Long Postwar Poems
Long Postwar Poems. Below are the most popular long Postwar by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Postwar poems by poem length and keyword.
I Recall the Smell of that Place
I recall the smell of that place.
It came from the small side cafeteria.
I ate there daily for two months of my young life;
From the heat of September 1959, to the chill of early November;
Just a freckled, hungry third grader at Bonneview Elementary,
There, in the outskirts of Redding, a short walk to the cold Sacramento.
Other boys and girls my age were standing in line, waiting
To receive their lunches on green plastic trays at the side window,
With three smiling ladies waving for us to move quietly forward.
The smell of that place was the same everyday, like my mother’s kitchen.
It was the smell of serial casseroles, cheesy and heavy with boiled noodles.
It was the smell of restless postwar children working up a chance to scream at recess.
All of us, just a bunch of 9 year olds, staring at the coming 60’s with no clue;
All together oblivious to the future roadkill to appear, down the highway a bit,
The tragic endless parade of body-bagged playmates from 1959,
Coming into Dover, draped and cradled in the triune colors of the Mother Republic,
My friends from Bonneview who were with me in line all those times,
Smelling the smell of that place; that small side cafeteria,
With the three smiling ladies, waving us kids to keep moving forward.
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
Together we shall soar
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
From this weeping heart love shall pour
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
Somehow I am now something to ignore
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
Now comes the dreaded rebuild of postwar
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
In your mind will remain this spore
i miss the softness of her touch
cut short by Lehman brothers’ harsh
collapse
i miss kindness of time before the crash
economy in relative peace
living off fumes of postwar boom
before post-traumatic stress of recession-plagued world
robbed me of ability to fulfill my dreams
and fully reveal my inner self
thanks to din of private property
and rumble of greed
world is psychotic, denial laden
- where love can be a marketplace
humans commodified to the extreme -
i yearn for a world
where people can be people
judged on the merits of their person
not their circumstance
for in such a world
there would be no need to worry
for inherent goodness in every human being
is a guarantee
someday that world will be realized
this i know for sure
this poem a dedication
and an affirmation
of that truth.
Snow showers earlier today December 9th, 2020 yielded negligible accumulation
Though anyone who saw
and/or watched local news would be more wise
the brief flurry of crystalline precipitation
came as a complete surprise,
cuz yours truly prefers
getting strangled courtesy neckties
versus being given spoiler alert
subsequently forced to give reciprocal highfives.
I generally skirt tracking the weather,
nevertheless the missus would pantomime,
née blurts out with glee
meteorological conditions occurring here
out the skies above second Street
within Schwenksville, Pennsylvania.
No rhyme nor reason prevails
necessitating yours truly to hear and/or see
what mother nature doth hold in store
concerning (Delaware, Chester,
and Montgomery) tri county locale
sometimes loosely referred to
as comprising Delaware Valley
a geographical area coterminous with
metropolitan statistical area (MSA)
and broader combined statistical area (CSA),
and composed of counties located in
Southeastern Pennsylvania, South Jersey,
Delaware, and the Eastern Shore of Maryland.
As a lifetime resident - 19473 zip code
regarding aforementioned place name,
I can ofttimes intimate
how the forecast will bode
especially if adequate hours spent outdoors,
more so when yours truly
lived at 3224 Level Road
which less likely as ole man winter
huffs and puffs with braggadocio
rarely ripping, riffing, and riding
piggyback with nor'easter.
Interestingly enough global warming
affected dramatic climate change
during course of mine lifetime,
where Currier and Ives rural
linkedin with good n plenti grange,
where agrarian lifestyle might seem strange
to urban outfitters constituting population.
Truth be told, I fondly remember those days of yore
when countless unbroken acres of greenery
whereat in Arcola a cider mill vestige
of American/British Revolutionary War
perhaps e'en centuries before frequented by troubadour
named Shakespeare, quite sad
to narrate hundreds of years postwar
(meaning that brouhaha incorporating
Declaration of Independence)
long since derelict and sold
possibly by family with surname Knorr,
(methinks his first name Ignoramus nickname Ig)
who strongly exhibited demeanor of Eeyore.
putrid rascal was a real truant
and also a junkie
and a somnambulist too
and wicked gourmet bought a new guillotine
then the rascal walked dizzily
like a mechanic dancer
around the cinnamon circle
right under the scythe
and underwent a severance
the staggering truth was quite vague
then a postwar prelude under the lurid sky
piccolo semitone
sacrament
orchids
silhouettes on a merry-go-round
the jetty broke up
and a castaway went away
right before dawning
beforethe stellar equinox
but journey was a humdrum
with nautical nausea
just a medley of flukes
so we hit the road
on the roof of a magic bus
not just figurative
really peculiar
and finally let behind
all the cold sensations
a marble queen visits
with a priest with no faith
and start gentle mutiny
the celestial journey
is over at ten p.m.
and all we got left
is a sobering lethargy
A birthday gift to me
courtesy thee youngest sister of mine
The special parcel
courtesy Amazon courier
hurriedly delivered softbound book before
yours truly could thank him/her cuz he/she
dropped off outside our apartment door,
upon opening the well sealed package
my lower jaw dropped to the floor,
when I beheld the unpronounceable title
dealing with Holocaust
never knowing heretofore
a specific name
(of those faceless millions)
destroyed in the concentration camp(s)
sufficiently suddenly, and subsequently
finding me immediately linkedin to Jámbor
(a Hungarian word meaning
'godly modest well-disposed,'
hence a nickname
for a humble and friendly person,
whose hitherto unknown existence
most likely exemplifying a storied life
possibly quintessentially resplendent
with riches gull lore
ideally whose company
gifted as some lucky person's nextdoor
neighbor, thus her
ITKA FRAJMAN ZYGMUNTOWICZ's spirit
(the subject of the book,
titled REMEMBER MY CHILD)
constitutes a paternal relative to boot
Itka's great grandfather was brother
to our great grandmother
so basically a third cousin relationship
inexorably pulled at mine heart strings
a must read detailing one story
that came to light postwar,
where embers of anti semitism
smolder jumpstarting, intimidating,
hinting, et cetera Nazi lionizing roar
which account detailing
aforementioned survivor of Hitler's
so called final solution
approximately four score
years ago, yet history
cannot and must not repeat itself
lest lovely bones and ghosts
of those mercilessly slaughtered
would cause a vehement uproar.
Some of them are living ghosts,
they have buried their roots
under newer foundations,
or they still live anonymously
under a rock of poverty.
If you asked me to name them
I could not, for they all had names
too similar to mine.
The whole street,
all its doors and windows,
its narrow-broken pavements
have been obliterated by the nazis
or the iron booted rent collectors.
Postwar postmen have no addresses
to slot through.
In my mind
is a diorama of a history
that I missed by being born late,
yet the street knew me before I knew it.
Now the ghosts are dying one by one.
Those that left the street
to become pink and abundant
were happy to be alive for a while,
as I was,
until inevitably
the diorama turned into a carousel
of long gray sunsets.
Day to remember those who served
Vietnam, Korea, Middle East
Our gratitude is well deserved
By all who live and those deceased
Remember tours, hiding fear
Vile ambushes in plain sight
Them backs recall the tons of gear
Extraction with the heli flight
The ruthless sun and blowing sand
All in day's work where work is war
Reproaching looks in foreign land
And guarded sleep on earthen floor
Live chats while missing kids and wife
Oh, silly troubles way back home
A soldier, living grueling life
While facing combat stress syndrome
It stays with you, forever more
Long after battles go away
Our guys and girls, they are postwar
Salute our Vets on their day
November 11, 2025
Being born in the postwar fifties,
after darkness and catastrophe
ascended on all Europe,
I didn't experience cruelty and horror...
but hope came from the defenders of freedom
from North America and England;
and their military supremacy crushed
Hitler's vanity and his inhumane empire!
I was given birth by a courageous mother,
who saw bombs drop on buildings,
and escaped to the countryside with a few belongings...
dragging grandmother to safety!
Fear was everywhere...people had to hide,
and liberty was a forbidden cry;
even in the Vatican City, and rumors...
if not facts, confirmed that some
were afraid to speak against this evil,
but continued to tremble,
and in doing so they let many die!
Wasn't God angry at their hypocrisy;
and if they had taken a stand against the evildoers...
wouldn't it spared many?
It's my turn to protest the evil
that destroyed the life of big and small
for their faith, religion and race;
those voices are still ignored,
but they are finally heard;
their thirst for peace and justice
will be quickly quenched!
It's my turn to heal their wounds
with sweet and consoling words of kindness,
and alleviate their fears that what happened yesterday...
must not be repeated in our history;
and wil I be able to do this without facing controversy?
It's my turn to use the written word,
to outshine everyone whose interest is greed!
Nobody more than I
was saddened by this tragedy,
so powerful and overwhelming,
to promptly modify the traits of my personality;
to be more considerate and caring,
and partake in Humankind's destiny!
An Aquarius has many
distinguishing qualities
and talents, and I intend to use them wisely...
listening to their struggles
with much sympathy!
It's my turn to use the written word,
to declare war on the state of unfair things,
proceed with caution on flapping winds...
to land where I am welcomed,
and see every hand touching mine;
only when the their joy returns, I can certainly smile!