stayed there forever,
yet your thoughts are your own.
So happy for that slice of time.
Even now we are connected, intertwined.
Come escape into my mind.
Travel along synaptic highways.
Come travel at the speed of thought!
A teacher in my life,
to whom I have never told a lie.
She is the messenger of god,
and is the role model for all.
She teaches me the lesson of discipline, correctness and forgiveness,
so that my life is full of happiness.
A teacher who is wise,
She cares for me and wears no disguise.
She reminds me of the moral values and responsibilities,
So that I am not addicted to some bad quality,
She sometimes gets angry on me,
but I don't feel bad of it,
because She is the book of knowledge for me.
She is diligent and smart,Having a loving heart,
She is a storehouse of knowledge,
And has a unlimited mileage,
She can work 24 hours of the day,
Without giving a braek to the way,
She is none other than my teacher-my role model.
Dreams become nightmares
When one sleeps through life
To be awake is to be aware
Nonviolence is a tougher fight
The brain is a filter
And the heart is a storehouse
Stealing and Stinginess
Will lead to the poorhouse
Never abandon belief
It's stamina for your actions
The right combination of love and hate
Is equivalent to compassion
Diligence trumps intelligence
So never be too proud
Let the work itself be the gift
And bonuses are sure to come around
It was apostolic tradition that the Church discerned writings
To be included in the list of Sacred Books
This complete list is called the canon Scripture
It includes 46 books for the Old Testament
45 if we account Jeremiah and Lamentations as one
The Old Testament is dispensable part of Sacred Scripture
Its books are divinely inspired and
Retain a permanent value
For the Old Covenant has never been revoked
Indeed
The economy of the Old Testament was deliberately so oriented
That it should prepare for and declare in prophecy in the coming of Father Christ
Redeemer of all men
Even though they contain matters imperfect and provisional
The books of the Old Testament
Bear witness to the divine pedagogy of Eternal God’s saving love
These writings are a storehouse of sublime teaching of Eternal God and
Of sound wisdom on human life
As well as a wonderful treasury of prayers
In them
Too
The mystery of our salvation is present in a hidden way
Christians venerate the Old Testament as true Word of Eternal God
The Church has always vigorously opposed
The idea of rejecting the Old Testament
Under the pretext that the New
Has rendered it void (Marcionism.
The riddled telephone pole,
an acorn storehouse
Seeds of the Savior's garden
Advantaged by the early rain
Bud and bloom in grace and pardon
Bearing fruit that love sustain
Acres to be reaped, hands like buzzing bees
Teachers making the reapers bold
Holiness of word performed is holiness of soul
Send them forth to sow and garner
Christ the vine master empowers all
Heaven's storehouse becomes the richer
Omitting judgment, helping those that fall
O Lord, our God, we surrender all to you
Lead us to green pastures, your vessels true
Do you recall being in school?
Learning many lessons;
obeying all of the rules;
absorbing each lecture and each page
of your textbook;
adding to your storehouse of wisdom.
If you stayed and finished school, you were wise;
It always pays to stay in school.
As you build your own life’s book,
You’ll learn many life lessons.
Every turn of your life’s next page;
must comply with some sort of rule.
People live and create hoards of rules;
Living by them can make one wise.
Turn carefully the pages,
while you’re still in school;
and you can avoid some hard lessons
which, are not in your textbooks.
If your life is a tightly closed book,
you live by a personal rule;
you may get frustrated with your lessons.
Sharing with others can make you wise;
Not all education is gleaned in school;
Education has many unconventional pages.
Every time you turn a page,
in any kind of book;
you’ll learn things, in lifetimes school;
including the golden rule.
Living this rule is quite wise;
it’s the kindest lesson in life.
Pay close attention to your lessons
and those on other people’s pages.
Everywhere you’ll locate wisdom;
Someday you may write it in your own book.
Every king or queen that ever ruled,
Started out, being schooled.
Wisdom comes from a lifetime of learning lessons.
Stay in school till it’s time to turn another of life’s pages.
Study your books; live by the rules for success.
Squirrel has peanuts.
A pile of peanuts in their shell
to crack and nibble very well,
and twirl through paws
like a fat baton.
Crow sits atop a lamp pole,
very high and mighty in this place
to survey the lowly rat race
and perhaps, steal a bite.
Squirrel grabs a peanut,
racing away to stash this gold.
Down swoops crow dark and bold,
having seen the show.
Crow struts across the land,
chest stuck out and head up.
He (or is it a she?) grabs a shell
and flies away only to swell up in anger
that Squirrel had his fill
and left only the shell!
Crow caws with a raucous sound
having thrown the shell to the ground,
but not to be outdone,
he returns to steal another one.
Oh, hurry back Squirrel
before this thief takes them all
and your storehouse for the winter
will be much too small!
And so they live these two
just to play and eat,
but the laughter they bring to this Peanut Lady,
is really a special treat!