Embossed Poems | Examples

Those We Love

Those we love don't go away
They walk beside us every day.

They walk with us, in happiness and sorrow,
As our guardian angels in the darkness of night,
Inspired us yesterday, will motivate tomorrow.
So we are fearless when struggles are in sight. 

My angels tiptoe gently in dreams when I close my tired eyes,
The mysterious glint in their smiles fills me with sweet surprise!

"How can they be gone" I tell myself, when appears the image of
My wise grandpa scanning newspapers with glasses on his nose,
Watch my grandma quilting a blanket with meticulous details,
Passion for art transforms in compassion for needy, I suppose.

My visionary father with his garden tools, my knight in armour,
Mother, icon of grace, intent on playing music on a sitar!
Siblings and cousins, friends and neighbours, no longer with us, 
Their cheerful faces, magical company, beckon from near and far.

Those we love are bound to us
A bond that is never lost, 
An invisible connection,
Deep in our soul that's embossed.

The Rim Remembers

I drank coffee from your cup—
still warm where your mouth had pressed,
the rim embossed
with your lower lip’s faint crest.

Now rust stains every silver spoon,
fingers drum restless rhythms
on our kitchen’s worn lagoon.

In checkout lines, your laughter flickers—
a candle’s flame in strangers’ whispers.
I turn, but find no spark, no face—
just hollow aisles, silent grace.
For briefest moments,
you almost grace this place.

Time ticks like your mother’s clock—
missing beats in measured shock.
I count the silences
that fold the past into what’s next,
bridging spaces
between love’s loss
and life’s complex.

You were the fever
breaking dawn’s fragile thread,
and I, the tangled sheets
still holding echoes of your stead,
learning to smooth
where hope once bled.

Your voice lingers
in static between waves,
almost here,
then swept away.

I’m learning the weight
of absence, how it falls
like coins in pockets—
weighty, worn familiar,
softly chiming
as I step forward
into morning’s timing.

Turning With The Days

Turning with the Days

Form: Tail Rhyme (AABCCB)
Gate 1 of “The Living Voice: The Moon Phases”

I.
The crescent wanes, then waxes wide,
As shadows stretch across the tide.
The stars begin their hush.
The morning dreams still cling to skin,
While silence hums its sound within.
The trees in stillness blush.

II.
I turn as does the sky above,
In rhythm with the pulse I love.
Each moment makes its mark.
The days unravel, coil, and spin,
Revealing truths once held within—
A torch beneath the dark.

III.
So let the spiral wind my name,
A song of light, of dust, of flame.
No path is ever lost.
I turn, the tide becomes my way,
The moonlight folds into the day—
And I, in breath, embossed.

Thinking About Back in Black

Ladies and Gentlemen, his time came much sooner 
Then we could have imagined, now mourning this crooner
On the verge of this pinnacle, about to be on top
I speak of the memorial of one Reginald Belford Scott
Just a statement to the world with this cover
Simply to let us all know they need time to mourn for their brother
All colors, no colors, none segregated
Black placard venerated
From the opening bells tolling, decibels reverberated
To the ending with a rock n roll sermon elevated
A power punch with this Nineteen Eighties driller 
Now the second bestselling album to Michael Jackson’s “Thriller”
Yes, it’s plain with an embossed band’s logo
It’s a value (not a hue) as far as artists go
It leaves much to our imaginations
I think that’s on purpose, to allow ruminations 
So, here’s some peace for all those who lack
Wait for the headlines, we will be “Back in Black”

blackness light conceals-

mid darkness blackest 
view embossed in brilliant depth
hued covenant light
~
caged environment
ruptures midnights fall surreal
dark bright light conceals

3/28/2025
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2025©

The wishes of a child delivered by a birthday candle

The affection of my mother, 
a solemn silence of apathy and burning,

the affection that assisted my inevitable yearning,

yearning for fondness, empathy, passion and love,
a cemented wish from the fumes above,

the fumes which escaped from my annual candle, 
the vehemence too disconsolate for a young girl to handle,

the solemn silence remains a verifiable memory, 
embossed into my soul as if an accessory,

the annual candle, the wish aforementioned,
the yearning, the exigency for a mothers affection.

I Lovingly Remember

                
                          ~~ I Lovingly Remember~~ 



I remember being in my crib, hugging my Teddy Bear.
I remember, Mother reading poetry to me.
I remember, dancing and talking to myself, in a tall mirror.
And I remember, getting my first manicure, leather school bag, 
with my initials, embossed in gold.

I remember, so well, the scary black-outs in WW II.
I remember, my very first Holy Communion.
I remember, rolling down tall hills of fluffy snow.
I even remember, my first diamond ring, set in rose-gold.
I remember, the joy of walking my playful dog.
But my favorite memory.………is still yet to come! 

And on this busy day before a blessed Thanksgiving,
Please SHARE one or two of yours, that is in your memory shining! 
Thank you!


With Holiday Hugs….
Panagiota xx

CESSATION

CESSATION

That pain is like treading on bottle tops
Or stumbling into some hidden caltrops
Suddenly, as when some lightbulb pops
The welcome relief when it finally stops
Like making big gains on currency swaps
The blood pressure and heartrate drops
Yet is thought so typical of all milksops
With a false sympathy everyone adopts

Once ended, one hopes it never returns
Not just pain, but embarrassment burns
Yet that is only one of several concerns
How to grin and bear it, one soon learns
To hold your breath as the jury adjourns
It is more a prize of resilience one earns
But recall how much the stomach churns
When it’s never over, if one so discerns

Some sort of final line must be crossed
Ideas of permanent pain must be tossed
No wonder that one may then feel lost
As if buried deep within the permafrost
Like being frozen stiff without a riposte
Or see one’s ongoing destiny embossed
But with a better ending than a holocaust
Just seeking cessation at almost any cost

My Prophesy

One day, one may go
In places we don't want to know
Just assure that your name is written
Embossed in gold shining in heaven.

Yes, I'm preaching
To the soul that's needing repair
I'm talking to all who hears His teaching
To warn a deluge will come so each life may spare.

The world is delicate right now
Rumors of Armageddon is creeping
I do hope Moscow show love somehow
So we can live a life we want for keeping.

Somehow Nostradamus has more to say
Than the Political Analyst wants to debrief
Believers of God and Peace Makers always pray
That all is well that ends well finds a relief.

I have high hope that World Leaders do good
So United Nation not bedeviled and not be unguided
That life may continue to thrive and not be booed
By Devils who want this world to be divided.

The Second Coming is here then
If you just know it in your heart
He is now intervening the affairs of men
We just have to chose our role and take our part.

Dreams for the Writer

Dreams are cast into the night
Eyes don’t see; sleep floats by,
Darkness blinds but dreams are bright
Under starlit or cloudy sky.
What star shines when moon is high
Silence peeps into noisy flights:
Spaceships cruise across the dark
While somewhere a bard his epic writes.

He writes of liberty, love and peace
Pouring his heart full of memory,
On paper where chains set free
Those enslaved in some century.
He writes of love won or lost
Dejected lovers on the edge,
Those that won and embossed
A spouse with that solemn pledge.
He writes on peace, war had caused
A treaty broken by one deed,
Forgotten are those so dead and lost
To a world of selfish greed.

 
Dreams are cast into the night
Into the net like spider’s web,
Caught the story’s plain delight
Of some hero or celeb
Waking with the morning light.

Looking Back, I’m Ashamed

Looking back, I’m ashamed of what I was,
A mirror shows the choices I regret.
In shadows of the past, I see my flaws,
Yet wisdom’s light has guided me, I bet.

I wandered lost, each step a trial’s cost,
With every wrong turn, pain would carve its mark.
Yet from the struggle, lessons were embossed,
And in each failure, hope would leave a spark.

I’ve changed with time, though flaws remain with me,
The heart that seeks redemption finds its way.
Through doubt and darkness, God’s light sets me free,
A brighter path emerges from the gray.

Each high and low, a wave that comes and goes,
But morning’s light brings clarity and calm.
I see the man I’ve become, and I know,
In every flaw, there’s a chance to transform.

So here I stand, the past both near and dear,
I’ve faced my truth and learned to hold it close.
In every scar, a lesson clear and clear,
And in my flaws, a story to propose.

Beyond the mast

Maybe I've learned things from the past
Like how it is not much will last
Funny how times keep moving fast
Beyond futures hung from a mast

Sometimes I stare up at the moon
And watch the stars move through the room
They show tomorrow's coming soon
Just like a moth from the cocoon

In-between are many lines crossed
So many promises been tossed
And roads of gold falsely embossed
Now lead us to all that's been lost

Old faces flash before the eyes
Escaped from paintings in disguise
They're gone before we realize
That history can hide all lies

So quick memories disappear
To never be found far or near
Yet there are echoes we may hear
Which tell us there's nothing to fear

And all that we have ever learned
Has come from what we thought we've earned
Though speeding days are of concern
We must make the most of life's turn

He Has Only Just Begun

After a long sojourn away I returned to God 
attending mass every day and visiting the chapel 
betwixt a quiet interlude, blessed silence;  
Sick and broken lost and afraid 
I sat there in my pew and opened my heart 
It wasn't long before my eyes found Him 
and when they did, the tears flowed freely 
I opened my green covered journal 
with the embossed letterings  "Better days ahead " 
and I began to write the words that Jesus spoke, 
as He watched me sitting there, broken and alone. 

Lose yourself in the ocean of my love 
Come to the light and hold me as your 
vessel of Sanctity...
I am your redeemer, your healer, your friend 
Place your finger in the wound of my heart 
and I will feed you the fire of my great sacrifice 
Anoint your eyes with my presence 
and know that I am who I say I am 
Your only One, Son of God and Mary alike !

You Will always be on my Mind

She lay serenely on the cold slab 
Elegantly dressed in white, 
A secret smile embossed upon her lips 
That even death could ne'er erase. 
I looked at her for quite some time.

My memories dwelt for a time long 
Of by-gone days when we were young, 
Days fully lived and justly savoured, 
Days of exciting, enticing emotions,
Revisited and recaptured mostly in my past.
 
Alas, she's gone forever now, 
The finite sands of time ran out,
As spring and summer always do.
Life was spilled now and hope died,
Still no dreary dirge for me,
But rather squander time in living dreams
So I often indulge in my autumn days,
You will always be on my mind.

Milk Delivery ephemera poetry

In the morning light, a milk bottle stands,
A relic of bygone days, in my trembling hands.
Embossed with nostalgia, a link to the past,
From the dairy farm, where memories last.

As a little girl, I'd wait with glee,
For the sound of the milkman, with bottles three.
Clad in white, with a smile so kind,
Bringing fresh milk, a treasure to find.

The clink of glass, the cool touch of the jar,
Filled with creamy goodness, from cows afar.
A cap of foil, a symbol of care,
Delivered with love, from the dairy farm fair.

Each morning ritual, a simple delight,
The taste of fresh milk, a pure delight.
In that old bottle, a story untold,
Of days gone by, of memories bold.

Now the milkman is gone, the farm a memory,
Yet in that bottle, lives a legacy.
Of childhood moments, of innocence so sweet,
In the simple act of milk delivery, a connection complete.

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