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.
" The change of seasons lessens the pain of a loss, but like stars it touches those we love leaving memories no one can steal."Quote by Poet
October Fall submits to December Winter
With its grounds elegant powdery dazzling snow.
Kissing out tears of November rain to enter
Its final arctic breath and pinch of mystic glow.
No two snowflakes are alike upon window sill,
Or wind rhymes that tumbles love unforgotten times.
I search past recollections on curtains lace frill
Bring back bright times as grandfather clock silent chimes.
Memories of things like falling leaves or snowflakes
Evoke a pleasing loving embrace then crumbles
On the anniversary of a loss, does wakes
Utter helplessness as the numb heart beat stumbles.
Winter leaves with no smiles as it makes it its own
Taking the world in its embrace leaving its mark.
Please to see Spring beauty and birds melodic tone
And watch the clouds unfurl across the pressing dark.
October Fall submits to December Winter.
No two snowflakes are alike upon window sill,
Memories of things like falling leaves or snowflakes
Winter leaves with no smiles as it makes it its own.
12/11/2020
Rhyme Pattern -
4 stanzas, 4 lines of abab cdcd efef ghgh,
last verse repeat a, c, e, g lines,
12 syllables per line
Americas’ next generation, I wish you the best, the best of opportunities to reach all of your best.
America's next generation, growing every day, I am so happy you have newer tools than the last generation, like social media, and online reading and groups that give us so many opinions that let us learn so much.
America's next generation, I hope you observed the way we can go astray and cause us ill, like falling into dependency that leads us to a negative life, choose the path that makes you strong and makes your life a living dream.
American next generation, I lift all the good wishes and prayers for you, I am sending you all my blessings and love that you reach all of your dreams that make us all smile with pride and joy.
American next generation, remember all of America’s history, some good and some bad, but we hold all of our memories with awe, for learning we grow, we make new, we learn how to improve.
America will celebrate the 250th anniversary, you will be able to give us all of your input to celebrate and continue on.
Lifting prayers to God, today and always.
Each year, an evening bright as any star,
with song and verse retells the tale once more,
with homage paid to one man's repertoire.
Humbling and uplifting, his thoughts restore
our universal oneness, humankind
across the globe, each with each entwined.
Our frailties, joys and sorrows understood,
with love and pathos are his lines imbued,
hands joined in celebrating brotherhood
and in our hearts enduring gratitude
for what this plain and humble man has shown,
revealing what our souls have always known.
And so, each year, we celebrate anew
this gifted ploughman and his words so wise,
partake of haggis and a dram or two,
yet mindful of the wider world outside.
To gain the peace for which the whole world yearns
feed deep upon the words of Robert Burns.
Every single individual has an expectation.
We are blinded by our greed and deception.
We expect one leader to set the pace.
Every single day, the hunt seems to advance.
We find what is true in our quest block.
It zaps us with an electric eel-like shock.
It's not the one in charge of our social life.
Between friends or family, we evade strife.
Love and friendship are what we seek.
Or a hill that we must soar to the peak.
We grasp our vitality from the love we feel.
Our freedom is driven in portion by this deal.
If we're lucky, our youth will be sans fear.
We'll dance in the green forests all year.
Written: July 24, 2022
Elysian fields long since embraced dada's soul
which rocketed into aerospace
(courtesy General Electric satellite)
just a tad more'n eighteen plus months ago,
nevertheless melancholy
still plucks mine heart strings.
Mine psyche still situated awry
placid countenance of yours truly doth belie
residual sadness easily prompted
can easily trigger me to cry
linkedin when grim reaper gloated
October 7th, 2020
ye did somewhat peacefully die
though methinks immortality
I did briefly espy,
when miracles of modern medicine
tried, but could not
stave off mortality nor fortify
depredations of aging concerning
one wunderkind whose accomplishments
laudatory when a young handsome guy,
whose intelligence scored high
native talent aptitude tests did imply.
The late Boyce Brandon Harris
exhibited prolific talents at young age
aside being scholastically gifted,
acquiring graduate degree
courtesy Columbia University,
freshly minted mechanical engineer
(he admirably ranked within
uppermost percentile academically),
I hashtag thy mine deceased father
(a polymath - jack-of-all-trades),
who possessed (née excelled)
at diverse creative abilities.
Aside from being schooled
as mechanical engineer,
(which courses in mathematics and science
he passed with flying colors)
his mind genetically bequeathed
to craft almost anything under the sun
evidenced first by yours truly,
the second offspring and sole son
who ofttimes felt intimidated
at being in presence
of said Renaissance man.
Handicrafts included
expending blood, sweat, and tears
to craft multitude of projects;
i. building me Flintstone (foot powered)
car with wooden license plate.
ii. making playhouse for all three
of us - his progeny.
iii. amassing wood pile(s),
to stoke wood burning stoves
iv. designing Zayda trail for Teddy and Ruff
(two doggone mixed breed Border Collies
rescued courtesy youngest sister
at her Jacobsburg, Penna work site)
v. constructing sauna in cellar,
Somewhere over Europe
A B-17 flies
Strafed and damaged
In her enemies skies
The flak has taken
Its toll on the plane
This crew so brave
In this theatre of war campaign
Many hours have passed
With no sight of the channel
Only land ahead
Is it our instrument panel
A shout is heard from the rear of the plane
A Messerschmitt ME-109, beside us flies
We are sitting targets for another kill
The pilot turns his head, as i look into his eyes
He is making a gesture
For us to turn 180 degrees
Do we believe our enemy
But we eventually agree
He continues to fly
Like an escort of question
Were we right to agree
His degree of suggestion
For up ahead we see
The glint of blue water
Our horizon of hope
Are we saved from slaughter
Moments later
As i turn my head again
A wave from the German
As he banks his fighter plane
We are now well over the channel
As we sight the white cliffs of Dover
Our B-17 in struggle
This mission near over
On the runway at Kimbolton
The fire crews stand ready
Will our plane take the landing
Is our undercarriage steady
Touch down we make
As we talk of our flight back
About the German fighter pilot
Who refused to attack
It is now many years later
For we were lucky, we grew old
As we assembled on anniversary
Our story could now be told
For he had kept it his secret
But now we have to say
Franz Stigler and his German fighter
Is why we are before you today
He was scrambled to intercept
The enemy that we were then
When he arrived we awaited
The fate of us men
When he viewed our plane
He couldn't believe his eyes
Why something so shot up
Still flew in his skies
When he returned to base
In his reports he states
It went down over the sea
And sealed our fate
After all these years
I am so happy we have met
We have lived many years
While our lost colleagues have slept
I thank you Sir
For sparing the lives of my crew
As we stand together for peace
We salute you
This is a true story from WWII, written by request for Sara Kendrick,
who loves to challenge me, and i thank Sara kindly for the opportunity
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/war-6.php
When all our chores are done When the last bell has been rung When our days are diming and our hair is greying When so much of what we've known is now decaying. When life is a beautiful song, and the last race has been run. When we have stood strong, fought our battles and won. When our bones are getting bristle, our muscles are flabby, our walk is unsteady and shabby, and we become hard of hearing. When we start to remember the good old days and start tearing, and I recall my first dog Jack, my first friend Dennis, and our first date. When every ill-conceived plan waged against us have been defeated. When we have discarded things once treasured but now no longer needed. When our assets exceed our debts and our defects. When we recline, relax, rest, and enjoy the sunsets. When we cease to jump and run and resort to merely slow walking. O my dear, together we'll be holding hands, smiling, and talking about things we spoke a lot about when we were energetic and much younger. Having grown older now, more than ever, we lean on each other's shoulders.
05302018cjPSoup
46th Anniversary
11/26/12
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Deep in Slender Man's void of existence,
Long fingers open an old-fashioned, gothic box
She watches excitedly for his reaction
A mini puppet show plays within,
Featuring little children—
Little, creepy dead children
Strange, carnival-type music plays off tune
As the pale children dance in a circle with glee
In the midst of the dancing there stands a tall figure without a face
And a very happy woman in his arms
The children open their hearts and sing:
"Oh happy days have cometh,
For Mr and Mrs. Slender,
Though dead we are we runneth,
With mirth ever rendered!
We sing this song on your behalf,
With dancing, joy, and many a laugh..."
And the smallest, creepiest, bloodiest girl
Comes up with a dazzling dress twirl:
"There shall be a pause of slaughter and beheading,
For Mr. and Mrs. Slender's wedding!"
And with charm the children dance and sing some more
As the slender man in the box does dance with the girl
But soon the little children disappear from view
Back into the box, in their respectful coffins
And the two figures in the box stand alone
As the girl hands him a wedding gift with a wink
Long fingers close the old-fashioned, gothic box
Looking happily at his wife in awe
To his delight she winks with many a blush
Ever so much more than friend
Wearing scars of love's lullaby
I can still see you at the end
Our song often left wounds to mend
Each time we'd return; blood barely dry
Ever so much more than friend
To the depths of spite we'd descend
But against hatred's grip we'd ally
I can still see you at the end
Betrayed by hope left alone to fend
Holding on; clasped hands cracked & dry
Ever so much more than friend
Cuts slowly heal, the burn lessened
The allure to give up we'd deny
I can still see you at the end
We stand frayed on a path we didn't intend
My hand in yours I walk with closed eyes
Ever so much more than friend
I can still see you at the end
12/05/2017
Over the miles (October 7, 2021)
i don't just think about your smile
i don't just think about the man that you've become
I think about all the times i never got to hold you in my arms,
rock you to sleep in the middle of the night,
call you my son and cradle you like mothers do
i wish i could hold you now- all grown
I wish i could explain the things that i did
and let you know that i've never forgotten you
If i had just one more mile of love to give
i'd give it to you in a heartbeat
Old poem- over the miles (January 2011)
I think of you
over the miles
your face your smile
I wish i could say hello
and hold you in my arms
and tell you that i love you
and always have loved you
from over the miles