I walk the halls of ghosts.
Of all who came before.
The memories of the foundry floor
Reverberate in my mind.
I remember silhouettes of friends;
See them smiling there.
I see toolbags, slung up on their backs.
Hear their crazy laughs.
Their grunts of strain. Their eyes in pain. As bolts found home.
As my mind wanders these halls, still entrenched in work,
Thoughts loop large to previous days.
Wishing for days gone by—to reach and grab a piece.
Stuck in the here and now—more in back than in front.
Training new by old. Futures to reveal.
Fresh hands to shake, and smiles to share...
Toolbags of their own.
Perhaps a sign of times, as future comes and goes.
Perhaps a sentimental fool in hallways, I suppose.
- Debra
To dust, The old boxes in the attic, the old toys in the basement, they turn to dust as they stay forgotten, the cotton rabbit going rotten. The boxes taped close, as if reopened they'd grow and Molden. the small bed in the room, needing dusting, the frames rusting and the sheets clustering. the pictures turned down, the stand broken and the glass broken, the frame cracked and dusted. The kid in this room loved it, but moved out for peace, getting a lease and building a life, new bed, new pictures, new boxes and new toys for the kids they had themselves, and soon enough that kid's room will dust too. Not in dirtiness but in affection, showing how much it was looked in, slept and cried in, and used. SO if you dust it don't throw out the boxes, don't resell the toys, don't throw out the broken pictures and please don't dismantle the bed, leave it to be, leave the memories fly around, leave it as a museum until the kid comes into that house, picking that same room, using that same bed, ripping those same boxes and playing with those same toys. To dust, is to love.
There are people whose lives become foundations
Not because they sought recognition
But because of their love, sacrifice and resilience
Created something far greater than themselves
A family, a legacy
Their presence becomes the very thing entire generations lean against
The shelter in storms
The keeper of stories
The bridge between where we came from and who we are becoming
Love was never spoken
But it was served at tables
Stitched like clothing into sacrifices
Carried in prayers
And poured into lives of those who needed it most
The values you planted continue to bloom
In places you may never fully see
In the courage of your children
The dreams of your grandchildren
The laughter of your great-grandchildren
Some pillars hold up houses
You have held up generations
Forevermore Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France
FOREVERMORE
Time waits for no one
I’ve always wondered why that was said
To me and many like myself
It meant we must make haste as people
Because we do not have time on our side
But what if….. We did
A constant that last for generations
It stretches beyond where our eyes can’t see
A seasonal friend to the world
A reminder to our memories and meetings
A taste of forevermore
A push and pull with our state of being
A love letter to your future self
A terror to the lazy
A reward to the fervent and patient
A true friend to both life and death
A mediator for choices
A regulator for our emotions
A constant that remains with God
As eternity springs beyond our reach
We call it time
Yet it is more than clocks and numbers
It carries our first cries
And our final goodbyes
A wild and free concept
Unafraid of either
Moving still
Forevermore
Hand-to-hand we pass things on,
Elders leave long lasting memories
Imagining future generations nurturing the family bonds.
Records kept meticulously as history
Living long with ancestral pride.
Offspring valuing roots and heritage.
Official milestones as well as questionable stories
Marking time in the continuity of life.
AP: 3rd place 2026, Honorable Mention 2026
Ride Your Bike
Ride your bike all over town
We don't care. We don't frown.
Hurt you. Yeah!
Kids rule. No way!
Set those toilets on fire today.
Climb the fence.
Break the rules.
Steal the crown
From the fools.
Don't have ta
If she don't wanna.
Our way. Yeah!
Chaos is our anthem loud
We're the misses
Make mamma proud
Swing from trees
Break the sky.
No regrets.
Til the day we die.
Point and stare
Gen Z! Old lady
Kids outspoken ha ha ha
Scream - push em down.
Laugh and scream
Seize the day.
Push her down
Don't obey
Kids rule. Yeah!
This is our way.
Ride your bike all over town
We don't care. We don't frown.
Hurt you. Yeah!
Kids rule. No way!
Set those toilets on fire today.
Choice is a void,
fear of the unknown is a delicacy we can't afford,
regret, a high profile plug,
Loved ones, our own asphyxiation, slow grueling, and cold. Cruel.
Still they are our duty(to break, then bury and afterwards even about whom brag.)
If you don't believe me just wait and watch and in all honesty my only hope is that someday i will be wrong.
Someday I will be wrong.
Not solitude, lonely soul’s cry,
So soon as one says Hi, there’s bye.
Implying loneliness
In woods of wilderness,
One looks at X and wonders Y,
Why in life all this mess
But carries on with chase,
What about Gen Z, any guess?
_________________________
Happenings | 02.02.2026 | bye, cry, loneliness, relationship, satire, limerick
A Thing Of Beauty part I
To beautify her furthermore
would take divine intervention
baby girl so long ago, I did adore
all grown with baby of her own
O forevermore, dusky jewel
beyond celestial dimension,
of generations hers & ours sewn
impervious love thru time & space
the cosmos, yours
meteor showers cannot erase
I
The forest of generations
Each tree with a tale to tell
Upon the rings of their foundations
Where each history dwells
Tress of new and trees of old
Wear leaves like feathers
To display their colors in bold
A culture’s greatest treasures
Peaceful lives preserved
Fallen seeds writing new histories
Until the process was disturbed
By unexpected naval deliveries
A new species brought aboard
And spread among the trees
Where years’ traditions are stored
We’ll replace them with these:
That eat away at the leaves
Like a caterpillar without a cycle
These cultural thieves
Stole with greed on their arrival
Although some free of evil
Just a species displaced
A threat to the people
When their local culture’s defaced
As they die away
Their colors become one
A global shift underway
Their histories undone
For every leaf that falls
A culture’s dead and gone
Hearing the distant calls
As we approach the dawn…
We’re planting an orchard of trees,
with shade we may never sit beneath,
yet the fruit of our hands will bless future lands,
with a harvest that grows underneath.
From all New Beginnings,
we were born to die.
And when in the fullness of our days,
Life-Force Moonshadows,
both good and bad,
speaking truth and lies,
some lawful and corrupt,
promoting equality and inequality
both moral and immoral,
preaching love and hate,
in lasting peace or war,
give birth to our chosen companions.
And as we rise up to find that better place,
in the brightness of our humanity,
we will embrace at each pivotal moment.
Then, when face to face with Father Time,
some dimly lit Moonshadows, still left behind,
will continue to linger awhile,
slowly wane into soft distinct whispers,
and with a last uttered sigh,
will forever declare,
another timeless generation.
HOW WILL WE DEFINE OUR GENERATION?
????FOUR GENERATIONS?? ??
Four generations, a family's might,
A legacy of love, a shining light.²
Great-grandparents, wise & gray,
Lived thru the years, in a bygone day.
Their stories told, of trials & strife,5
Of dreams & hopes, of a better life.
Their love & strength, a foundation strong,
For the generations, that followed along.8
Grandparents, with hearts full of cheer,
Built a life, without a speck of fear.
Their laughter echoed, through joy & tears,
As they nurtured, their family's hopes & fears.¹²
Parents, with guidance, & a gentle hand,
Shaped the minds, of their children's stand.
Their patience & devotion, a constant stream,
Helping their little ones, to grow & beam.¹6
Children, with wonder, & eyes so wide,
Explore the world, with a curious stride.
Their smiles & giggles, a treasure to see,
A new generation, wild & free.²°
Four generations, a family's tree,
Roots of love, a legacy to be.
Each branch unique, yet connected at the heart,
A beautiful heritage, a work of art.²4
???? VICK MANUEL POETRY?? ??
{VMP}
Copyright ©?July 2024.
The shimmering rill stones
The clear babbling waters
The yellow meadow flowers
Dancing in the breezy dawn
He passed this way, he passed away
As thus, the bearded years pass on
The buried bones
The grieving daughters
Passing years fade like hours
On the grassy knoll, a memorial stone
Wreathed with yellow flowers
Below the hill
Lay his daughters still
In everlasting silent repose
The passing years fade like hours
Upon their graves, each; a yellow rose
None to hear them sing
None to marvel their glittered wing
As they’d lay midst, the meadow flowers
The passing years fade like hours
But they still remember
The morning dove, flying
And mortal love, undying
Why so much bloodshed so little compassion?
AP: 3rd place 2025
Sub Categories
Looking for the formal definition, structure, and history of this poetry form? Visit the Poetry Dictionary entry below. Then return to explore how PoetrySoup members bring the form to life through their own poems.