Keepsakes Poems - Poems about Keepsakes

speckled snow and bootprints, French coffee sips, tire-treads, leftover leaves like birdy wings. upside-down pizza, for such an occasion, slips from cast iron. the blending of sausage balls, pepperoni, baby bellas, onion, jalapeno, parmesan, mozzarella, provolone, seasoned sauce and browned crust, unlike the classic - a finger kiss satisfaction. drip drip drip of icicles forming, branches covered in powdered confection. a snowball, formed by my honey, in freezer, for...

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The t.v. series, A Little Princess, reminds me of my dad's gift of a dark-haired porcelain doll... ...I gave away to compensate for feeling spoiled --that I begged for her at all Being a generous gift-giver was one of my dad's main languages of love I hope even though I've hardly kept any of his gifts he still cares-- up above...

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The heart, like the mind, has a memory, and in it are kept the most precious keepsakes. ~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Today, I opened my...

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In an old biscuit tin With my bits and pieces put in That remind me of our times And things that are always mine I take them out sometimes For reminding me of a memory fine Each piece wiped bright again Before placed carefully back in I only bring them out when I’m alone So my tears are not to you shown Their touch...

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If you are stamped by life—you will never fly. Keep hold of your dreams – life may be bleak. My mom looked up and said, "Who are you, hey?" I said, "This is my wife and your grandkid's streak." ...

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In my older sister’s special lavender box she kept All of her finest treasures secretly hidden away Stashed under the bed where we as children slept. When I unwittingly discovered the box, she wept Because I had found her prized hidden cache In my older sister’s special lavender box she kept Valentines and letters I had literally over-slept In that box tied...

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I found a treasure chest I thought I'd tossed, filled with memories of my childhood days and precious keepsakes I had loved and lost, tea party guests, who were with me, always. Filled with memories of my childhood days, there were two brown bears that I'd befriended, tea party guests, who were with me, always. How often their seams had to be...

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Keepsakes by Michael R. Burch "... put out my hand and touched the face ..." I caress them—trapped in yellowing cellophane— and I see how young they were, and how unwise; and I remember their first flight—an old prop plane, their blissful arc through alien blue skies ... And I touch them here through leaves which—tattered, frayed— are also wings, but wings that...

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notable notations have become keepsakes collectable paper scrapes with no book or look remotely resembling their own bits of envelope, napkin, and such whatever happens to be handy when that mood strikes and i am compelled by undeniable urges to write something down i have yet to figure out why these bits of notation seem so important to me years later, i rarely remember them and even on...

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Keepsakes From Mom You left me your Butterfly pins, your coin collection too, Albums’ full of photographs, and several pairs of shoes, Grandma’s Bible and Opera Glasses, also still have a place, These keepsakes have memories, that can never be erased. Written By: Sarita A. Milliner © 12/15/16...

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LIFE’S COMMODITIES © Nails and screws ‘mate’ together But nails puncture tires when misdirected Another’s love loss is another’s gain Love bites break hearts into little pieces Commodities here today, gone tomorrow Replaceable parts are ‘outnumbered’ one to none Do or die in the here/after--- ‘suicide’ Life will rot to its very core Thrown aside ‘punted’ fore-ever more Rebirthed and planted it will grow...

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Love lingers, in the objects of stone left behind, holding pleasing recollections of welcome footfalls; the painful memories, most, spent of love declined. Those last few months of harborless shores, the squalls fade, as I gaze on the jade keeper left bedside, holding pleasing recollections of welcome footfalls. The blade of horn, carved with love's protection, bides. An owl of stone...

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His jazz collection fills the spare bedroom Music man, you see, was his nom de plume Our wedding album rests on the nightstand A keepsake for my viewing on demand The tarnished silver comb that stroked his hair Lays on the dresser beside his easy chair The carnation he wore on our wedding day A keepsake preserved in a glass display The love...

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In my soul’s attic Old photographs in a trunk Faded but not junk By Robb A. Kopp All Rights Reserved © MMX...

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you must of have been a beautiful baby for when I first became pregnate I didn't want any children with a tiny frame and underweight body I was content with own self just being me and now the biggest choice had to be dealt with thru each doctor visit of getting stuck with needles drinking ungodly fluids to radiate my body and...

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