Long Keepsake Poems
Long Keepsake Poems. Below are the most popular long Keepsake by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Keepsake poems by poem length and keyword.
Space guru Oh Saint, inspire my muse, with feelings inexplicable
With lush—blush poetry that I’ll take with me to the ending,
with lovers in mind, be warned of the tragic end-kind
Amber hearts, have awoken! Our Love Saint’s tears
streaking down his face, tears of justification,
suspendings of bitter-sweet’s romance,
upending, frozen in time, their souls.
Space eternity, mirthful keepsake,
snow-kissed blush forevermore.
May winters sun shine upon,
gleam they might their
crimson veins
throbbing.
•°•°•°•°•
°•°•°•°
°
Rid Mother Earth’s
pining pains—love’s tragedy.
Madly in love He’d chosen Her, Dawn,
and to beautify her more, Venus consents
Ruby lips, sultry hips, cherry polished fingertips.
Sadly Kai, His light within should dim. Emaciated,
Her unkempt tassels and darkened eye circles listless.
She’d follow Him in nihilistic abandon. Death brings two
to shed their mortal coils, spirits unbound may be alas entwined.
Her sweet taste belonging to Him shall never sour upon his tongue.
His poetry ‘ll never unwhisper in Her waitful ears, Kai & Dawn-immortals
Both amber hearts in starry, starry space, glow gracefully as eternal Valentines
Valentine's Day
2/14/26
Memory serves me well,
For it has over taken me.
What once contented bliss,
Turned to taunting mockery.
Gazing past my shoulder,
At history now long gone.
My memoirs just a keepsake,
As life goes on anon.
I think of lapse in judgment,
Of wrongs I wish to right.
But life can’t turn a corner,
And she carries on in spite.
Always at the forefront,
While i'm glancing back.
I see myself a child again,
The smile I've come to lack.
I ask myself a question,
Will I always have regrets?
If I was now this youngester,
Would I undertake the quest?
Could I change direction,
And take that other road.
Not knowing were it leads me,
And to face it all alone.
But time cannot unwind itself,
And let you pick a date.
You don’t get second chances,
You’re left to sit in wait…
To wait for more decisions,
And choices left to take.
Life did not desert me,
But forgives me my mistakes.
If I am truly lost in doubt,
In memories of my youth.
In thinking they could change me.
Then it wouldn’t be the truth.
We all could do it better,
We all would like to try.
It’s was never about perfection,
But the will to see it by.
Form:
I wandered lonely as a cloud
Basking in sunlight, feeling proud
When by and by on a different side
A surging wind frolicked natures door
briskly fluttered a peonies tide
as my path descends a valley floor
It took me to places that I knew
wherever fickle wildflowers grew
Timeless impression, that I had felt
a cast in the grass that was portrayed
a fate of good fortune had been dealt
for the rustic texture did persuade
Beauty so pure, that nature assure
A days thought ponders in memory
My relevant lure was its sole cure
Treasured keepsake beckons my story.
2020 January 28
“I wandered lonely as a cloud” by William Wordsworth
Paternal Link Forfeited And Forsaken!
Irreparable father/daughter bond,
particularly with eldest an ache
that reinforces inadequacy,
keeps yours truly awake,
more so now versus
countless years elapsed,
when cherished bond did break
since ample hours prevail,
while said progeny
(i.e. star student) diligently accomplishes,
successful swansong swimmingly
freestyle with her (man) drake
near perfect match, who will never
induce emotional earthquake,
perhaps most readers would
write me off as a flake,
whose offspring (averred
same one) understandably
discarded every keepsake
from this papa, who reckons
this boomerang fallout,
finds me gasping for air as if
drowning in a murky lake
and airs woe, which crimps
self assessment make
king (mentally revisiting trysts),
an irreversible mistake
promulgating additional regret
atop how I did muckrake
a chunk of existence,
without revealing namesake
of responsive gals, whose
memory of concupiscence,
which might be dulled and opaque
I hold myself myself totally culpable
enduring (just dessert -
yeah....actually cake)
since impetus emanated squarely
on these slumped shoulders
torturous punishment doth rake
hot coals over blistering soul
some days...not caring
if aye live or die
although deliberate demise, would shake
into bajillion jagged fractures,
the mental health of youngest
(no matters rarely sees her
papa...professes unbreak
cobble love (undeserved),
thus asper daily effort
to expunge grievousness
self inflicted, which
nobody can unmake...
(also upon spousal) hurt
I reckon...my "FAKE"
short lived Casanova days
will keep this bloke wide awake
even after gratefully dead.
We were cleaning out a closet
when we found an old bin filled with photos we’ve amassed.
Hundreds and hundreds of photos capturing moments…
evoking memories from our past.
We thought…what a wonderful treasurer trove we just happened upon…
filled with precious moments in our life that, when we looked around, were gone.
We spent hours sorting through these old photos
marveling at moments that passed by in a blur…
Random moments in our life together…
We found ourselves repeating, “Look, how young we were!”
I love how a memory attaches to a photograph
which becomes a cherished and beloved keepsake.
and how that photo…no matter how much time has passed
can nudge that memory awake.
We spent those hours smiling, laughing, sighing…even shedding a few tears
as each photo awoke in us a memory that’s been sleeping all these years.
When we picked up a new old photo…another memory evoked
as that old memory went back to sleep…a new old memory awoke.
We found a few hours wasn’t enough…that we’re not finished yet…
there are many more photos to sort through…moments we don’t want to forget.
Sometimes, as we’re living life, moments and memories have a tendency to whiz…
and we don’t always have the chance to stop and realize how wonderful life is.
So…if you’re ever wondering how beautiful your life is…
you just might be surprised….
If you spend some time looking at old photos…
You’ll find the proof…
is right before your eyes.
Moody sky
Lightning whiplash;
Stormy water colours
~~~~~~~~~
Potted plants
Passageway decor;
Blooming orchids
~~~~~~~~~
Pedestrian walkway
Route to somewhere;
Day bazaar stalls
~~~~~~~~~
Blue butterflies
Fluttering around;
Plumeria blooms
~~~~~~~~~
September moon
Romantic hints;
Streaking teardrops
~~~~~~~~~
Pulse of morning
Bamboo pines sway;
Breeze whispers softly
~~~~~~~~~
Silver bangle
China momento;
Copy original
~~~~~~~~~
Yellow bird rest
Enroute;
Sings of old times
~~~~~~~~~
Old cabaret
Vintage moods linger;
Old building restored
~~~~~~~~~
Old era compound house
Oxford Road guava tree;
Fond memories intervene
~~~~~~~~~
Traditional wedding
Friend's daughter bride;
Happy festival here
~~~~~~~~~
Search and browse
Used books sale;
Treasured keepsake
~~~~~~~~~
Muddy lotus pond
Hot midday sun;
Purity sparkles
~~~~~~~~~
Happy children play
Spontaneous frolic;
Virgin innocence
~~~~~~~~~
New media connections
Yet loneliness expands;
Cyberspace touch points
~~~~~~~~~
Extravagant outlook
Spending tomorrow's wealth;
Retrogradation
~~~~~~~~~
Brief tryst in time
Insanity extrapolates;
Nightmares lurk
~~~~~~~~~
Tall grass verge
Stray flowers sway;
Unnoticed treasures
~~~~~~~~~
Leon Enriquez
06 September 2014
Singapore
With the gentle sound of rainy days
I do recall the games I played,
while home from school, and when fevers brewed
when I was sick, and clouds ensued
to turn my stay in bed for days
Hands soothed my brow, and beads of dew
grew pearls of moisture, in rainbow hues
The window dripped, and I was sick,
but I didn't seem to mind a bit!
Sometimes I still can see it all...
the tiny dolls, and toys were strewn
upon the bed, around the room
where I was mending from the flu
Dampness on a counterpane,
thermometers and sounds of rain
will take me there......back home again...
The memory of childhood, lie
beneath a quilt of prose
stirs longing for that healing grace,
that comes again upon the page...
A mother's touch with vapor-rub
Some toasted bread, a tender face
A playground out beyond the dew..
The lonely swing, a misty view..
A shadow was my childhood friend,
those afternoons of sick-bed games
Imagination flew so high, a carpet ride to magic lands
I could look beyond the counterpane
Watch the sun come after rain
A tattered book of childhood poems, still holds me by the hand
.................................................
My first introduction to poetry...Robert Louis Stevenson's Childhood Garden of
Verses "The Land Of Counterpane"
(A sick-bed keepsake that kept me company)
For the contest: "Prose vs Poetry" sponsored by Jerry T Curtis
Reckless heart, fail me not, fall not prey
To the wind’s caress, the silence at daybreak
Gentling of passions by lovers gone astray
In his arms, words forsake – dreams betray
Within my spirit, there is a rumble, a quake
Reckless heart, fail me not, fall not prey
Joy whispers to the soul in light that won’t dismay
Laughter floods my feelings so I’m wide awake
Gentling of passions by lovers gone astray
Heavy wind startles the thoughts like a Monday
Repeating verses, poetry from a hope’s mistake
Reckless heart, fail me not, fall not prey
Creating delicious scandals like a gourmet
Fervent poses the soul’s only possible keepsake
Gentling of passions by lovers gone astray
Memories flood my thoughts as I pray
Convicted by the desires we can’t unmake
Reckless heart, fail me not, fall not prey
Gentling of passions by lovers gone astray
Its sound brings back memories,
Memories of days back,
It was her mother's favourite,
It chauffeured her to another realm.
The hymns resonated with her,
They were composed by her mother,
Her mother could commune with nature,
She could dance with the stars.
She plays not only in church,
She sits on the porch at twilight,
She sings some old songs,
Songs that talk about humanity’s wrongs.
Tears stream down her eyes,
Life has thrown its dice,
Snatched her mother away,
The violin is her forever keepsake.
April 20, 2023.
Writing Challenge - 'V' Words - Poetry Contest,
Constance La France.
"Grief and heartache are like ocean waves, at times
calm, and at times the waves are crashing and roaring."
Quote by _Constance
Bones, bones, bones,
the decayed relics of my loved;
and though there is no wind- it still moans, moans,
in the graveyard where I weep the dear-loved.
This grief I cannot shake,
I am wrapped in anguish and deep heartache;
each treasure of theirs- now my own keepsake.
I must must must,
transcend this grief and in God trust;
for in time, I will be dust.
Walking through the graveyard I read the stones,
birds serenade from trees above;
and I thank God for each new daybreak,
as I hum a lullaby song for those who are only dust.