Long Love memories Poems
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I was leafing through my mom’s old bible that’s sat on our shelf since she died
when two pieces of paper floated out and landed by my side
Two old photos I hadn’t seen before…photos I never knew she had…
Photos of two soldiers…one my mom and one my dad.
On the back of the two photos…five words in faded grey
written in each other’s hand…’you take my breath away”
Photos they must have given each other before war tore them apart
Photos that, while in their youth, showed the essence of their hearts.
I imagine they kept these photos with them…to help see them through the war
I imagine they kept them near their hearts…like so many soldiers had before.
And when they returned home again…safe, secure…unharmed…
the pictures were not needed for they had each others arms…
So they found a final resting place- their job was now complete..
in a page in Mom’s old bible…until they landed at my feet…
Two photos from a time I didi not know them…when their love was new and strong
Two photos that…after reading them…I tucked back where they belong.
Perhaps it’s a bit egotistical of me…and certainly it’s wrong
but I never thought much about my parents lives before I came along…
But reading the back of those two photos…
from another time…
another day…
made me smile for a moment
as they took my breath away.
she served me a whiskey
smiled and said hello
although we barely spoke
when we met four days earlier
four days earlier i was running errands
parking on a busy one-way street
pausing to seek drink and conversation
as summer bled into fall
fall a time of reflection
of seasons past and age
memories of friends
and i asked myself if i could use another
another time and place the reflection
my heart bore the weight
of those who've come and gone
as i lived my many lives
my many lives whispered as i looked at her
each a song and a poem
each a never-ending refrain
memories rekindled on a day in november
Life is a garland of many lovely flowers,
each flower is a memory that we cherish,
the needle and thread of time pass through the lot,
binding them together so you never forgot!
joyous fragrance from school days come fleeting in row,
memories of laughter with friends we used to know,
taskmaster principal who ensured discipline,
the teachers,the play room, and long lunchtime bee line!
of teenage years, romance, and those lovely long nights,
when dreams are golden, hopes and wishes of great heights,
dawn of reality, out to build a career,
success of finding job that brought family cheer!
marriage and children then make bulk of the flowers,
fragrance from the garland smells sweetest when lovers,
love of parents is eternal perfume in heart,
gratitude we owe them for their love from the start!
the garland grows and gathers flowers on the way,
as we age and take on new roles each year, each day,
colourful, cheerful embellished with many thoughts,
the memories we cherish are fragrance of hearts!
1st placement
Written 03/0April/2021
A day before my 62nd birthday
Constance La France sponsored
Cherish prompt poetry contest.
12 syllables each line
Like cinders rolled down the mountain spire
And all in our wake set afire
So hot were we like arson fire
So young were we to so aspire
To wield the world with a hearty grip
To twirl our girls with hand on hip
And dance till the night gave us its last
And the dawn awoke like the dead full aghast
Oh, those days we were of sparking thrill
Of the nectar of life we could not drink our fill
Nor sit idly by while the day strummed its song
With subconscious mind, we pranced and sung along
Midst our summer eves we sat neath the trees
Our lady’s head upon our shoulder our hearts asmoulder
And glimmers of a light, from deep soulful sight
We lay our love to rest in red velvet and starlight
For when we wake those hands we'd take
And proffer vain oaths purpose bound to break
For in our youth we knew not truth
Just the thrill of sweet pursuit! Forsooth!
Our nights aplenty with common fruit
And grapes hung low to tease the lusty brute
Oh, such were the days of frolic and frays
We look back on our hosts with silent praise
And thankful old souls that sought lasting goals
True, true love, bridled we gallant foals
And tamed that power in years seeming hours
Picket fences, brick and mortar, lawn and bowers
And oh, the children that seem run for hours
Seeming born with an energy that rival ours
No ball and chain neither, but a winsome maid
Cast down like angels lightly to the glade
Have managed to glean us happy lives
And quench our flames, our happy wives
Happy husbands we’d never knew
From flames of far off yesterday’s view
Under the Weeping Willow
Under the weeping willow by the stream,
its long branches bow like someone hiding grief.
That wooden bench is still there,
where we met and sang until moonlight.
We floated our feet in the water,
and the tree watched it all like a dream.
Its shadow fell dark and pale across us,
as if counting each breath we held.
When I put my last kiss on your forehead,
the leaves seemed to turn black with sorrow.
The tree mourned with me.
My heartache bled into its roots.
Now the willow and I are companions —
two figures sharing the scent of grief,
with birds still singing in its branches.
When rain comes, the tree weeps too.
Water runs down its bark and into the soil.
But the stem stands.
It does not break.
Grief never fed it.
It stands alone, and fights with grief.
One day it blooms again.
Birds build nests in its green leaves.
Dreams keep growing.
Under the weeping willow,
my heart still beats like a shadow holding a dream.*
Under the weeping willow by the stream,
its long branches bow like someone hiding grief.
That wooden bench is still there,
where we met and sang until moonlight.
We floated our feet in the water,
and the tree watched it all like a dream.
Its shadow fell dark and pale across us,
as if counting each breath we held.
When I put my last kiss on your forehead,
the leaves seemed to turn black with sorrow.
The tree mourned with me.
My heartache bled into its roots.
Now the willow and I are companions —
two figures sharing the scent of grief,
with birds still singing in its branches.
When rain comes, the tree weeps too.
Water runs down its bark and into the soil.
But the stem stands.
It does not break.
Grief never fed it.
It stands alone, and fights with grief.
One day it blooms again.
Birds build nests in its green leaves.
Dreams keep growing.
Under the weeping willow,
my heart still beats like a shadow holding a dream.
Our life book is loaded up with lots of love.
A sentence here, a paragraph there; even a chapter pair;
Hearing wedding bells, sharing honeymoon embraces, alone times and skis;
Other romantic tales of ships with sails cruising exotic seas.
Children churning ice cream with us the old-fashioned way.
Grandchildren rushing to our knees; hugging us at the door.
The sadness of seeing the passing of warm parental love
And all the bittersweet memories that a lifetime may endure.
Our love will flow on through wrinkled skin and jowly chins.
Love is beyond feeling, it is a way of life.
1/15/2019
I wonder what my last thought will be,
Will I be looking at a crystal blue sea,
Will I sit there thinking there’s a hole in my sock,
Or will it be which door I forgot to lock.
Will my life flash before my eye's,
Which will be the last in my life’s demise,
Will I remember just one of you, perhaps as you are standing in the hall,
Or will it be a vision of you all?
Will I feel quite tired and think I better go to bed,
Or will I be alert and think about tomorrow instead,
I don’t really know, but as long as my family are doing well,
And that waiting for me in my new life,
Are all of those that have gone before.
2026.06.03
Today is the last day,
Of my mother's existence.
Her cold white body had been laid
Inside the closed coffin filled with blessings.
The petals and the fresh roses,
After all the necessary prayer performed,
All family members bow to the deceased,
Say goodbye for the last time as a group.
I follow and walk behind the coffin,
Out of the temple all the way,
Onto the white hearse.
On her last journey travel by vehicle,
Her coffin travels to pass her last home address
Where she lived before being hospitalised.
That was her last trip home.
Before being taken to the cemetary,
She chosed her body to be cremated,
Once the coffin carried to the room,
For ever, she would be burnt to ashes.
Just one day before her funeral,
I helped dress her on Monday,
At the funeral parlour cold room,
She looked beautiful for her age.
Her skins were pale and icy cold.
Her earthly body but not her soul.
For some reasons, we put on her,
Four layers of Buddish long gray clothes.
Together with her favourite jeweleries,
Her religious prayer's uniform,
Her Buddish temple's identification,
A string of the prayer's beads,
All of these placed on her or next to her.
At the Altona Memorial Park,
Her coffin sits on the castors,
Quickly rolls into the furnace,
I quickly wave my right hand and say,
"Bye-bye Mummy"
My tears were uncontrolly poured.
I cried as loudly as I shouted.
Once the naked flames were ignited,
Her earthly body would warm up,
Be burnt until all turned into ashes.
Mummy, I lost you, I love you.
Forever, you totally vanished on earth.
But you shall live forever in my heart,
As long as it beats and pumps my blood.
Upon the crest of a whispering wave,
A love letter sealed in a bottle's embrace,
Tossed by the tides, an age ago,
Lost in the depths, where mysteries flow.
Within its parchment, emotions reside,
Ink stained with feelings, impossible to hide,
A longing expressed in words so true,
Captured in time, like morning's first dew.
Conch shell trumpets a tale of old,
Announcing love in echoes bold,
Carried by breezes, a melodious call,
Love's proclamation, enchanting all.
Cowrie shells shimmer, treasures of the sea,
Symbolizing love's currency, pure and free,
Gifts from the ocean, precious and rare,
Like the depth of affection two souls share.
In a world of fragments, memories cast,
Love's legacy endures, forever to last,
Upon the crest of each rolling wave,
Echoes of devotion, eternally brave.
By Phan Tan Hai
You carried the fragrance of the sky
from the days of short hair,
bringing it back to leave upon your lips—
a lipstick mark pressed onto paper,
oh one lifetime of longing.
Sitting beside you for a single day,
then a lifetime of farewells;
at the far edge of the sky, birds fly,
their cries falling back
as sorrow gathers in my hands.
Memory—your green hair of one season;
beloved—the small station by the school;
waiting for you, slender as smoke;
forever remembering the letter l for loving you,
beloved—the letter m for missing you.
A lifetime I have searched for you,
eyes looking across many realms;
have you lost your way, little bird?
Lines of poetry bleeding purple ink,
a sharp ache etched into the heart.
If only we had held each other
and strayed off the ancient path—
lipstick mark, where do you go?
The scent I once stole from you
I hide in poems for ten thousand sorrowed lives.