Long Flashback Poems
Long Flashback Poems. Below are the most popular long Flashback by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Flashback poems by poem length and keyword.
Autumn, a time for reflections on reflections,
and they are rife, linked to pearly grey sky,
lake, puddle, mud strewn path or no,
while each steep cliff face boldly juts,
sheer defiance without concession or a budge,
through jagged edge loadstone chipping,
as the chilling froth-tipped sea mounts its saline tumult, irrespective of an iron cast continuing rebuttal.
One can pass the baton to u turn so turbulent,
within our mental recess at end of summer phase.
September signpost deigns to whisper,
of a scenic telltale hint and tint,
this somber colour gloss an imposition on July,
sunburst relish, such a sullen flashback,
amid the garden suite indigo plot,
beyond a purposeful utopian expanse,
which every avid green-fingered artisan must doff,
their pale straw rimmed hat to,
that transit between seasons, annual curtain drop,
awash with predetermined wish fulfilment,
glow upon each glitter that sparks our child,
eternal down the ages,
somehow yet an underlying dread might spoil
or pamper,
in such icicle entanglement so wicked in its frozen mosaic,
chase indelible precursor now more than ever so inevitable.
I still ain’t read the fine print
As I stand holding her bag,
listening to insipid music
battle the rattling chatter
of shopping cart wheels,
at these times I know
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
While waiting, “patiently” at the door
as she continues the “never ending story”
complete with “flashback scenes”
added by her six sisters – I know
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
Standing in the delivery room
while she underwent a “C” section delivery,
seeing “that” look on her face
as the Doctor handed the baby – to me
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
When I asked her “what do you want for your birthday”
and she said --- “Nothing.”
So I got her what she wanted ---- Nothing!!!
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
On those all too often occasions
when she said “Oh, you don’t have to go.”
And I didn’t – I now know
“I really should’a read the fine print”.
It’s been nearly forty years.
I’m still holding bags,
waiting patiently in doorways
getting her what she wants for her birthday
going fishing when she says: “Oh, you don’t have to go.”
Damn! After all these years…….
“I still ain’t read the fine print”.
John G. Lawless
4/11/2016
LC
I bought an eighty-inch TV,
just for the box—
set it up like a teepee.
Jump in like tee-hee!
Throw the screen out the window.
Let it crash.
Now there’s an 80” stuck in my lawn,
and people slow down just to whisper,
“Wow… this guy’s artsy.”
Turns out Mary didn’t even have a lamb.
She was just a crack head
Life is better made of lead—
Anyway—
I’m the Wall King.
Just walking.
Dripping with metaphors,
casually passing a bar
so packed with puns
I can smell a librarian’s breath
from the sidewalk like:o
shhh… no talking.
I wave.
Web spinner, sinner—what’s for dinner?
Probably canned beans and regret.
I’m a different thinker.
Opened my brain like a paint can
and painted the gray
a little pinker.
No dreams.
Noted.
Polyurethane coated.
Polly, you’re a pain
with your coats and coats
and coats of—
Breathe.
Breathe useless airs.
Angel lets me breathe.
Devil always stares.
But I cares…
I cares. I cares!
That’s when I hear it—
“Hi, I’m Death.”
Oh hey.
Didn’t expect you this early.
Death shrugs:
“As a frequent spectator…
take a side quest.”
So I do.
I walk down to the park
where squirrels are doing calculus
and pigeons speak in Morse code.
I sit on a bench made of half-memories
and I think:
Energy is everything.
It exists inside your mind.
Space is confidential.
Which is why we keep
bumping into each other’s
potential.
Suddenly—flashback.
Sandler, on TV,
taught me about my oblongata—
made connections like:
“Hi, I’m the brain. What’s up, pain and suffering?”
And I answer: Nada.
Then I freeze.
Manual breathing activated.
Chest rising like it has stage fright.
Autonomous… imagination…
and a Beatle told me once—
Ob-la-di, ob-la-da—life goes on, too.
And I laugh.
Because I’m sitting in a teepee
made from a TV box,
eating cold soup with Death,
and nobody can tell me
this isn’t art you see.
Sensing your nostalgic angst,
I’m gripped with sentimental reminiscences
transcending melancholic predicaments
of yesterdays' significant moments
along crossroads' decisions*
yet beckoning past decades’ jubilation-mirth
in loving relationships wrought by the Lord---
Here am I, your photo album, offering you
my gracious cathartic assistance
amidst the soothing therapy
of radiant flashback scenes
freely allowing you to shed tears
and, or beam with exuberant glee---
Keep me serving
as your steadfast knocker of memory**
when oblivion attempts to prevail in your mind
despite your heart’s defiance.
*Joel 3:14 Multitudes, multitudes in the valley of decision: for the day of the LORD is near in the valley of decision.
**Psalm 145:7 They shall abundantly utter the memory of thy great goodness, and shall sing of thy righteousness.
September 6, 2019
Edited on September 19, 2019
2nd place, "Crossroads" Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Silent One; judged on 9/22/2019.
Condolences Forever Invoked - 9/11/2001
Many unsuspecting innocent lives
unwittingly found themselves
at ground zero
with absolutely no time
to bid loved ones adieu,
and thus with
a metaphorically clangorous
(aire splitting din – bedlam askew
n'er to be silenced),
aye felt near ready,
viz no haw wing,
nor hem ming – waze
farewell call to peace monger...
and arm Matthew
nine one one when
clear out of the blue
a resounding handy
dandy bell lose clue
asper, a fitting notion pain
fully apropos to applaud motley crue
i.e. strangers risk
king life and limb,
would definitely do,
no matter where persons
stationed come thee
ex-tolling bells morrow,
(whence thee fateful
seventeenth anniversary
twill dolefully arrive -
somberly dawning for
survivors and/or next of kin -
less than twenty four
hours from now),
sans unforgettable tragedy
indelibly etched will be recalled
in a blinding
fiery stormy flashback,
where significant lost lives will replay,
when weaponized airplanes
took a kamikaze nose dive
a dwindling cadre,
qua first line of defense,
emergency civilian and/or military
trained personnel jumped
into the blizzard decimated fray,
whereat selfless persons
scurried (helter skelter like)
all abustle analogous
to a outsize bee hive
where 24/7 news
broad casters did air
(nee blast) round
the clock latest bulletins,
could not escape incessant blare
ring frozen like a
life size like sculpture
seated in favorite easy chair
hypnotized by the sheer colossal
utterly incomprehensible dare
devilish a state of emergency,
the then president
(George Walker Bush) did declare
dumb founded, slack jawed,
and wicked deed
waiting for horror
to be recanted as an err
roar overloaded sensory circuits
exceeded threshold,
nonetheless listeners and/or
viewers forced themselves to hear
live coverage far more appalling
than any night mare.
As I walk through life alone, I wonder
What you must be thinking about me, my LIFE...
That, am I trying to escape?
Or to take you for granted.
Many tried these futile things
No one ever succeeded
All in the end repented
As if they were mindless
To teach us many lessons
You try all different ways
We fail to grasp you wisdom
Even without our hardest trait
Those who lived, said at the end
Nothing was a bit more than a blinking eyelid
Happy moments flew away
Sorrow appeared, it crawled
In the flashback we see our faults
Don't know how to react
Accept them as our mistakes
Or plead innocence and defend
Whatever be it, in the end
Only time will smile
It will leave us half the way
And quickly it will fly.
SELF PORTRAIT
(Apropos Of A Self-Worth Flashback)
I’m a dark-hued poetic mind:
Writing mine;
Often inking seemingly empty words
Bled from pregnant
Thoughts:-
But even these I want to share;
Sharing is caring:
About love;
About peace;
About freedom;
About unborn babes;
About the bomb;
And about lumbering shadows of life
Silhouetting hungry death:
YES
I’m a dark-hued poetic mind
Writing mine;
A cranial reservoir dripping
Spear-tipped words
Dripping long cognitive flows
Conjuring
Cosmic
Consciousness
Defying the cryptic void of silence:-
Beyond an overcast lazuline sky
a night of waning moon sets ember dark.
As a silent candle of molten hope burns
an ashen landscape in sudden flares up
plummeting a trail from heaven to earth.
Streaks of photons scattered in brilliance
lumineers in blaze...
Are they shooting stars?
I had never seen them before.
Eyes blinded in the frazzle of luster.
Shouldn't I make a wish upon?
But alas! In the blink of an eye it was gone.
For a second, my midnight turned dawn.
Then like your passion, the moment disappeared
fading away in perpetual veil of darkness.
But a burning star still revolved around you
in an orbit afar, unerased thoughts in track.
A pensive soul in a meteor shower turned ash
forever sheathed in your radiant flashback.
Dated 18th August 2019
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
Contest Name Shooting Stars
One fine day I saw you
And you saw me
The flashback took me to those days
I remembered what we had
It took months to overcome you
And now today I fell again for you
You too had no control
And called me soon
Day by day friendship grew stronger
Than the last we had
Forcing eachother to grow
We gave our best
Nothing has changed between us
We are who we were yesterday
Just the thing is that was past
And today is a present for what we have
History repeats till we learn from it
So once again we had to leave and continue growing
Without having eachother by side
To walk some miles
As Christmas beckons with season of cheer
I recall how we met, a hallway outside
Year Nineteen-Eighty in a film's premiere;
Offering your neck- scarf, we gently smiled.
Flurries drifted while in haste I agreed,
Invite for tea as we watched the moon fade
'Till season’s next, nuptial joy pealed
At 25, a mistletoe crocheted.
Tonight, the lights reflect your willow eyes
Bestowing grace from Magi stars above
Flashback of theme songs yearns for unity;
Enduring a year of departed love.
The holidays cloak time; you hum my name
From spring's past budding to December’s snow,
Alone, I toast reveries etched on life’s acclaim
Kisses missed from my long- gone mistletoe.
Kelly Deschler's Christmas Past, Present or Future
~based on my aunt's experience
1/03/2015