Written July 14, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
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So tiny, yet so vast: a square of purple flame,
A postal stamp formed from forever lame.
Houses at its center a half-cast, cloudy glass,
Trapped in a gilded cage of grief and lilac crevasse.
Bedecked in the hue of storm-light, a figure stands,
A gaze carved from ache, hair as comet strands.
Static roses, suffused in blue, stood behind,
Each petal burned by cords, yet spirit did not mind.
Rain doesn't soak into his skin or asphalt as he vies,
Yet, unshed tears flow from the dream to the sky.
The water leaves his clothing with faint rings,
But in this dampness, nostalgia unfurls its wings.
O, how you bend and blaze, purple witness—
A design firmly woven into the yarn of threnody.
Your quiet strength lingers as words fade,
A melody that pain cannot shatter or jade.
Let this stamp be a symbol in all mortal prayer—
For timid souls who dare not weep amid silk fare.
A poignant lament for love wrapped in mauve grief,
A message sent to a visitor, destined for the glyph.
Do mem’ries of the Inverted Fountain
Well past midnight with Irene still remain?
Do you recall the way from the bus stop
To the Kerckhoff Coffee House in the rain?
“From the bus stop, start with Lot 2, then through
Each familiar, brick-clad, commemorative hall:
Slichter, Franz, Kinsey, Boyer, and Boelter -
Next - to Kerckhoff - you’re dry despite the squall.
Coffee and compelling conversation
In Kerckhoff with companions and good friends -
Lots of lively talk and entertainment
Before the evening finally ends.
That hilly Westwood campus paradise
Has mem’ries for each point of view I take -
Powell’s front steps, a pretty view of Royce,
The PM sun lighting both up from Drake.
Since that balmy summer night with Irene
A whole lot of water’s gone down the drain,
I just walk in my imagination,
And I look out my window, and I see rain.”
Beyond like a dream
unfolding on this historic day
astronauts head skyward - heroes,
fools, call them what you may
The world watches in awe
its genesis where no man has been.
Strange land, a new beginning -
behold the lunar return to Eden
A cratered moon beckons,
this globe of reflected light -
Armstrong and Aldrin silently land,
Mike Collins considers his plight
Each man had their rituals
at this point in time.
Aldrin in silence broke the bread
and drank the holy wine
Now only bootprints remain
for some celestial traveller to find,
and a commemorative plaque that reads
“We came in peace for all mankind”
O’ moon, they walked over you -
revealed, you shine naked.
Your secrets exposed in the name of man...
Christ! Is nothing sacred?
Written: 1992
Kiss Me At Midnight
David J Walker
Ring out the old
Spill into the streets and strain to see
The new year rise with the commemorative sun
In your eyes
See if your name is listed
in the everyday agenda
of the new year
It’s next year somewhere said
The News-man with the spayed hair
on the
75-inch Video Screen
Do me a Party Favor and
Kiss me at Midnight
Hold me tight and
Make me love you more
in that brand new moment
the annual renewal of an original event
They have paper hats now for everything
Tell me you believe everything will be better
With a new calendar
Tell me you can foresee the coming weeks
Of better days without end
How quickly may we dismiss and forget
The past year
Will you be my reminder not to
Remember
Will you consent to be my kinder
Gentler future
I am the cornerstone
In the legend of timeless Oaks
That so profoundly stand alone
Magnificent in strength and age
A noble guardian of longevity and resilience
My permanence and stamina
Is willed to rise above all other trees
Yet hold the ground deeply rooted
And take my solemn vow of continuance
As the sovereign commemorative
To the ultimate power of eternal Mother Earth
I enfold the spirit of the Origins
Spread over fields of enduring horizons
Of timeless Suns and Moons
And shifts of transformation
I hold the secret of this beacon of wisdom
This core of breed and birth
For this, the Tree of Life
I am the last - the only future
I am the heritage seed - the acorn
Given to shed with the passing of time
As the chronicle offspring of ancestors
To be reborn in the singular act of purpose
To reach far in my branching to the sky
As the gateway of earth and heaven
April 27, 2020
The Last Acorn Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
Every man with a sense of purpose has what he wants: a homeowner – a homeownership; a slickster, as slick as a public pool’s bottom, – a public pool; a villain – curses; a hero – a commemorative plaque on the wall of the house wherein he lived for a quarter century with his miserable marriage. I want nothing, ergo, I have nor marriage, nor curses, nor plaque, nor homeownership. I have no pool either.
Here we have an illustration of the deficiencies of a freelancer's lifestyle.
Poet's Notes:
I love this little poem. Kimmy's boss at the hair salon where she works died about a week ago and the family is very private, so there was no funeral to attend. Now the boss's sister is taking over the shop, and Kimmy is very fond of her as well, but Kimmy feels like she must leave because of a conflict with another hair stylist there. Her co-worker, though good at her job, seems to be jealous of Kimmy's personality and success and gives her a hard time.
Kimmy asked me to buy some flowers and a card and bring them to the shop yesterday. She also asked if I would write a commemorative poem for the occasion and "Only A Star" was born.
Only A Star
A star that seems missing,
Still there every night,
Though no one can see it,
It still gives its light!
When loved ones aren't present,
Have faith they are near,
In heart, also God's love,
Their light still shines clear.
Brian Johnston
July 13, 2017
Callous sentences saunter into the quaintest of landmarks
Capturing the cinematography that is the mockery of felicity
At times I ponder on whether its veins quake with fear
In lieu of the eyes marring her with bullet holes
Whilst humming commemorative memories
That now lie lifeless just as the wealth of their youth
American duo great humorists by far
A famous act of our cinema history
Hal Roach's most lucrative comedy stars
Revived on our T.V's in movies or mysteries
In Loving Memory Of
Laurel And Hardy
Thanks Again To
Sir Joseph Spence
Epitaph is a commemorative poem inscribed on a tombstone or mortuary
monument written in praise of a deceased person. Generally, epitaphs are
small poems with rhyming lines written in reflection of the deceased person’s
life. They are not always somber and some are very humorous and witty.
He lived a life of such greatness
And did not die a thousand deaths
To all souls he brought happiness
Even as he breathed his last breath
© Joseph, 8/12/07
© All Rights Reserved
Epitaph is a commemorative poem inscribed on a tombstone or mortuary
monument written in praise of a deceased person. Generally, epitaphs are
small poems with rhyming lines written in reflection of the deceased person’s
life. They are not always somber and some are very humorous and witty.