Long Recollected Poems
Long Recollected Poems. Below are the most popular long Recollected by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Recollected poems by poem length and keyword.
Stella Williams was eight years old, living with her widowed mother-
Happily, though a bit lonely, like powder blue skies, sans sunset color.
The Williams lived in a rural area, with no child Stella's age, nearby.
A farmer in the valley, was the only neighbor, like waves of no reply.
Still, school hours were fun for Stella, like rollicking days of summer;
When plum sun, waltzed with stars of glitter, often going undercover.
Stella, at times, threw coins in their well, to wish for a special friend,
Besides the birds and blooms of beauty, and rolling hills of never end.
As faint rays forgive after furious storm, distant family came, finally;
In fancy days of dinnerplate dahlias, of gold, pink, or maroon vitality.
Stella lived in the house of empty rooms, that recollected sunny joys;
There the nostalgic past, argued with hopeful future, making no noise.
A purple path close to their front door, seemed painted with petunias;
In amethyst days of evening sparkle, and sunrises, the hue of peaches.
Numerous nightingales sang at hiigh noon, when new neighbors called;
In notable, precious moments, not ever forgotten-redolence enthralled!
'String of hearts plants,' trailed love petals, as 'oyster plant,' culled gems.
The rich pink, 'quill blooms,' shot daggers, like vexed queens, in diadems.
'Enchanting hostas' charmed summer moon, as 'elephant ears,' harked;
Then 'rising sun redbud' trees sang, with dawn on gloss petals, marked.
Stella still wandered to the well to wish, some afternoons and evenings,
As some yet gaze at mysterious stars, to uncover astrological meanings.
Stella was reading in her favorite spot, on a day of hot, persimmon sun;
And she looked up and saw a girl her age. A new friendship was begun!
Veronica was the daughter of the farmer in the dell, who was divorced;
And she was now living with him. Stella was invited to dinner, of course.
In time, Stella and her mom got to know, their nearest neighbors, well;
For Stella got her wish, when her mother married the farmer in the dell.
'The farmer in the dell.
The farmer in the dell.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer in the dell.
The farmer takes a wife.
The farmer takes a wife.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The farmer takes a wife.
The wife takes a child.
The wife takes a child.
Hi-ho, the derry-o!
The wife takes a child.'
IN THE BLUEBELL WOODS AT SHOTLEY BRIDGE
Shotley Bridge woods must no longer exist
Though I looked for them often as an adult.
Eventually I stopped looking fior the woods.
However, I often recalled them in my mind’s eye,
And relived the events of one afternoon
When I must have been about four years old.
It was summer, and like all summers
Recollected from one’s early childhood
It seemed an intensely hot affair.
No indication that mum and I were going to escape
The constricted terraces and cobbled streets of Gateshead,
The vinegar factory and the tram lines
Which were burning to the touch
That hot summer’s day.
How far? How long? Who knows?
My child’s lack of time sense…..
To tell the truth I may even have dozed off.
But we must have walked some short way –
All I can recall is suddenly
Being in the tranquil cool shade of the bluebell woods :
All the glaring heat
And noisy constriction were gone.
The air of the glade was deep and cool. It was given a life
Other than just moving molecules of gas
By some distant stream’s faint swirling sound -
Like woodland fairies dancing on tissue paper,
The air seemed to speak to me
In the whispered language of the stream,
And its soothing tones
Caressed my hot four-year-old cheeks.
With shoes and socks thrown off,
My bare legs were soon damp from the knees down
With brushing through the moist grasses
Of the woods’ floor as I ran here and there
To whichever bunches of wildflowers caught my eye.
My eyes were drowned in the sea of green.
Above my head was a sky completely filled
With translucent leaves of birch and beech,
And all around at shoulder height there seemed
To be waving ferns at the foot of every tree.
Undefoot, a spongy carpet of last year’s leaves
And this year’s grass crumped slightly
And sprang back into place
As I passed by,
As if I’d never been there at all.
I can recall picking armfuls of wildflowers
And dumping them on mum’s lap.
So many kinds of flowers
Came to my over-eager hands,
And their names in those days were unfamiliar to me.
There were spreading red campions
In places where a little sun shimmered
Down to the woodland floor.
There were ox-eye daisies swaying proud
And tall above the crowd
Of golden coltsfoot.
I put my lips to his cheek
Reminded me of winter time, not ice cold
Without warmth yes, but with texture
hard to the touch like a rubber glove on a rock
Thoughts will never leave me
Sad thing is this is the memory that stands out most
Not the little things like dinner or TV
But past conversations about death
Sitting on the front stoop at night conversing
He wanted to believe, yet as time drew near he recollected.
"When I was an altar boy..." and he went on.
And as we stared into the dark, star-filled sky, I was terrified of truths.
Philadelphia was never so quiet, so lonely, so alien.
I could tell he was doubting his own beliefs
Nearing death, as he knew he was, things became concrete.
The inevitable set in and so did regrets.
In that moment I told him how i felt, to reassure him of his beliefs.
It made a difference, re-establishing his faith, so to speak
Mine as well. All I could think of is how scared I would be
If I were He. I prayed.
For strength, and for him.
Out loud, to whoever wanted to listen...
I tried to revive him, you know, for minutes like hours
Hands cupped, pumping on chest
Got too amped, scared, my adrenaline submerged my pancreas.
Broke his rib cage as he had broken promises
I sat there and was lost for second time in my life
Left the room that had been his as a child
Went downstairs took my mind away for a minute
Cannabis didn’t help, I sat there alone
Waiting for the wagon to come and take my new old friend
Big city life, wagon was late, 3 hours sitting
With the carcass of “from which I came” upstairs
We had a moment, both all alone, both on different planes,
We always were
A huge part of me just vanished that day
My spontaneity, my innocence, my mirrored image
No more “life of the party”, I wanted to be alone
Lost, stranded, discarded and left alone
Left me when I was seven, met up again when I was twenty-two
Fifteen year gap between father and son
He could’ve done better, done right
He didn’t, so I did
No regrets; never regret, or regress
If I didn’t move on, I would be him
Stuck in the past
But I am not him, nothing like him.
Yet I am still here, still alone
Questioning as he did
Sitting on the front stoop
Contemplating the Inevitable.
He stands beside this long black granite wall
broken lines accentuated reflection recalled names
It is here where he realized
that intranquility of redemption, even of prayer's forgiveness,
he do not own it any more than he owned heaven
there being no clearing of one's debts here upon it's mirrored surface.
It is here in chiseled silence that he recalled
just when and where he met himself for the first time
among the scarred remains of the killing-fields
where young men grew old far too quickly,
far from the banana boats skipping upstream the tributaries of the Mekong Delta.
In a rice bowl, horror steamed crop circles of paddy fields jungles tangled
within mind's greatest intrinsic fear
death.
It lay visible near pothered doors
where once stood life's vessels - unbroken, now carnage without vestige
of honor, standing unhinged, doors singed, crippled with every breath unnerved,
reduced now here unspoken to names
only
this is where murder is not reserved
solely for murderers many were faced without honor
within this stone their internment.
As for others, they returned home
invisible
ravaged each night a memory of unhinged doors their un-sutured wounds
opening without knocking entering without leaving unforgotten
fears of cleaving sanctity undeserved
here
where there is no vetted self-reflection, only sweat and the tremor of dream's
recollected and fractured surfaces of soul stilled distilled dying a
thousand times a night each night each day unceremoniously
hell reduced to living in heavenly reproach.
(April 24 2016)
*Not for contest...but post inspired by.
*Unceremoniously, 366 blue plastic capsules containing the birthdays that would be chosen in the first Vietnam draft lottery were drawn on December 1, 1969. There were NO winners. I was one among them. The war had been going on for several years before. A black granite memorial wall was built in Washington D.C. to the veterans of the VIET NAM WAR with the names of the fallen engraved upon and was completed in 1982. Other than this...most are still invisible.
This last day of February two thousand nineteen
Southeastern Montgomery County, Pennsylvania
unlikely to be inundated with heavy snowy scene
methinks buds will burst early issuing royal green
carpeting landscape, sans expert architects queen
"Mother Nature" commences to baptize spilling
purity, sans cerulean bajillion year celestial tureen
while refulgent solar beams massage tender shoots
thawing frozen earth, where frigid cold icy sheen
hermetically sealed, asper horizontal frozen wall,
when skaters waltzed stealing lovers kisses unseen
soon melted pools of water all a buzz with feeding
Gabriel trumpeting "NON FAKE" arrival herculean
powers unleashed since time immemorial worship,
and/or sacrifices made to deities of webbed skein
viz, animal and/or plant wide world rejoicing when
harvest yielded cornucopia primitive, yet overkeen
superstitious scattered bands of hominids plentitude
linkedin to sugar daddy's favorite colored jellybean
benediction rituals also included pagan dispensing
prayers believing obeisance necessitated cyclopean
appeasement lest death and destruction would rain
purple pearl drop monsoon, traced to angry spirits
subsequently drowning helpless prehistoric hygiene
cleansed *****sapiens ancestors possessing gene
and chromosomes latent within dormant flora lean
fauna coming alive with the scent of fragrant bouquet
while the hills burst with creativity healthy panacean
liberating tentative "cabin fever" wrought by polar
vortex, the spell of warm weather, a respite sunscreen
applied to ward off deadly ultraviolet solar radiations
something in magnitude bajillion extinctions obscene
spate of lost species as seasons greetings witness hot
untenable global warming affecting every calm serene
nook and cranny incumbent to relish approximately
twelve weeks of cold temperatures sipping my ovaltine
recollected from boyhood, when snowfall covered roofs
tops inconveniencing Rudolph, and his deer friends a teen
nee bit, and school cancellation required state requirement
resulting summer vacation shelving reading Pygmalion
for Shaw!
the bittersweet silent story of my life age
fifty and nine automatically rebroadcast
in indelible (yet never washed out) beige
indistinguishably linkedin, when counting
the last three of seventy somber orbitz,
signify torturous custom made cage
whose darkening shades of gray
housed a weakened Harriet Harris,
an ashen corpse lay
no doubt a grown changeling dust play
a cruel trick, and soul of me mum didst slay,
so...tis with great difficulty aye write this poem today
cathartic to brush off self denunciation,
an albatross that dust way
heavily incriminating, ostracizing this mind of mine,
recurring every year comb May fourth a line
codifying, delineating, earmarking,
and doth likened
to elementary school Boyer
as in Henry Kline
no less painful reflection plus unavoidable,
hence this middle aged man lets feelings incline
toward self expression this anniversary
revisiting re: deign
upon memorializing general up beat
defiance at death of thine late mother,
where disease rabidly did eat
ting her til she expired,
this singular married heir
set himself a writing fete
wordlessly mouths never expressed greet
unbeknownst reeders gleaning my sentiments heat
ting recollected adieu bid prior,
whence she angrily wanted to meet
that accursed nemesis
against healthiness and repeat
cherished apothegm,
that existence offers no second act
as she relinquished slipping tenuous weak bract
leave ving ever fainter grip upon cracked
pommel of mortality, an immutable fact
thence black knight denounced, pounced, hijacked
trounced unannounced, vanquished, lacked
motive to rival nixed, extinguished sputtering pact
fast fading joie de vivre unspoken,
where death rattle racked
personal def tone accentuation tracked
subsequent self castigation,
excoriation nearly whacked
me to Timbuktu rebuking extolling bless
sing experienced from
this sole son for thirteen years, aye confess
when the inimitable Harriet Harris
To my dearest dear…
Waited! Waited! And Waited!
Long-time yet no reply
How are you? Where are you?
Since November you didn’t called back.
Writing for you once again
Just with that hope you will answer me back.
All these days here without you
Seemed so far and so alone,
I just retrieved those memorable days
Those days of unitedly all agone.
I just retrieved those happy days
Long back yet so clear,
I just retrieved those academic days
My friend! Day by day we became closer.
I recollected those blended moments
Spring with smiles and cheers,
I thumped my heart for you
When you shared me with your tears.
Your endured sob life
Bespoken for return your gleeful time,
Your eyes made me clear
Mewling for a friend whom you can rely forever.
I was always there and I will be there
Even if I die my flirted jokes will make you happier.
I will leave for you all that you need
Even if you forget me, I promise you
I will still win a corner of your mind.
I painted those comely sketches
Colored with rainbow shades,
An outing at the multiplex
Escaped closely an eye of your fellow’s suspiciousness.
I played those Soft verses
Rhymed by joyful airs,
Acquainted by a boozy night
I heard your voice, your confined tears.
You fell upon and I was so ashamed
Where I promised you once
As long as I live, I’ll not let you dispirited.
Since then till November
Time elapsed and I haven’t seen you thereafter,
How are you? Where are you?
I will be waiting for your answer.
My Friend! Don’t ever think that am no-where
Even if you avoid me for any reason
Always think of those days we spend together.
I promise you I will be there for you
Forever and ever…
Even though how much I miss you.
It’s time for me to end it here
Otherwise this letter will bleed with tears.
Just before I stop….
I would like to say you goodbye
All those memories that you gave me
Could you write me when you reply?
With love…from your longed amigo.
[please note: this poem is dedicated to one of my closest friend Avani Khandelwal]
Awakening From Pleasant Dreams...
No matter scant details recalled upon
arising from slumber, this even though
submerged into deep unconscious - (as
ifmine being plunged bajillion miles
subterranean catacombs) thoroughly
saturated with inaccessible facets of my
person then Poof – like a magic dragon!
Every last detail vanishes without a trace,
whence each eyelid slowly opens (never
jarred out sleep) - only my own Circadian
clock determines when (no idea how) body
electric (temporary property of mortal
christened Matthew Scott Harris) returns
yours truly to state of consciousness, or
thee closest approximation thereof, where
by sense and sense and sensibility minus
pride and prejudice immediately severed,
no longer linked tin (analogous to Internet
Error Code 404 - page not found) finds me
straining with might of Hercules - all in vain,
yet lingering drowsiness (torpor still main
training strong toehold) dissipates ever so
slowly, thus rendering ability impossible to
cogitate - quite helpful when reading or write
ting, and when cerebral clarity becomes
manifest...nary a whisper recollected, when
mean drama exploded within pitted cranial
fifty plus shades of gray matter parameters
suddenly vibrant rattletrap quiescence, a
proxy armistice snatching at lightspeed any
recollection rendering sleepyhead (non talking)
befuddled, confused, dazed... numbskull pre
vented (even with proper clearance) access to
top secrete, potential mutinous, juicy fruit
confidential data, which necessitates one
bushy eyed and bright tailed primate to scratch
his noggin with futility although well rested
fitful without ways nor means to dredge up
sunken treasures briefly uncovered during
stretch of time hide nave hoar did blink, none
zee less..., an enjoyable shuteye state of being -
allowing, enabling, and providing short lived
respite bearing down as if trying to shrug off atlas!
Let me……….Let me … Let me in….. Let me in,
I want you, I miss you…… Mum!
Let me... Let me... Let me... Mum Lead me!
As something inside me is burning,
Let me be, let me! Be me,
Face of Stella get in and be with me!
I want you tell me everything is gona be okay,
Now let me write the spectrum between death and life of my mother,
I’m clement about my mum even when deceased and vanished.
I always heed to her spirits even when I know it’s a myth.
Mum without you, no me, no words, I would have transcribed,
Nothing is synonymous to you, mother
Because the love I feel for you is eternal.
I’m one lucky guy, my mum is in heaven, I, am still in haven.
There’re flashes I remember,
I remember talking to my mum when I’m a sleep,
And then, when dawn ruptured, indeed I recollected everything she had told me,
She told me, “When you start from nadir, you can glimpse zenith.”
My mum holds my hand and fills the gaps in between my fingers, when no one else can,
Gad dam it, that was just a hallucination but I fondle it.
My mother played her position,
I’m playing my cards and My numbers are bingo!
I perceive and heed to her voice every nightfall,
My mum whispers to my ears saying, “Cling on to ecstasy my son.” I’m with you.
She may be gone,
But her soul is wiggling with God, mine mingles with hers!
Let me accolade my mum,
Even when evil always wheels from North to south, my aegis is my mum,
My mum is my afflatus in my acreage.
My mum left me callow,
She vanished during my juvenile stint,
But I’m pursuing and so far opened new leaflets and lucrative I am now,
The canons suggest that the dead are not dead,
They just switched to the phantom zone,
So her soul is mythical in my presence,
But In the back of my mind, my mum is animate.
Face of Stella is me.
Mother, these are my words to you.
In loving memory of my Queen Mother #Stella
©Bryan De poet
©Tsi
Piece Left and Ignored
A beach ball stuck in rafters of a pool
resting in same position since last seven years,
as I visit the pool off and on.
The ball might be filled with air
breathed by its owner,
retaining remnants of his personal attachment,
Yet neither recognised nor reminded.
I wander place to place
and wonder, where I might have forgotten
a piece of mine, but solely ignored,
yet could be honoured!
My one -time presence might have left
a significant part representing me.
But I never recollected nor visited that spot.
I would like to inquire ,
whether I left any portion related to me,
unnoticed but detected by someone
who ever valued that !
I hope , someday I will encounter and interact
a long lost friend once important in my life,
still preserving special memories
associated with a trifling item.
I might tie the scattered beads
to make a necklace to shine reflecting
my one-time entity.
Miraculously that may link me to bygone days
to reminisce as worth not trivial.
Part of chapters once left on negligence
be reassembled, rearranged
to present my one- time existence on reality.