Long Memento Poems
Long Memento Poems. Below are the most popular long Memento by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Memento poems by poem length and keyword.
We stand holding hands
steadfast in our persistence—
time moves ever on,
yet always, leaves its echoes,
rippling through what yet remains.
The river flows on
without shape, frame, form or cause
spreading down and out,
yet, always its form returns
to drifting, meandering.
Despite the bad breaks
the past's worth holding on to—
a memento thread
to the ebb of resistance
refusing full surrender.
Truth softens in doubt,
in what is yet to be said,
hardens in silence,
gathering weight while alone,
gelling its soft resin core.
A crack opens flaws
yet, it always finds a way
for light to enter
shattering the perfect form
revealed as mere deception.
I loosen my bounds
while constraining the fracture,
as promises pull—
in multiple ways at once
yet always comes to being.
As yet, still unmade,
leans into what it dissolves—
time loosens its hold,
to let quiet undoing
cure resistance, yet again.
(a double Memento form)
Midway between the Equinox
of winter and the spring
appears
a prophet most unorthodox.
For weather, Phil's the king
of seers.
He lives on food you'd feed a dog,
each winter has one goal:
to sleep.
But February this small "hog,"
awakes and leaves his hole
to peep!
And though there be no clouds, no rain,
his shadow's something bad
to see!
Into his hole he goes again. . .
For six weeks, winter-clad
we'll be.
But if no shadow should he make,
oh joy! Above the ground
he'll stay.
And no one cares if Phil's a fake.
The critter is renowned
this day!
“Forever?”
“Forever.”
What a fool I was
To tell you a blissful lie with the confidence of a thousand soldiers
Yet I bet my pinkie on the promise
Knowing deep down in my soul that we would never be an endgame
There would be no us at the final level
Just a pleasant has been wrapped in ribbons
Don’t worry Darling, it was never your fault
I kept trying to give you the world
Without fully mapping mine first
So I apologize for all the treacherous waters you had to wade through
All the thunderstorms you had to sleep through
It wasn’t my intention for you to get soaked
I just thought
That if I wished hard enough
Things would fall into place
That all the flowers I had picked for you would somehow cause you to stay
That all the stories I had crafted for you would keep you by my side
Yet I’m just like everyone else
Too selfish for my own good
Too envious to live with myself
That I had to go and collect your heart as payment
A memento, a souvenir
Stashed under my bed for when I need to squeeze the last drop out of it
I promised you a happily ever after
Knowing that there wasn’t any space in our book for a next chapter
But I kept writing
Watching as ink dripped onto the page
Shaking it in hopes that words would start to form
Only for gibberish to appear
So to make it up to you
We shall never speak again
I don’t wish any ill on you, my love
But to see you is another form of Death that I’m not ready to experience
It would mean prying the stitches off my heart and bleeding freely once more
So I wish to never see you again
For even if we did meet again
I would only recognize you as a stranger not my love
I hope in our next life we are to never meet
Just so I won’t carry the emptiness of losing you with me
So I can be free of this guilt I have for ever loving you
Til death do us part.
for another budding child flower
alone in the dark uterus
of my bedroom
I lie curled up
in thoughts
and emotions
of the day:
another budding flower
plucked from the garden street
leaving its red sap
as a jaded memento
to stained innocence
and hoodwinked justice
another aborted life
spiraled away
as echoes of fading outcries
floated wearily
on reefs of passing time
covering awareness
of another heinous crime
whose guilt
will soon vanish
from human notice
with my cervical poised head
resting on tear soaked pillow
I pray god that not another child flower
be not plucked away tomorrow
SO very young, they all said
A heart of gold, remembering
Kindness’ in hues of carefully
Wrapped embraces, kisses
Breathing prayers, whispering
Gentleness in each carefully packed
Memento, each token – every treasure
It wouldn’t feel like death
Would dare to take that one,
That smile, the twinkle in the air
Where their heart became light
Filling the thoughts with memories
A sense of forever portrayed
In one single photograph, history
Saga of inspiration, fulfilled
So very young, it was spoken
Words reminding hearts so broken
That it is love that tempts fate
To recant the music, the dance
Every laugh – each tear, the fear
Haunting souls who reminisce
Memorizing each detail, each joy
All the beauty and wonder
Stirred by the one who, so young…
Filled up the darkness with light
So bright, starry eyed, shimmering
Like the sun, the moon, the skies
Who remember, too… the life
Rich and fruitful, who – in death
Silences the doubt that clouds
Hearts who grieve, yet still believe…
In the end, even a child knows
The truth – It is God who blesses
Each life and every death leaves
A message – in the story of this life
The lesson filling up hearts with the proof
That His love is forever – eternal
And the ending is the blessing…
Death is only the moment
When the last breath is released
When the last thought is relinquished
… before the next breath is breathed
In a home where no one
Ever leaves, where no one ever grieves
Finally, so very young becomes
The spark of grace, the beginning
Of faith – the flame that saves
Because Jesus overcame death…
He made a way for us all, saving
Souls from the darkest night, a fall
Assuring each reminder, each goodbye,
That, in time… we’ll overcome grief…
We’ll meet again in a heaven,
Where we’ll know exquisite relief!
In quiet dim corners and drawers untouched,
Lie precious things, much cherished and clutched,
These cold inanimate things, just like a friend,
Can ease our troubles, and ill feelings amend.
Each memento and much used everyday things,
Are something special, for the comfort each treasure brings.
It's not just any old clock, that's revered, it's only that one.
With its unique tick and tock, and familiar dial, homespun.
That old worn chair there, bears your weary form,
And imbues the calm balm of a massage so warm,
That mug that holds your morning brew,
Warms hands and heart with a ritual true-blue,
It's the constancy and reliability that soothes the mood,
That quells the angst of toils and trouble on which you brood.
These inanimate things are like an old friend
They're always there, when you need a mend.
They're vital parts of your essential being's foundation,
That meld your soul, heart, and spirit's conflation.
IF I COULD SPEND A DAY WITH YOU...
If I could spend a day with you, I'd be happy,
we'd never get enough of each other's company.
Our poems and write-ups will embrace unity.
Our inks will make love in the nights enmity
as we stain the sheet with creativity.
We'd hold hands strolling with a coffee,
grip each other in timeless euphoria like a trophy;
But you're worthier than all the biggest trophies.
Kissing is your art, I'd paint you with kisses,
And bask in the glory of heavenly drizzles,
Write you a poem that'll rain beautiful tears
Off your hazy eyes that'll wash off your fears.
I'd wipe away your tears when you feel blue,
every day, I'd tell how much I cherish you
I'd stare into your eyes, & without a single word,
We'd flipped feelings over the board.
If I could spend a day with you,
there is no height we wouldn't scale through,
I'll be your chandelier & make your night colorful,
leave an impression, I'd make you gleeful,
the holy grail is to make you esctatically happy.
I'd cuddle your brain & crack you up in a jiffy,
telling riddles & tales about motherland, Africa.
And when my day is spent & our bond bigger,
I'd made you more happier and freakier,
a memento of our memories rises at every flicker.
Reminisce our memiors now and forever.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? March 2023.
The picture on the parlor wall captures
A frozen memento of lives lived long ago.
With all its creatures, scenes and features,
Arrayed like animals, in a parade on show.
Dicky bird smiles enticed with cheese,
A mother’s grin, a father’s stern gaze,
Children rebellious, shuffling with unease,
Eyes fixed and staring, to stop the blink strays.
Within its frame, the past forever stays,
An image contrived to hide the blots and blights
Of fall-outs, feuds and fights of bygone days.
All briefly subdued in soft forgiving lights.
Oh, I wish the picture hung on parlor wall,
Captured in truth what was, with warts and all!
36, and I’m grateful to be alive. Still in the back of my mind Memento mori , “Remember that you will die”. So today I will do and not try. I will let go of the illusion that I can control every outcome because that’s the ill man’s delusional idea of how to manipulate time. Detach from the illusion of control. Just understand the future does not exist in this moment. Here and now is all we know. No matter how tightly you hold on, things will find a way to go . If everything was certain and nothing ever changed, life would be a stagnant body of water no Currents to shift its way. What a boring existence for the being’s part to play. We were already dying the day we were formed because time is not afraid. It existed before and will after the day the last human remains. So the celebration of another three hundred and sixty-five days has a feeling of accomplishment for another trip around the sun my skin sack has made. What is future but a mere wish, a hopeful gift , we should all be grateful if we get. I am alive now, but I remember we die, so I won’t waste breath on wishing for endless time. So here’s to 36, finally loving to be alive.
Our caps flew like confetti.
Thank god I customized mine.
I'll keep it as a memento of all-nighters,
friendships formed in the academic trenches,
dismissive professors and group-project-tortures.
This isn’t another ‘drunk girl’ holiday, despite obvious similarities.
Our parents, sisters, brothers, and grandmothers are here.
We came in doe-eyed, holding overpriced planners,
and enough provisions for two year Mars missions.
We hoped to discover friends, decent Wi-Fi signals
and perhaps our adult selves.
Now we're holding diplomas, those future-proofing talismans.
Mine’s in molecular biophysics and biochemistry.
Which is wry, because when I was in high school,
my sister accused me of not knowing how to boil water.
I've been asked "What’s next?" a thousand times In the last month.
I have plans—but I was dying to shrug and say, “that’s tomorrow’s problem,” like I’ve spent major duckets, degree wise, but remain a ditzy blonde.
The standard graduate answer, I’ve heard, is "I dunno."
(though honestly, it’s a great answer).
Congratulations, all of you graduating overachievers out there—everywhere.
Go forth, be fabulous and find that next big dream.
Can you believe we actually did this?
Argh! I gotta go, someone wants another picture.
.
.
Songs for this:
What Dreams Are Made Of by Evann McIntosh
Summer Wind by Robert Mosci
Tomorrow by Wings