Long Looking back Poems
Long Looking back Poems. Below are the most popular long Looking back by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Looking back poems by poem length and keyword.
looking back to when I was a lad
They said times were hard, They said things were bad.
Picking up tatties, the pulling of peas
Coming back home with scratched grimy knees.
Screwing the Beetroot, yes that is right
Removing the tops from morning till night.
You couldn't cut the tops off, that made them bleed
Keeping your eye out for the sharp stinging weed.
Finger nails were always full of mud
Scrubbing hands would do no good.
Summer break were still lots of fun
When working the fields were almost done.
We didn't have computers, four channels of TV
Top of the pops were the highlights for me.
Kicking the football out on the street
A clip around the ear from the bobby on the beat.
Looking back it wasn't that bad
Lots of fond memories when I was a lad.
Holidays were over it was back to the grind
Wondering what lessons the teachers had in mind.
I didn't mind maths and history was great
The adventures we made up me and my best mate.
Now that I'm older looking back realise
My whole life's been an adventure through this pair of eyes.
every me from 10 to now has been a shell of me
i try to find my insides
but they fell out long ago
and only recently i’ve been trying oh so hard to find them once again
i've been looking at only other people
boys
since i was young
trying desperately
for people to like me
to want me
for people to care
how did i not realize that something was lacking
my insides fell out long ago
when i was only 10
since then im just a mirror
looking back now and then
but i gave up on my reflection
because still nobody cared
i cried so hard i broke the mirror
now i'm picking up the pieces
from my broken bloody tear-stained mirror
that i can turn into a window
And some day you'll realize
That there too is a point of no return.
A point where you'll someday come
And looking back will be a thing of the past.
There are no layaways no payments plans
To genuinely be a blessing in someone else's life.
These things can't be repaid.
Can't be debated.
These gifts of appreciation.
Life is one of the most unexplained mysteries.
In a world of simplicity.
We often shy away from the things we know will break us.
Not knowing that its the vulnerability that truly makes us beautiful.
At times we get uncomfortable.
Considering that the simplest thing is often the hardest thing.
And some day you'll realize.
That it's these precious moments.
That bring us closer to that point of no return.
Your reflection shown.
The candle of someone else's eye.
No longer afraid to look back
Time is either friend or foe;
Sometimes he seems to pass too slow.
To a child, impatience reigns;
We've come to call it growing pains.
Can't wait for happy holidays
and birthday parties but, time betrays
the innocent and trusting young
who believe that spring cannot be sprung.
"There's always time to get things done",
says the young man of twenty-one.
There's years ahead and life to live
so time is only relative.
Over thirty and going strong?
The nights are short but the days are long.
Fatigue is only in your head.
You can sleep when you are dead.
The years began to fly on by.
Looking back you can't deny
that time, somewhere, picked up the pace
and life became an all out race.
Now you're near the finish line;
No hurry to last days define.
Time will leave you wanting more
but, when he runs out, he slams the door!
March 1, 2018
All alone in my silent confessions
long I have dwelt on secret battles fought,
and poison arrows of these obsessions
might pierce my last refuge methought.
Thirty-nine years before first gazed my own
tiny hands clutched in my father’s palms,
and in that spirit of love that I was shown
I hold yours and my baby in arms.
Behold, a changing of the guard I see
when I look at you looking back at me.
Today! Today! On this happy dawn
to me a millennia child is born!
My wait over in my thirty-ninth year
when wrapped inside your swaddled fleece,
and on my first watch would elated stare
upon nursling eyes shut in newborn peace.
But having crossed my Rubicon I wait
in new beginnings and wonders to be,
where new battles will rage and punctuate
the fullness of time in his century.
In our realtime between father and son
the future becomes yours, and now I trust
one day you wear the crown of succession
and forever love for love we must.
Behold, a changing of the guard I see
when I look at you looking back at me.
Today! Today! On this happy dawn
to me a millennia child is born!
To your cause I am heart and soul aware
no favour or fortune redeems me more,
that in my time I have a son and heir
who fills in me what was missing before.
Written: March 2000
Do not turn back, the past is grave, Its echoes haunt, its hands enslave.
The road behind is lined with ghosts, Their voices call, their sorrows boast.
Each step you take, the past will plead, But forward lies the path you need.
The hands of time will twist and pull, Yet looking back will take its toll.
The doors you closed, the bridges burned, Will whisper still, though none return.
The past is cruel, it does not care, It waits to catch you unaware.
It wears the scent of rotting dreams, It hums in corridors unseen.
Its fingers claw through dust and bone, It sings in voices not its own.
The faces lost, the dreams decayed, Will drag you down where shadows fade.
So walk ahead, don’t turn around, For ghosts will pull you to the ground.
His Last Olive Branch Went Up In Flames
he threw the last olive branch into the fire
watching with tears as the symbols, aflame
as the last embers of reconcile with her expire
into ashes of lost hope he knew he was to blame
he could love her till the day he dies, he does
but he knows the tree now is barren of olive branches
with her, as she sees into his sad eyes somebody else's
breaking his heart to see her sidestep to another's dances
he cries at what he had and doesn't have now
like the wind, her, blowing into him, as the sea
cascading waves, exploding into whitecaps that endow
her, as she rides his back onto the sandy beach only to flee
he sadly watched her become smaller in the distance
running, yet looking back at him, mocking his life
yelling words of sadness to him ... of no other chances
yet shaken he didn't want to believe he wanted her as his wife
his broken heart, on a slippery slope, now shrugs
of lost nights with her, lost words, time, coffee and no hugs
connie pachecho
2/8/2017
I Stay by You
I wanted to be Near
As we pass the Cold Glacier
I wanted us to bare ,
With our hands on one another
with the cold Air breeze;
We would come more together
There still left will be
a sigh of relief .
Looking back of our seat
We would be Proud ;
That we passed the Storms of Masters
and together we had defeat ,
It was not the chance of Survival
It was still two hearts and one beat .
I Stay by You
because I wanted to be Near,
We passed the glacier
because we had it very clear;
that when we look at each other
there are no glaciers and no defeat
For we are together and together
we would Beat;
Any storms of Masters
Or the battles of conflicting heat.
Each poem better than the last
I write them to improve.
But looking back should add to fact
that nothing's new to prove.
When all I write is soon passe'
for better works of art.
And all I know is what I am-
a better cheat of heart.
So what's it take to say I'm good-
to set my work apart.
When each new work gets better still
and cheapens from the start?
------------------------------------
Part Two -by Trevor McLeod
Atlas! I know what cheapens art.
The better piece of heart.
When all I know is what I do
is take a piece of start.
That each new thing is started from
a single work of art.
And that I do gets better still
when each piece weeps the start.
Saturday Morning’s routines
The odor of wood smoke
Came into my bedroom
I saw the flambeau flickering lights
From my window
That when I knew it was time
To get out of bed;
I heard old man Sealy voice
He said to his wing man
To put another log on the fire
Keeps the fire blasting?
He said
I put on my rubber rain boots
I Headed down to the barn
Knowingly, it was so close to dawn
Pappy said hey “small point”
Where are you going?
Go back to your bed.
I just wanted to watch
The pigs being slaughter
^
Every Saturday morning
Old man Sealy slaughter the animals
On my granddad farm
It meant meat for the villagers
Pork, beef, chicken and lambs
Fresh Meat for all:
Pappy always said
Do not handicap the children
By making their lives easy
So I hurried on down to the pig pens to watch.
The pigs struggle and squeal violently
The lambs’ trembles
As they struggle to be free
^
As a little child,
I thought that animal was raised
To be killed for food;
Now looking back on those days
I think it was incredible and sad
However, I had some wonderful time
Grilling meat on a stick
With the Butcher’s team
My Childhood memories
Of the slaughter house
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