Long Memoir Poems
Long Memoir Poems. Below are the most popular long Memoir by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Memoir poems by poem length and keyword.
Slumbered Spell
Across the land, the night grows cold.
In my dreams are you, I cannot have foretold.
The moon looks down watching over you and I.
The wind whispers sweet nothings, of our lullabies.
Feeling contentment, I gaze up into the stars...
One winks, as I continue writing in my memoir.
River under the bridge, splashing up to my feet.
As I sit on the edge, savoring this secretive retreat.
I fall into a peaceful and slumbered spell.
Casting all doubts, until the rain began to fell.
The thunder rumbles, lighting awaits its queue
Raindrops mesh with tear drops, over missing you.
Morning breaks, lazily, the sun yawns.
Yesterday, concedes let bygones be bygones.
A brand new dawn awakes, begining anew.
Today, will be wonderful, I get to see you.
Conservatives’ banning’s apropos of nothing
At twelve when he delt with this
shouldn't have to jump through hoops
should’ve been able to explore when a teen
But because of many conservative groups
The Ire excessive was the coming of age
Juvenile mistakes made in adult years
Denied the ability to pick up social skills
Sexual assault and sexual awaking
considered pornographic
Q**r’s often live a second adolescents
This is a guide for the coming of age allies
States have taken off the shelves
Intersectional as his life
Chapters are a collection, four acts
referred to as “parts” in this guide
self-contained essay’s
The memoir progresses through Johnson’s life
Two letters appear alongside
the chapters for mother and brother
Conditioned to think what’s the truth
Indoctrinated in us
Stop crying, racialized
School bullies
The flee market incident
Institutionalized violence
Family structure marginalized
Community –college fraternity
And black joy
Tells the truth
A black and q***r boy’s experience
Gender identity
Toxic masculinity
Brotherhood
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Her voice was a slow river
carrying crayon boats,
her hands turning spelling mistakes
into origami birds.
Her hands moved like quiet miracles~
turning clumsy pencil scratches
into constellations,
showing us how to hold scissors
not as weapons but as wands.
She wore chalk dust like perfume
and knew each of us
by the shape of our wonder~
who needed stars,
who needed glue,
who just needed
to be told yes
one more time.
She never said hurry up,
only look closer,
letting the slowest readers
taste each word like summer fruit,
while the rest of us squirmed,
impatient for the next page.
Once, when Tommy cried
because his glue stick
wouldn’t stick,
she knelt beside him,
whispering, Let’s try it sideways.
And the world
tilted just enough
to make sense.
Even now,
decades later,
I catch myself
tilting my world
and thinking about you,
Mrs. Fletcher.
This poem was written as a companion to my memoir vignette titled "To Mrs. Fletcher With Love," posted on Poetry Soup if you'd like to read it: poetrysoup.com/short_stories/to_mrs_fletcher_with_love_13591
It's not too late
To write and share
Your journey fate
To show you care
A plain good write
Can make things clear
As words you cite
Frame thoughts that cheer
For in your tale
True quest works plain
A decent sale
Of simple gain
A memoir here
Can tell and touch
The heart with cheer
To feel as much
So spend some time
To think and feel
Of yarns and chimes
That hurl goodwill
Sense mellow years
Pass much too quick
For us my dear
To choose and pick
So dare to pen
The thoughts you think
As best you can
To forge close links
Leon Enriquez
19 May 2018
Hamlet Place, ACT
Slow Dancing the Past
by Odin Roark
Shadows of yesterday frozen
Even as high noon’s blazing heat
Seems never to pass
Fixed sturdy upon Nature’s ties
Once shiny rails
Hard driven spikes
Forward movement changed
In mind’s imploding delirium
From behind
Memoir nudges our sway
Reluctantly we swing
Along bedrock now exposed
Arresting our attention
Wildness carries forth endless existence
Prickly sumac and hobo milkweed
Bathe in the swirling dust of perpetuity
As a Monarch’s wings tuck
Taking refuge beneath rock
Where the snake’s watchful eye
Bids patience
All around
Admittance dictates
Real life’s Iron Horse long gone
Even though
Journey’s seduction
Fantasy
Dreams
Delusions
Remains always ahead
Waiting inside more transition tunnels
As youth walking the tracks
We saw the tunnel as mystery
Adventure beckoning
Threatening darkness
Where simple unease
Made exiting
Peeking light
At carving’s end
Time passed
Passageways continued
Beckoning our courage
Tracks of all sorts
Lead to choosing
Pondering
Decision
Endurance
Some of us ambled
Others jetted through
Even fewer stared
At risk’s pure darkness
Imagined finality
And then…
Some of us sat
Taking up the gentle amity
Of sumac’s brambly aliveness
Milkweed’s sharing promise
Monarch’s trusting beauty
The serpent’s eye winks
We smile at it all
As memories slow dance the past
Reflecting off our bygone rails
Who, or what, do you think you are?
A Bollywood star
A Turkish bazaar
An iron crowbar
A permanent scar
A late-model NASCAR
An all-night Delhi darbar
A cowardly lion, ala Bert Lahr
A late-night replacement for Jack Paar
A postage stamp from the territory of Saar
A scene from MASH featuring Jamie Faar
An imported Swiss candy bar
A peripatetic avatar
A native of Madigascar
A powerful drug czar
A tractor-driver from Navistar
A pro golfer who can't even break par
An empty peanut butter jar
An unwritten memoir
A smelly, old cigar
A boring academic seminar
An unidentified flying object on radar
A diplomat from Myanmar
A fancy antique boudoir
A hardy-har-har-har!
We learn to waltz and whirl through sunless spheres,
amidst the frozen frangipanis, grieving in trembling stillness……
When summer is gone and the salmon sun slumbers in its somber sanctuary,
waving silent farewells to skies glowing in apricot ink,
I steal the amber and tuscan shade of twilight
to shawl them in ballet pink, embroidered with champagne sequins.
But am I to swirl through the melted haze of mauve,
to wade through gloomy shadows befogged in dragonfly darkness,
suffocating the balmy roses within my dusky heart of crimson thistles and thorns,
like a weathered and greying garden of pixelated petals?
Yet somehow, I find colors from crestfallen leaves,
to paint my bleeding scars with singing stars.
I still ponder: if grief had a color, would it be the gold and russet hues of autumnal foliage,
or would it be the crystal blues of the ice-cold hues of winter?
Perhaps there is no metaphor or seasonal tone to depict raining black dahlias,
for the violin strings of a honeyed horizon now remain a mere memoir,
where marigold memories flow within cluttered calligraphy.
So tonight I’ll rise as the vermilion veil of the mulberry moon,
amidst the faded streaks of saffron and cinnamon clemency.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The Schwinn’s cracked leather bit my thighs~
a throne for princesses of asphalt flights.
The downhill rush, the brake-pad scream,
the penny tossed in the fountain’s gleam.
Miss Talbot, wrapped in lemon light,
knew the hunger in my eyes before I spoke.
Her fingers—witchcraft—plucked the spines
of books that hummed with secret lives.
Ten books. Always ten.
Their weight slumped in saddlebags,
a cargo of ghosts: Anne’s attic whispers,
Charlotte’s moors, the Oz dust
clinging to my cuffs like stolen glitter.
Winter nights: Nancy’s flashlight clues
pooled in my lap. Summer’s stale heat
lifted Emily’s dashes—brief, sharp~
into my lungs. The library’s breath
was glue and ink and something older~
the scent of time pressed flat,
waiting to spring.
I rode home heavy with kingdoms,
the Schwinn’s wheels wobbling
under the heft of Oz, of Avonlea,
of a thousand doors I’d unlocked
with a card thinner than a blade.
Even now, the creak of a shelf,
the whisper of a page turned,
is the sound of a bike chain rolling,
rolling, never stopping~
just slowing, sometimes,
to let me catch up.
you may read the related memoir vignette at poetrysoup.com/short_stories/a_girl_a_bike_a_librarian_and_a_magical_spell_13645
Through endless streams.. my heart beats
Two lovely words..."Thank You" flows..
Filling up family, friends and foes.
Saga of the memoir.. soon completes.
Beyond the bounds of a bountiful life
Can I thank them.... they make us aware..
How to care and repair.. the water and air
Saving the Earth ...of worrisome strife.
Thank You for growing the flowers and trees
Thank You for showing the Clean and Green..
You are saving the Earth ..from Man and Machine.
Can I give thanks to you.. endlessly, please?
Dated 10th November, 2018
An Enclosed Rhyme within 12 lines on the theme :What are you thankful for?
Submitted for the Thankful Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Tania Kitchin
Desire
All my wishes and all that could have been,
Became a dream I never could reach.
I crave for things I cannot attain.
My brain won’t allow me to make those same mistakes again.
So alone I stay and alone I lay.
I still dream of better days,
But that future seems like it is a long way away.
The rain pours down inside my heart;
It’s cold in this part of my body of scars.
Wounds will not heal, when I can no longer feel,
The warmth of her love,
In this nightmare which has become real.
Dark days are upon us.
Without the opportunity of love, I can be no star.
Love is needed to bring some kind of happiness to my memoir.
I want to have a life where I am allowed to just write,
But that life is unattainable, without a wife.
I need motivation, to change my situation,
But being single makes me,
Apathetic to being all I can be.
Words speaking of sorrow leave me wanting to be more positive,
But I can never forgive and I don’t know how to live,
This never ending story of searching for glory;
Or just acceptance, that my lines are worthy.
(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.