Long Past times Poems
Long Past times Poems. Below are the most popular long Past times by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Past times poems by poem length and keyword.
the still life paints in water colour as moments dissect the day
an autumn leave falls quietly in tangible peace of the quiet soul
a tranquil hand brushes a humble canvass serene and at peace
memories from summer springs wait for winter and fire place
a gracious log rest on its grate and gathers ashes of yesteryear
ember and glowing desire transcend an amber and transient hue
like a squirrel collecting acorns a poet inks lush pots of gold
an oak tree watches through a window of sash and dark wood
rain showers droplets onto the pane dissolves pain and sorrow
weaves an intricate pattern and frames time season and glimmer
hope enters through a crack in the mantle-piece flickers reflection
onto brickwork and tiles that have survived the test of past times
shadow play suggests a pantomime on picture rails and stucco
imprints harvest and garnering solitude where light parts darkness
it seems to encourage to take a leaf out of nature and offer thanks
to life change ambient eternal growth and impermanent worship
of nature and one day the foliage will be ever so green once again
18th October 2020
Five stones
closing times
radiograms and
seventy-eights
school caps
sticklebacks
saturday flicks,pooh sticks
Charabancs
steam trains
linoleum
oil cloth
mangles
fish paste
sandwich spread
Hot towel shaves
cut-throat razor
shopping baskets
paper bags
braces,plimsoles
short,back
and sides
Wizard beano
and hotspur
lending libraries
picturegoer,
road to
Bridget Bardot
Marilyn Monroe
Dripping
coal fires
antimacassars
nylons,suspenders
crumpets
and toast
Brown and mild
barrelled beer
conkers,school milk
blackboard rubbers
and liftup desk lids
times-tabled
school-kids
Draughts
and allotments
rusty bikes
roller skates
satchels and scrumping
pounds,shillings
and pence
WITHOUT RHYME
Emptiness takes its leave,the symphony
becomes a solo.
From within a dream,euphony to carry
a poem beyond the norm on emotions stream.
Vapours of the morning dew,short lived,held
close,lasting just a moment,yet stay indelible.
I turn experience page, hestitate and dream,
the ephemeral conveying past times illume,
and enfold me in a panorama of stillness.
Fascinating impressions reassemble in
my eye.What can I see?
A literary treasure?
A novel verse?
Inspiration writ loud?
Images..without rhyme.
You may hear me recite this poem(and most of my PS poetry) on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro.
Jesus Alone, the One True Hope
for the hearts and lives of men.
How grand and monumental the scope
of lives being born again.
This Kingdom life is what I write of
in that God shows us the way.
To enter this life is to know Christ’s Love;
that my words lift Him, I pray.
This seems to be a repeated theme;
once more I write of His Love.
History’s true hope for lives redeemed,
this One from Heaven above.
Yes, there have been good men who have lived
from past times up to this day.
But not one of them has life to give
except for life’s One True Way.
Jesus, the Way the Truth and the Life,
is this not what we believe ?
In Him is found the end of all strife
and the promise of all we’ll receive.
Each sepia frame tells on old times,
Each face a name that wears a chime.
Lasting echoes from deep silence,
From times before, set countenance.
Flip through old stack of sepia prints,
Watch mind now snack on ancient tints.
Faces of yore hint of past times,
Sepia now stores a certain mime.
One by one float quaint former glaze,
Down life's rich moat swirls mental maze.
Old picture score where thoughts meet brief,
Indulge some more both joy and grief.
Memory cites in sepia tones,
Passage of rites now left alone.
Yet now and then, I sift to see
Feelings of when kin came to be.
I set aside this journey back,
Know time nor tide can bridge sad slack.
Our history is lost in mists,
So memory grabs random list.
A buried pile of kin and kind,
Here for a while, glimpses and finds.
Sepia colours in sultry glades,
Musky odours old prints now shade.
Happy and sad mix and mingle,
Stern faces glad in free stumble.
From time to time, I plough through piles,
Seek former chimes to court old smiles.
Leon Enriquez
31 May 2016
Singapore
Grey the shadow has laid
Shoes are scattered buckles undone
Quite still the ball with which children played
In quiet corners the clocks hands don’t run
Chuckles sounded a happy day was made
Toy boxes in past times a wondrous scene
Clay models squeezed to shape in small hands
Books pens and paint brushes water soaked clean
Some glued paper with stuck coloured sands
A blackboard with chalk its white letters to be seen
The end of play bell had sound its saddening ring
Some counting was practiced at the front of the class
Some children at the piano with the teacher sing
But it isn’t the wind which rattles the glass
Outside the rain fell frozen too hail winter to bring
That grey shadow dealing death in its wake
What was the guardian doing that day
In silence and stillness bleeding fingers would rake
When so many loved ones were taken away
To listen for a voice a needed sound to make
22/9/21. Contest quintain Sicilian. Emile Pinet
The state of now times sheds a dimmer light
on what is deemed considered wrong or right.
The present days provide much less insight
to know a right from self-assigned delight,
or what is best to now support or fight.
The world has morphed into a different one
on what is now considered should be done.
How simple were the times that I came from-
when varied views could blend in the long run-
and everyone marched to a standard drum.
Old fashioned values seemed to disappear,
replaced by modern ones that seem less clear.
What was taboo, is now approved, with cheer;
what was approved, dismissed- an old frontier.
Past times supplied more logic to adhere
to standards made, not knowing they would be
replaced by modern ones we'd not foresee-
that shaped our lives to those- now much less free.
How simple were the days that molded me;
wish a return- to then reality.
May 30, 2022
Contest: If Only My Wish Could Come True
Sponsor: Anoucheka Gangabissoon
Sponsor's Theme:
'You walk out into the streets or you merely open
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Revision of a former poem posted
November 5, 2017
My darkness has lifted my future looks clear,
Then one certain trigger,
My eyes shed a tear,
Then thoughts after thoughts,
It's now all out of sorts,
Remembering the cancer,
3years that she fought.
My darkness has lifted my future looks clear,
Today's been a good day,
Had nothing to fear,
Thoughts after thoughts,
Of good days we brought,
Remembering the past times,
But the futures un wrote.
So one day of darkness,
And one day it's clear,
But there is no pattern,
There's nothing comes clear,
To grieve for my loved one,
There's no right way or wrong,
My ways to write,
A poem not a song.
Blue tarps and pink foam.
That's all some people have to call home.
This is what they use to cope.
They do their best not to lose hope.
Within the span from sun to moon.
They continue to pray for help to come soon.
The roof and walls are built with love.
They stay warm and dry with faith from above.
Scraping up the only choice they've got.
They do their best with what they've been taught.
Futures and past times doesn't leave much for presents.
Boys in grubbers, little girls in peasants.
Passerby's and neighbor's want to tear it down.
Don't want them messin' up their pretty little town.
But just where would you have them go.
So that nobody would have to know.
Well soon is coming, one way or another.
I think it's time to help our brother.
Party line details leave the tax man knocking.
Sadly, the fools just keep on talking.
Someday the moon will light the night with peace.
And hope in a bottle won't be just a lease.
The river of life will flow forever more.
Right outside of everybody's door.
Does the utopian human not salute,
The ideal person, right and sensible?
Which psychologists can easily foster and describe,
In certain personality models which are not dispensable?
The utopian human stands to beg,
The question posed by psychologists,
“What is your character and personality?”
Their good models encourage an interactive dexterity.
When a business or organisation invests in people,
They’re hoping to entertain a certain personality;
One that's open, giving and receptive,
Not one that deceives by theology or has religious animosity.
Your space - your problems and your pleasures,
Must be respected in a mandatory fashion,
Not differentiated away from to illuminate,
Someone else’s spirituality and god passion.
That morality exists necessitates the virtues,
Which today can be separated away from beliefs,
But religious demands should not go unquestioned,
As a platform without judgement relief.
Christian fundamentalists are either,
Right or wrong in the head,
And it is very much apparent to me,
That today they should be being lead.
Their kids can be not loved at all,
For their intellect, past-times and emotions,
By parents who will only talk to them,
If they do their daily devotions.
When you look out on life from its precipice,
If god is there, you will lack,
The speech, the confidence and the creativity to mark,
The land upon which you will embark.
Enculture yourself in human principles -
The church’s toleration of them is slight;
I don't believe agnosticism is an option,
If you want to be in the light.
Atheism and humanism let you become a better person,
And give you moral fibre every day if you would like;
But Christianity’s focus is on godliness and evangelism,
So atheism’s a better cognition, ‘cos agnosticism’s just not right.