Long Commemorated Poems
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"You're not afraid- are you, Stacey?" She giggled. "Don't you think you
ought to slow down?" I mustered. "We'll be alright," she said with a grin and kept
on trucking, but when we parked, I almost responded as the Pope does when he
deplanes. However, that would have been too cynical; yet, when the Christmas
holidays rolled around, I left the driving to Greyhound.
While at home, my Christmas was very merry, and New Year's Day
was happy, until I received "the" call. It was Chrissy's roommate,
Belinda. "Stacey." She paused. "Chrissy died yesterday." "What-?!" I exclaimed
softly, uncertain of what I had just heard. "The weather was bad on her way to
church, and her truck hydroplaned into oncoming traffic," she responded. "But
they say she died instantly." Then we silenced.
As I clutched the Christmas card Chrissy had made for me, my heart
bled with grief. Although I felt a great sense of loss, I never blamed God or
Chrissy's driving for the fatality. Neither did my eyes shed a tear, not because I
repressed my emotions, but for the reason I shared at the BSU memorial service
held in her honor. "This is not a time to mourn, but a time of joy to celebrate
Chrissy's homecoming, as she would have wanted us to. And we know where
she is, where her heart has always been, home with Jesus." Yet alive here,
Chrissy is in my heart and commemorated in books throughout this country
through the following poem I wrote with her in mind
When Special Moments Come Again
Moments come and go,
But special moments come again,
When the thoughts of you with me
Seem they never have an end;
As a touch brings back sensation
And a song triggers emotion,
A smell brings back the memories,
As a taste triggers the notion
That we'll always be together;
What we shared will never end,
And I know that you're right here
When special moments come again.
From color, everything turns into shades of grey
A palette of beauty, now so monochromatic
Everything good and bad ends up as alabaster
And all else is simply forgotten
Lost in the thick-leafed pages of time
Only preserved by the markers indicating their places
Soldiers march and stay in their places
Uniforms the darkest shade of grey
Their valiance dissipating over time
Because history is monolateral and monochromatic
The rebels we massacred we seem to have forgotten
The only things that remind us of them are their statues of alabaster
If every person in the world were commemorated in alabaster
Then would there be just enough places
To position them all? Most we forget
As time and their hair starts turning grey
Only the terrifying ones with monochromatic
Views are stuck forevermore in the realm of time
In life, there’s only so much time
To become extraordinary and immortalized in alabaster
The substance that makes all skin colors monochromatic
And every man stuck in his only place
Turning all of the beauty of outside grey
Until the true colors are forgotten
You and I will soon be forgotten
And stuck in the web of the spider, Time
We’ll watch as everything fades into grey
The piercing dead eyes of the alabaster-men
Reminding us to mind our places
And stay forever monochromatic
And while the grey world looks down on the monochromatics
And while the monochromatics are always forgotten
And while only the forgotten can truly go places
And while places are but a figment of time
And while time turns all men alabaster
And while alabaster is always grey
The monochromatics are the only ones who can stop time,
Remind us that we are not yet forgotten alabaster
Pieces in museums and other places decked only in grey.
THE HOLY WEEK
I reminisce, I miss……
This week is Holy Week and I cannot help;
but to reminisce how we observed the
Holy Week, when I was growing up, that I miss.
Today is Good Friday and I remember
commemorating this day by being in church
at three in the afternoon, when Jesus
died, to recite The Stations of the Cross.
I reminisce; I miss the Holy Week then,
my father decorating the long doubled
strips palms for us to carry to church,
to be blessed in the Palm Sunday mass.
We gathered outside the church at night
on Holy Wednesday for procession around
our little town ending inside the church
to observe the Holy Wednesday mass.
The next night, we went to church
in observance of Holy Thursday and
we commemorated the crucifixion
and death of Jesus on Good Friday.
We continued on to memorialize
with another procession around
the town in the evening, followed
by the lengthy Good Friday mass.
Saturday was observed in silence,
while waiting to exhale and rejoice
the Resurrection on Easter Sunday
with all our town festivities.
Our resurrection procession started
outside the church very early in the
morning, ending at the plaza kiosk
with singers welcoming the procession.
We proceeded to church for the Easter
Sunday mass to celebrate the Resurrection.
We continued on celebrating by going
to the beach having fun and lunch.
How I miss observing the Holy Week then.
I reminisce, I miss….
4/2/21 I Reminisce I Miss Poetry
James Edward Lee Sr.
On Sunday March thirty two thousand fourteen, my sister
lost her grim battle to cancer, she was much younger than I;
nobody would believe that she fervently prayed while waiting to die...
who gave such strength to endure pain, if not her faith of believer?
I stood by her touching her forehead to offer some consolation...
she tried to smile, but was overcome by pangs of desperation.
If horrid fate had cut abruptly her life, prayers provided endless comfort;
and accepting death as a relief from suffering, she cherished that thought!
Farewell, Catherine...even the March gloomy sky cries
to express its ample sympathy for someone with moribund eyes!
A treasure you have left: gems that gleam as the eternal stars,
and each one of them reflects the gentle smile of your shining grace
that everyone saw when you opened those warm arms...
and by loving everyone, you taught us the meaning of an embrace!
Farewell, Catherine...find joy in that celestial place above the earth's sphere,
there happiness is heard through songs that praise glorious love, not fear!
We'll remember those delightful moments you shared with us...
when joy shone on a face that did not know the bitterness
of tears! Yes, they are imprinted on these weeping hearts
as the words of Virgil who commemorated the brave souls
that accomplished great things never forgotten by fleeing time...
isn't your story of indomitable courage for us to read and admire?
Today, I was reminiscing about Independence Day celebrations of yesterday,
And how happy throngs commemorated the day as compared to today.
Corona virus and rowdy mobs have seized our orderly domain;
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I recall home-town parades with John Deere tractors and prancing horses;
Marching men and women in uniform representing our armed forces;
Will this year, unruly rabble riot and treat Old Glory with disdain?
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I recall flags displayed along Main Street undulating in the air;
And spirited Sousa tunes played by the high school band with flair;
I recall picnics in the park and backyard barbeques with friends and kin;
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I recall concerts by the Philharmonic Orchestra in Memorial Park;
And the magnificent fireworks later when daylight turned to dark;
Will this year, misguided goons topple historic monuments they consider vain?
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
I have many fond memories of The Fourth in my nearly nine decades,
Teaching my kids the significance of the day and marching in parades.
I pray the courage of The Founders will not have been spent in vain.
I'm left wondering! Will the Fourth of July ever be the same again?
Bob Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
Emotionally drained
scars no longer visible
and I can still anticipate
the next slap
held prisoner by my thoughts
the pain deep within
a voice,
telling me I must have been at
fault
for him to turn from love
to hate in just a few minutes
mom always said the
husband
is always right
Why do I fear his love?
Why do I question who I am?
I use to know what I want
from life
now I await his approval
I’ve lost myself
in between the hidden scars
and the swear words
the constant refrain,
'you'll never make it without
me'
I’ve lost myself in between
his "I’m sorry and "it will
never happen again"
I’ve heard it so many times
every time I take him back
God knows I'm tired of his
broken promises and second
chances.
I've lost myself in my quest
for love
so lost, sometimes powerless
deep down I know this isn't
love
and yet I still hang on
hang onto his false hope
thinking it is suppose to be
this way
hopefully one day I will find
myself again..
I have to, so I can show my
children a better way
then scars and swear words...
Show them the true meaning
of love without fear
We are
approaching 16 days of
activism for no violence
against women and children
which is an international
event commemorated in
South Africa as well. 25
November 2011 – 10
December 2011
©131120111821
Trying to remember
How it all goes
Ask, and no one knows
Pointing in every direction
East and west
just more reflection
Inward retreat
from these
external beatings
a slave in a land
of dreams
filled with too
many misdeeds
They say we've
lost our way,
I say the compass
we were given
was pointed
towards metals.
They say we are
animals with bad reputation.
I say reattach our
roots and let us
franchise our fruit.
They say drugs
run rampant
in our communities
but the stamp
upon delivery
commemorated Elvis
when MLK was an
after mention.
The government
has always meddled
in our endeavors
Welfare, warfare of the mind
It used to mess with ones
pride to be given something
without work
Now it's just what "We" do
but whites suffer too
It ain't about erasing
our color but
eradicating our power
they knew that would
keep us down
long after the finger
pointing would end
If we are too educate
ourselves, our
education should
begin with our
own turmoil
No where in our
school system
will they teach this,
instead,
they separate
docile from misfits
I asked for a hall pass
once, instead of
cutting up I found
my way to the library
and in the dustiest
book section
I learned the most
valuable lesson,
knowledge hidden away
holds invaluable truth.
A HABITAT OF MODEL AND A MEDAL: BAHAY KUBO
Our bahay kubo*
Is an achievement
And a dream come true
For us to dwell and live
On this simple hut
Whose inspiration I’ve drawn satisfaction
Indeed: I had gotten: A model and a medal.
Why would I say this, a self-reverenge
A MODEL “coz
This is a design
Typical of a Filipino
Worldwide known as Nipa Hut*
Is amply commemorated identity as a race
It’s simple and yet it generates
Patriotism, love strength, upheavals
Unity and success
A model in itself not anymore a caricature
Of value but a realism.
Be it poor, underdeveloped
It was conceived with faith, love and peace
A place for rest and recreation
A hub for hubbies
A hide-away from the crazy world
A stop-over for a voyage
And a playground as well as a battleground
Shared for all by forebears.
And, then also, a MEDAL
More than a bronze, silver or a gold
This hut, hub or a habitat for living things
Is an achievement, an accomplishment for greatness
Which I have a strong convictions of honor
And heroism deserving of a prize, reward and a medal
It is a tremendous height of wisdom
Hot, hut model and a medal!
*bahay kubo--- small hut
*Nipa Hut---native house in the Philippines, synonym of bahay kubo
Momma's twin Bundles of joy
Did fate, Suddenly, come to destroy
After decades of standing so Proud and Tall
Were they coming down like th Berlin Wall
When a Suicidal plane took to dropping from the sky
Only to disrupt this Pillar structure which stood So high
Causing an Earthquake of a shock, All across the Nation
Upon uprooting and annihilating such a Solid foundation
Having been built by Man, long ago, with Craft and skill
Which HATRED, within minutes, had managed to kill
A prevention on these "prized possessions" did it put, of further telling their Story
Not to mention, how the Attack had crushed the Spirits of Old Glory
The idea of her Babies having been defamated
Although, In our souls and minds, will They FOREVER be Commemorated
Just as the way they were before the Explosion and Cloud of Smoke
When it seemed that their Invincible bond could Never be broke
Yet, some foreign Object invaded and took away Our liberty
By making "The Twins", a loss, as far as, Visibility
Carrying out this so-called Signature hit on Nine Eleven
That forced Many lives to be on the freeway of Heaven
Leaving Us, in Rememberance, to be flying Old Glory, at half-mast
So, that We can be forever mindful of What was done in the Past
There stands a blackened tower
Shrouded in a ghostly white
The tomb of seventy two
From a day that drags on hour by dreadful hour
As we reflect upon that ghastly night
A day so many live to rue.
From a simple kitchen fire
There grew a flesh eating blaze
That built into a funeral pyre
Covering London in its darkening haze.
Onlookers helplessly looked on
At windows registering silent screams
Of friends and relatives soon to be gone
The stuff of nightmares ,not of dreams.
Too late did the firefighters come
As the flames did the victims consume
In the furnace they once called home
Daily life no longer theirs to resume
An inquiry now picks over the remains and rubble
Searching for what went so badly wrong
Many will be called to account for this trouble
For those commemorated in my dirge of a song.
Grenfell's holocaust is burned into the national mind
Memories shredded and ripped sadly asunder
While every attempt was made for blame evasion
By those who to customer safety were blind
Our bitter grief smoulders on from this costly blunder
Such a parcel of hypocritical rogues in our nation!