Long Anniversary Poems
Long Anniversary Poems. Below are the most popular long Anniversary by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Anniversary poems by poem length and keyword.
I've seen it all, both war and peace;
Some things remain, or change, then cease.
From the late fifties until now-
Have watched our Nation test its vow.
Perhaps not always the same way,
More so in line with each new day.
Since changes reshape varied styles,
We must accept established trials.
Once, our frontier was the Wild West.
Now outer space becomes our quest.
Inventors blessed us with changed ways;
And gifted us the modern phase.
We stand together with these finds
That alters life, and its designs.
Accept as prime, or seen as bad;
A final fact, or just a fad.
Since that one day so long ago,
Our Independence spread to show,
from thirteen Colonies we grew-
to Fifty States- red, white, and blue.
America, you are the best-
Fulfilled your purpose, met your test.
Land of the Free was meant to be!
Upheld in Life and Liberty!
From the brow of the hill
I could clearly see the panorama
Beneath me. Worried I saw
From afar a dark man,
Scythe in hand reaping…..God knew what.
In far off fields full of tall grass.
It was not the man who interested me.
It was my wife, a marriage of forty-seven years.
I saw her hobbling down an uneven path,
Her body bloated with disease.
She never looked back.
Strange I thought,
There were no birds around.
Only profound silence.
Arriving at a crossroad,
Without hesitation
She took the right narrow trail.
My heart thundered in pain.
I knew what was in her mind.
Incautiously she arrived at a bridge.
Thick fog covered the other side
An extension that led to unknown worlds.
Head straight but body limping
She dragged herself over.
Helpless I looked on till she disappeared.
Disconsolate I sat down on a stone.
She had suffered enough. She will now rest forever.
But I? Will I find some salutary rest?
I felt the pain of separation.
From afar a bell chimed an Ave Maria dirge.
My Aunt
A Sunday of yore is still visible
floats around my mind at the edges of memories
send signals, how much I loved her, but she
had taken the train to visit her father
A Sunday that had no worries about tomorrow
other than if Inter café closed early, I would
arrive too late
I walked in familiar streets thinking, happy thought
Suddenly, I was outside my aunt's house
she was of the festive sort, a great talker, not for her to spend a Sunday reading books; Sunday was
also, the day she baked coco macrons
What a great day, drinking coffee, eating cakes and
smoking cigarettes, the damnation of smoking had
not entered our world
going to the café Inter, I walked through the park
that bathed in golden light, yes it was a great day
to be alive
Even in the dark, your beauty shines brighter than the brightness of days,
Success lives in your home cos while the sun was still shining you made your hays,
You share your bed with great fortunes and on the pillows of prosperity your head lays,
So, your home is the truest testimony of the dictum that being good always pays.
Your enemies cry their tears abundant to form them a massive ocean,
They got drowned in the pool of their sorrows cos they took no caution,
Their bitterness confiscated their happiness for you to have God's favours in larger portions,
So, rejoicing with your success is now their only available option.
The wake of days gives the pleasure of your beauty for each mirror to savour,
Gorgeousness sculptured allurement into your shape adding sexiness as its extra flavour,
As you toil up and down, God the almighty is always there as your saviour,
So, prosperity is now the testament that your labours are enjoying God's favours.
Bring then, many friends from far and near to dine on your tables,
Show 'em that all year round God's favours in your life have been very stable,
Groove happily with your family and friends cos your bones aren't feeble,
Paint the town red with your success and leave your enemies to rumble with the rubbles.
The Date
Growing up you are forced to learn the dates
Write in your notes book today’s date, , learn your birthdate and know each festive date
Then some dates turn into annual celebratory days - birthday , Independence Day, anniversary day
Before you know it, you get habituated to remember every new milestone date
But what do you do with dates that caused grief , loss and pain - An annual reminder of what life could have been if that day did not meet its fate
Am I to tribute it or talk about it or just toss it away as it was nothing
But it did mean something and changed everything you know even if you hate
How I wish society also provided a manual for such dates
When how courageous or such a brave face you put up since that day my mate
I can probably never put in words how conflicted it feels -
Knowing some grief will never really heal and an annual reminder that will always open a new flood gate !
Apostle Matthew encountered...
artist, dragon and gangster extraordinaire
Written September ninth,
two thousand and twenty one.
Reposted exactly three years later.
Here at 2 Highland Manor Drive
Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
Actually all three people
linkedin to each other courtesy
Dissociative Identity Disorder
(Multiple Personality Disorder).
Wiccan up to mystical alien way
I raptly listened as she didst soothsay
scanned -- din heavy yen reference
about paganistic folkloric history
regarding Sweden and Oslo (also) Norway.
The missus dubbed
aforementioned young gal "curvy girl,"
a zaftig smart young woman
super talented self taught herself
to draw, sketch, and paint.
Only unmarried millennial men need apply,
perhaps someone who hails from buckeye
state - ideally above average
humorous gallivanting fellow
plus somewhat meshuggeneh cockeye
Louie garden variety
wealthy eccentric recluse
who doth blatantly defy
establishmentarian paradigm
you rarely espy,
cause he stays sequestered
about dozen doors down
from (femme fatale) ha
said alluded to chick named
three faces of
eve vent jewel one named Jen Fry
easy on the eyes
courtesy me, a generic guy,
who experienced amicable chat
referencing aforementioned lass
the first encounter with her
found yours truly saying "hi"
devoid of ulterior motives
only casual acquaintanceship did I imply
cuz even if this former bachelor
(got married twenty fifth of July
nineteen hundred and ninety six)
hypothetically decoupled,
cuz the age difference between us
quite substantial qua aging baby boomer
born two years after Bridge
over the River Kwai
filmed - then rocked to sleep
courtesy Brahms lullaby
if fain to sire offspring with lass
(young enough to be my daughter)
kiddos would witness their papa to mummify.
Our friendly communication
peppered with structures of silence
coasted along with zest
and dialed up quite lathered dialogue
betwixt us I do attest
mutual comfort level quickly established
between yours truly
and said attractive beefy babe,
who possessed killer thunder thighs
shaking the entire firmament.
The Snow Falls
Softly my love,
I watch every flake,
come slowly from no where,
outside my vision,
beyond the window boundaries,
magical…even whimsical…
the white soft “above”,
to the hard ground here below.
soon a giant blanket of pure…beauty.
You fell asleep in my arms.
I look down at your hair.
It is not really…your hair.
It is the hair from the box.
It smells sweet,
but not as lovely as you.
I don’t care about the strands
of lost gold…
I only want the chance
to hold you when we are old.
You had a bad time.
Not for the first time.
Not for the last.
But I am here.
I will be here,
until you do not need me.
I will be here even…
after that.
My eyes are full of water.
warm tears, held back…
a force of will,
that can not be lost,
to selfishness,
but born heaviest against,
piercing loss.
Sleep now.
Tomorrow…
I can braid your heart,
back together,
so we can go out…
on the town!
The song my soul never seeked
The writings I never wanted to keep
The beautiful pain that’s started to leak
And my ugly heart that only shrieked
I own your signature.
The dappled papers in the ancient literature
The ink rubbing against my thumb and forefinger
My adoring gaze caressing everything you and similar
Your darling face, particular
Although I am ever the wonderer:
Who was the relationship’s true severer?
The blissful cherry-pink of a spring-summer’s day?
It is but, I say:
Your ears’ colourful glaze
When I am not the one to spot you first; but they
Perhaps you are a swallow
With a sweet sound of chirp at morn - no sorrow
Dawn and midday, the sound is never hollow
And in my calm heartache, I wallow.
Perhaps the poppy and the willow
is a better combo
Although you weep with joy, not with ashamed gusto
I would be lost, without you, you know;
In fact, you are my hero.
No, no, whatever was I thinking - my mind must be slowing -
You are a stream, blue-silver and glowing
Helping us swim, getting us going
Taking a chance, and always flowing
Until you have been stopped by cold weather and snowing
Alibi: Faeren
Hello Everyone. My entry below is a dedication to both the late Gungalo and the late Erich Goller. These two poets left earth and the poetry world before their time. Gungalo left us what will be three years next month and Erich left us a year and a half ago in November. His birthday is this coming week. Both people have a place in my heart and life forever. Pam and Erich you are missed by me and others as well.
"gungalo and erich where are you"
gliding through heaven
unveiled are your words
never alone they will be
gracing heaven or earth
alongside the poetry galaxy
love and more you both expressed
on any given day to your last breath
always you were there
night or day and in between
drawing images with images themselves
everlasting are your creations
resting in your portfolios
it tells me you were here
countless memories flash
hoping your shells are at rest
when I think of you both
hovering over words from the past
everything was right
relentless were you both
expressing and pushing me time after time
and although I replied my thoughts
remember this oh mighty ones
everything now is because of you
your work inspired me and the world
on this day I think of you and your legacies
uttering words of thank you
SkyWatcher - 05-06-17
If there is anyone who knew of Gungalo or Erich please let me know. I would love to know your connection and words of these two fine people and poets who not only wrote poetry but created their own formats and style thus always redefining poetry as well. Thank you.
Please know it is also an honor being here on PoetrySoup with all you marvelous talented writers. I feel privileged to be in the same membership and association.
Rest in Peace Pam and Erich
Twenty-one years, a simmering stew,
Of words, of dreams, of voices true.
Each line a spice, each verse a song,
A place where poets all belong.
From first faint rhyme in two thousand five,
To endless stanzas keeping art alive,
You stirred the soup with love and cheer,
And fed our hearts year after year.
We sip your broths of joy and pain,
We taste the sunshine, we taste the rain.
Each poem a spoonful, tender and bright,
A feast for souls, a spark of light.
So here’s to bowls, twenty-one times stirred,
To every whispered, spoken, written word.
May laughter, rhyme, and stories stay,
In PoetrySoup — forever, hooray!
Happy 21st Anniversary Poetry Soup
With love from Natasha Ilyas