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.
Weird, strange, illusion, dream, nonsense; words plenty since ever
To overcome fear, avoid confusion, maintain commonsense or whatever!
But this story of mine is an experience I record as game of nature;
Revisiting it, wondering on the hows and whys over the years as I grew mature.
The answer only he held; the one who wished to live life careless and carefree!
Then one day he sunk in the marsh and died, setting her widowed mother free
As if of all frustrations and reproaches from kin, peers and so many in the locality!
A good soul he had met once who admonished him, patiently
And left him in some good hands who could guide him start anew.
He tried to change but at his own time, as of what was in future he had no clue.
What thoughts in mind and what visions froze in eyes closing to death? One phone call to the good soul after a year; as if from other realm, a message.
His name he left, saying to tell that good soul he had called; was it a presage?
That good soul ready ever to help called a friend who related to him in melancholy;
That very morning, he had been to the boy’s one year after death ceremony!
The good soul sat in shock; he didn't even know about his death a year back.
In trance he walked to his fiancée's house; over night he talked to her about him, in flashback!
(I wrote a short story on this. Based on true experience in 1993, some months before my wedding. It was during the “Pitra Paksh” (Fete des morts in Hindi) – here we are actually in this period which ends on 1st oct 2016. The boy met my fiancé, a youth worker, who had some words with him and his family. He never met him again. Among Hindus the final after death ceremony is performed after one year of death and it is believed that the soul, if not departed earlier, has to after the last and final ceremony)
No particular rhyme nor,
reason explains to boot
within mind of this (boyish
looking) ole coot,
why sudden flashback didst
kickstart metered metrical foot
when during bout with anorexia nervosa,
I did not give a hoot
analogously harried and swiftly kicked
with barebones styled tailored jackboot.
Said eating disorder, sans
self starvation arose
without explicit explanation
this grown man tries
till he gets himself bluenose
to recapitulate an ill fate,
he conveniently chose
still baffled, thus
without aversion disclose,
silence of echoes
confidential matter
I willingly expose,
said trauma that
nearly did foreclose
emotionally mortgaged corporeal property
boarded figurative
windows, whereat up goes
for sale sign testament to
recalcitrant stalwart hardnose
father and mother felt
obligation to interpose
lest premature demise,
would invariably juxtapose
dealing mortal psychological
(albeit unfair) blow
to parents plus two sisterly kiddoses
perhaps family pets (cats and dogs),
whose meows and lows
punctuating equilibrium
volunteering, (when suicide
gripped stranglehold)
spurring personal tragedy
with sincere manifestoes
(mainly not a verse
to dabble with poetry)
striving to cater to nonheroes
to thwart tragedy, whose nose
(mine) sniffs fallout mainly upon me
woebegotten life somber
(time to cue oboes),
asper the plethora of
influences that predispose
one in the throes
of adolescent experiencing
oh ma dog...gushing hormones
analogous to young lives
loose then taut like mama's yoyos!
After coming back from church last night, wishing everyone a Happy Easter, my sister's only wish was to watch The Greatest Showman. So, my mother and I took our seats next to her and watched, right in the dining table, with our dinners in front of us. It was past eleven when we got back to bed.
The next day dawned: the last day of the holidays. It started quite alright, with mom, dad and I plucking down a several ripe papayas with the help of a bedsheet and a stout wooden pole. Then my dad went home to work, while the rest of us busied ourselves in our own work.
I didn't note the time, but I did hear mom's phone ringing. Half absorbed in Pip's world, I hardly even noticed it. But my eldest sister got a call from dad, almost after the ringing of mom's phone stopped. She told mom to call dad immediately, telling something about the Kochchikade church, a church which I've known ever since I was small.
My mom gave a call and went to see my eldest sister, and she sounded serious. I overheard her speaking about the roof being blown out. I thought it was the wind. I never expected it to be bombed.
Everyone was calling. Most of them knew that we went there. Within those moments when we assured those horrified voices, we got to know the six other attacks. Now, everyone was paniced. Everyone was expecting curfew at any moment.
Dad hurried to the supermarkets to do last moment shopping. He told us that there will be curfew from 6 pm to 6 am of the following morning. During this time, I heard a strange throbbing and hum, which lasted only a few seconds.
After dad came back, we checked the news. Curfew had already started, and won't be lifted until further notice. Then there was something else. The 8th bomb explosion for the day: a housing scheme in Dematagoda, only a few kilometers from our home.
The strange hum echoed in my mind, as all of us stared at our neighbouring building through the french windows of our home. We were staring at the grey wall of the tall housing scheme, which stood majestically in front of our veranda.
4/21/2019
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.
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
Sweet is the smile that cools the heart
it leaves pressure floating further behind.
Exude your confidence and fight the heat,
Keep hate from taking over your mind.
Or you will be damaged beyond repair,
Ruined by all the flashback moments it fills.
The feelings you share can be a nightmare,
If you make your life live by comfortable lies.
Despite the aches and how hot the fire gets,
Don’t let it bring you down in flames,
If the sparks diminish you with smokey threats,
You can cover the scars and amend the pains.
Eventually, the intensity of frustration will fall
Wipe out the irritant tears from your eyes.
Don’t let the heat of anger build a separate wall,
Joy shall replace your sorrow and heartaches.
Rainy days may put the frosty smile on icy fire
And passion for a moment will have the edge.
But those flames will only burn the bridge
And bring sparks in the air to view from afar.
The sea of boundless Oneness
Cognised by ascending consciousness
Transitioning to pure awareness
We are as such in stark aloneness
Within deep meditational stillness
Our form blending with our formlessness
The beginning is non thought presence
In humble innocence
With no memory linked remembrance
Our innate magnetisation
Divine harmonious vibration
Is our intuitive orientation
The third eye active
Funnels energy to the crown receptive
Dispersing the flow into space enigmatic
Our consciousness pauses momentarily
Has to choicelessly choose here voluntarily
To dissolve in the stream unhesitatingly
A soft pinkish white light does shine
From a multi-petaled lotus divine
Partly shielded by violet clouds as a sign
We are then in the sea of formless oneness
Vibrant, aglow, complete be-ness
Consciousness is now pure indivisible awareness
We are absolute awareness all encompassing
Within & without form, linear time vanishing
Separateness dissolved, singularity resonating
We are here in the ocean of bliss
Where nothing is amiss
We know that WE ARE IT & IT IS THIS
By choiceless choice we descend into matter gross
All nodes, chakras within in a dance synchronous
With pure awareness replacing delusion anomalous
05-November-2020
Flashback to 17-December-2018
(Wems Henry Temmy Psalm 81)
Hang me in the mirror
Let there be no intention to fix my egg
Do not detach the mirror from the wall
Black hair shines better in its reflection
Wait till you leave no trace in sight of the actor
Holding the thought firm in flashback to peg
The rare trick behind how its trace forestall
Staring at the old face with a different complexion
But here, we are not alone with no other
Viewing one from enmity but as brother
Tomorrow's greatness for ones in turn
Yesterday's glue gunk its prime to burn
Today's graceful spark may not meet up choice
In favor of the super million duper boys
Difference be marked of background status
We do forget sometimes that the difference is a plus
Working through it, we have to be the best
Tough though readily prepared for the coming test
Liking each to the triumphant glory
Of who is to tell a grass to grace story
I'm a dark-hued poetic mind
Writing mine:
Inking navel keloid words
Water-broken
From pregnant
Thoughts
YES
But even these I want to share
For sharing is caring:
About love
About peace
About freedom
About babes
About bombs
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 cognitive flows
Conjuring
Cosmic
Consciousness
Defying
The cryptic
Void of silence
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.