Long Rememberance Poems
Long Rememberance Poems. Below are the most popular long Rememberance by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Rememberance poems by poem length and keyword.
To honor a father whose cold love froze
all the tears that can't easily wash away his memory
from bitter thoughts is unfair. In this sea of deep pain, where my lost ship
without a captain crashed against the steep cliffs ended a dangerous journey...
when courage fed a hope in a young heart seeking adventures in remote worlds;
nothing made him proud in remembering his tyranny that destroyed the true ideals.
There should be no rememberance for the one
who took away all the words of affection and replaced
them with a longing that was cut short by the impossibility of being loved
like other kids who grew up without strides and lived their beautiful youth in freedom.
To honor a father is to cherish the good things he has done,
but mine is that memory of grief: a tombstone without flowers,
where not even a lark stops and sing his song to attest he was worthy
of praise; I'd be condemned if I showed a feeling of truthfulness besides
my forgiveness and judging him for his deeds is inflicting upon him a second death.
Cold is the tittering of befitted feet
Cold is the meagre meanders of falling fractals
Cold is the twinge of bitter blues upon reeling retreats
Cold is the roiling retch of frostbitten flesh
Cold is the weary wench of an incomplete belch
Cold is the hoarded heath upon a ridiculed roof
Cold is the eerie ebb of a trepid twitch
Cold is the boyish bodice of meaningless man
Cold is the bane of bountiful bone held of chain to vein
Cold is the foiled figment of blustered breathes
Cold is the iridescent icicle of purified pain
Cold is the poignant punch of a sickened stench
Cold is the frivolous fawn of bludgeoned brain
Cold is the enticing ice of roiling rest
Cold is the belted buoyancy of a famished feign
Cold is the writhing wail of fraught forgiveness
Cold is the desolate depth of ailed eyes
Cold is the stringent stain of blotted blood
Cold is the rouged rememberance of pelting prise
Cold is the gaudy gulp of satin salvation
Cold is the harrowing hurry of soiling snow
Cold is the darkening winterous warmth of comforted coverage
Cold is the heeled horn of the sinner's wretched woe
And wretched be the cold of mutilated body, strapped to snow, falling in tow.
And cold be the sorrows of selfish self.
I first marked hours, and then the days
And soon I marked months too
The years, they passed on one by one
From time when I lost you
Today marks 18 years and still
I long to see your smile
A mother, whether sick or well
Makes life seem more worthwhile
I marked the years before you died
With pain, and tears and fear
For as I child I knew back then
That death was always near
I marked each labored breath you took
I marked the times you cried
I marked the words you tried to speak
I marked the times you sighed
I marked the times you tried to sing
And how you mourned the loss
Of all that MS took away
It was to be your cross
I marked the day you fell asleep
Rememberance is now
I write these words for I must make
You come to life somehow
In dreams at night I see you still
And though the times are few
It brings a solace to my heart
To be in dreams with you
I sigh and hold my vigil still
But I am not alone
For Jesus also marks this day
To Him its time was known
He marks with love your resting place
He marks the day and hour
When he will come, the Prince of Peace
With resurrection power
He’ll raise you with His might voice
He’ll call your name: “Arise!”
And then I’ll hold you close to me
As we meet in the skies
And so I mark each passing day
The weeks, the months the years
Until I see you once again
And we cry happy tears.
Eileen Manassian
March 19, 2018
(My mother passed away on March 19, 2000 from MS. She was a woman of faith, character, and integrity. I grew up having to see her become gradually incapacitated due to the illness. She once looked at me and said, "You're scared I'm going to die, aren't you?" My answer....tears, and we both cried. I can never be the kind of woman she was. She needs to be remembered.)
I DON'T KNOW
IT'S HARD FOR ME TO SAY
ONE DAY WE WERE
TALKING ABOUT THIS AND THAT
I STARTED SEEING THINGS HER WAY
GUESS I GAVE IN
WE STARTED BEING FREINDS
TOOK OUR TIME
THAT'S WHEN OUR LOVE BEGAN
WE STARTED TALKING ABOUT
CALENDERS AND KEEPING
TRACK OF THINGS
I FOUND HER TO BE SOMEONE
YOU COULD LOVE
THAT'S WHEN EVERYTHING CHANGED
FOUND MY EVERYTHANG
REMEMBER THE DAY THINGS CHANGED
WE STOPPED ACTING STRANGE
THAT'S WHEN EVERYTHING CHANGED
GOT IN LINE
TOOK MY TURN
THEY SAID I WAS CRAZY
A LESSON LEARNED
WHEN THEY ALL FELL OFF
I STAYED IN
SHE STARTED APPRECATING ME
AND WE BECAME FREINDS
DAY BY DAY
WE STUCK TO IT
MADE TIME FOR US
HELD ON TO IT
THEN ONE DAY
WE SET A DATE
INVITED ALL
COME ALL DON'T BE LATE
theres a little story in these isolation times the instruction is you can go out once excersive, so i went up the canal church minshull by the marina, no one about so a great spot and beautiful views to boot, well about 3/4 mile down the towpath there are some benchs and a tree and on the tree someone as tied a little red flower . this inspired the below .
Were you made by tiny hands
or was it old weathered hands.
Were you hung in rememberance
of loved ones passed away.
Were you a token of lost love.
You flowered in the deepest winter
raised a smile on a dark day.
all praise The knitted Flower Tree.
Love tied to a tree for all to see
a place to return to when times are hard.
Somewhere wishes can be left
and falling tears will only help it grow
please tell me where the knitted flower tree grows.
in your heart my friend, your heart.
One hundred years ago in 1921
The 15th of May a new charity begun
Amalgamating charities of which there were 4
The Royal British Legion set up to aid those from the great war.
Earl Haig and Tom Lister were the founders.
Supporting those back from Flanders
1.75 million of those that returned
Had some form of disability from amputee or minds totally burned
Then there were those wives, widows daughter's and sons.
Who's Husbands, Fathers lives had succumbed
There lives taken by the enemy
The RBL emblem became the Flanders poppy
The poppy is the symbol of Rememberance
For the sacrifice of life, so peace had a chance
Every conflict since the great war
More recentely Afghanistan, Iraq, some more obscure
Korea, Malaya, Oman and The Falklands
Servicemen and women put lives in others hands
So comemerate their passing on Armistice day
11th November sit quietly and pray
Without these sacrifices in all these wars
The world would have broken that's for sure
So every year stand still and reflect
Those that died deserve your respect
Those that survived may be stood in your town
Looking sorrowful and feeling down
The best thing you can do is show your support
Words from Brigadier Marriot " Do as you ought"
Bow your head when you hear that bugle play
Stand still and watch those on parade this Rememberance Day
Someone in your family`s history
Will have been effected by a catastrophe
Join in be proud of your countries past
Hopefully all these sacrifices are finished at last
But if not, and more wars happen
Support those military men and women
The have no choice whether to stay or go
Orders are followed, allegiance they show
For Queen and country they will fight
For your freedom and human right.
Remember them is all I say.
For your Tommorow they gave their today
Pulled one perfect day from the heart of summer,
Went with my wife, the kids, a friend
Down to cruise the monuments
To study those menhirs we set for marking passage
Into collective memory.
We ascended the virile spire
Erected in honor of our ponytailed First Elect,
The children pleased to gaze out on a toy city below us.
We descended and walked down the long flat mirror of water
To where Lincoln, strong and sad in bronze
Sits forever troubled by his sundered nation
In his cool, dark, echoing vault.
Then lunch, and a visit to the commemoration of our most recent sorrow;
We cross over and walk the Wall.
Row on row,
Stark white upon shining black
The rollcall of the dead processes by.
It's crowded today, but no one speaks
The silence here is a crashing thing that falls all around us
As we walk and search
Some for names, some for answers,
Some for both, or neither
Ourselves for I know not what.
And in the black
Flowing past the names, and names, and names
This perfect day hangs captured in its light:
Cotton clouds on blinding blue
Grass greener than new money
The faces of children, dogs
And a parade of young couples -
It all hangs there, flowing over the terrible list,
Reminding all how they should be here too,
Those not-so-long-ago lost.
But then, in a sense, they are here
And that's why the silence crashes so.
58,000 empty chairs are here.
58,000 phantoms,
The Bad Conscience of a good nation.
58,000 Not-To-Bes are here:
Not-To-Be husbands, fathers, family, friends
Not-To-Be Victories and Not-To-Be Dreams
58,000 horrors of Loss.
In the midst of these shuddering reveries
My blissfully distracted 7 year-old son
Plucks a small, perfect feather off the lawn,
As black and glossy as the wall itself,
And carries it idly along.
Once out, we stop to talk with one of the Fallen's many advocates,
A great Viking of a man who notices the feather
Who says right away,
"Ah, a raven's feather. Odin's birds, who bring him Wisdom and Rememberance."
I saved the feather, knowing what I do of ravens:
Those sombre, croaking birds,
First on the field after battle
I stroked its silky black and wished
Odin's birds would visit the common folk more often
And croak to us of Remembrance, and Wisdom.
Where once the mighty timid
Flanders soldier shook
Bathed in foriegn mud underfoot
All but one and two a man
Hard fought and pressed with bayonets clenched in hand abreast
expedient beating pumping chest
Side by side shoulder deep
To breach to cross go over top
To run and face a hail of rapid bullets
And fall beside my brethren brother's
called selflessly to arms
For to return name unknown
With all and but medal to hang
and place my life and times upon
Heroic not in death and historic
battles rolled out come
rememberance day for poppy
sales
But rather in the blood of gallant
resplendent regimental fellow
soldiers saved
Who regail the the tales and
uphold the memories and names
of those solent brave
To whom they owe their own
salvation and lives to this day to
To them we say
We kneel
We bow
We must
We shall salute
Lest we forget
Unless forget we lest
The debt of gratitude yet still not paid
Is the price of peace
Is death and war
Before The Leaf Falls
A leaf falls.
Suddenly, stringy mush covers my hands.
You’re carving out joy from an orange circle.
Just like you carved out my brain
Before your face walked away.
A leaf falls.
My speech is burnt.
Pies are fresh from the open fire;
Pumpkin pushes through the air.
Your laughter hates my memory.
A leaf falls.
Warm materials enclose around our souls,
Colors play in front of our eyes.
Trying to distract us from the crash
Coming at us from full speed.
A leaf falls.
This time, it covers me.
I see you above, dispersing into large air.
My screams muffled by the deep red ovals.
A leaf falls.
You are gone.
The once loose sweater pinches me,
Reminding me that my eyes are real.
The hollow grave is crowded
And my recollection of it ever being vacant flew away.
A leaf f a l l s . .
10 Oct 2017 2:12 pm
If chairs could talk what tales they would tell
Of tears of joy and tears of pain from those who cared to sit a spell
Look at your empty chairs
And remember those who have sat there
A spirit of rememberance will slowly fill your mind
You will start to see visions as your heart travels through time
Smiling as you see Aunts, Uncles cousins and brother and siss
Sitting there laughing and drinking coffee as they reminisce
A tear will fall from a well of bitterness
From things that were said in anger and trespass
Never just look at an empty chair
But do look and imagine and see who was there