"commemoration" poems
O Thou to whom the musical white spring
offers her lily inextinguishable,
taught by thy tremulous grace bravely to fling
Implacable death’s mysteriously sable
rob from her redolent shoulders,
Thou from whose
feet reincarnate song suddenly leaping
flameflung,mounts,inimitably to lose
herself where the wet stars softly are keeping
their exquisite dreams—O Love! upon thy dim
shrine of intangible commemoration,
(from whose faint close as some grave languorous hymn
pledge to illimitable dissipation
unhurried clouds of incense fleetly roll)
i spill my bright incalculable soul.
7.1k
Aware the day was approaching, Little tugs reminding how Quickly time passes. And the knocks on the doors of his heart, opening ---One at a Time ! ! To reveal memories in Full Color of each eventful day, Clearly showing "ALL the Extra joys that encircled him, but never took the opportunity to be a Full Participant ! ! *ANNIVERSARY DAY *was presented , as if on a Silver Platter. Engraved with "All those things *Missed because of Prior committals . A stack of Priority signs, which offered choices and options, he " F A I L E D " to turn over and read the instructions. That, simply said "Choose carefully, because as time goes by,. You may overlook the options. AND, as more time goes by, Routines and Habits begin to replace the Presentations from the Silver Platter. MAN'S WEAKNESS, was the next sign offered up to him, NOT the weakness of knees, but thinking that empathy was understood, the reality was not the extending of empathy, but rather, to be a Part of that which is "GOING ON NOW" or that which was "GOING ON THEN ! ! ANNIVERSARY, carries with it the meaning of Commemoration. Which is a "CELEBRATION of our MEMORIES **. BUT, by leaving out a sharing of this event, it Dampens. This "Celebration" should be Shared , in a Loving, devoted, caring, joyful, HEARTS Goal as "ONE". On this Anniversary,,he Thanks GOD for lighting the pathways of understanding. This Anniversary he "Celebrates" with her with a humbled, clearer appreciation, and with a "REFRESHING LOVE". As he writes this on the Tablets of his heart, "SHE" is his " ANNIVERSARY " .
Jun 20, 2012
Jun 20, 2012 at 7:46 AM UTC
During moments I yearned for forests grown for me alone,
Caressing them in a dream,
I could sense the throbbing of the heart
Hidden beneath my ribs to bless my journey.
Summoning me with a pulse that he recognizes in me.
I heard the noise of abandoned smoke from a moment of care
Join with me,
Forcefully traversing desires to the hidden-most one.
My spirit swung toward him,
Creating a tingling
On lips that devour breaths alive.
I felt ashamed,
But the eye,
In moments—I scarcely know what to call them—that took me on another route
Toward the television, saw warplanes . . . spray death on them.
At that moment,
The fire of machine guns raked all the bodies,
And another fire raked my body when I trained my eye on him
Hesitantly inclining his head
Toward a shoulder unaccustomed to the secret of the stars of war
Or to insomnia.
Oh . . . . I leaned on it!
And when he caressed a dumbfounded person
I felt his fingers like coiling embers inside me.
Bashfulness seized the excuse this caress gave . . . and vanished,
Eliminating distance till the two of us were one.
And the eye—he moaned: May love not forgive her the eye—repeated another evasion
Toward a drizzle of men flung about in the air by just the rustling of a pilot penetrating a building
To fall on screens as the debris of breaking news.
But his breaths . . . shattering the still down of the cheek,
And turning their picture into mist as
Eddies of the screen’s corpses . . . varieties of death that they brought them.
The spirit that became a body,
The body that was sold for the sake of a touch,
The eye that was concealed in his image
And that approached the firebrand of conflagrations.
Everyone drawing close to everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone,
Everyone.
But the thunder of their machine guns splintered them:
Corpses piled on corpses,
I mean on me,
The eyes of those in it were extinguished.
They slept in a trench of silence.
My eyes’ lids parted in a wakefulness obsessed with them.
I rose … and embraced the chill
That the screens brought me in commemoration of Stalingrad.
………………………………
Translated by William Hutchins
Apr 6, 2016
Apr 6, 2016 at 10:38 PM UTC
(Commemoration of Earth-Day, 22nd-04-09)
Earth hath
Been Weeping!
Nature lacerated & pleading?
Extinct species beseeching;
Antarctica mercilessly melting,
Noxious gaseous emissions heating.
Have you ever wondered?
“Of the Greek mythology!”
women warriors of Scythia astray burned off the
Right ***** to try
to habituate the bow and arrow in sly,
arsenals of terror abound harsh shear ploy!
Hitherto, the atrocious force upon Nature ne'er stops.
Wherefore-now the lost leaf of the conifers?
Searching for the nearest route to the Savannah Plains,
Waiting pro the long anticipated cascades of the tropical rains. Babylon wrests & clinches intimately thy adored hanging gardens that black slaves tend no more hasten. Euphrates in the Persian Gulf wanders uncertain; Everest looks down in pitiful scorn…
As it wobbly looses its molecular activity in pain.
Humanity squirms in an enamored Trance
to heave a foundation Of conscious Purpose
That Earth day waits Upon us
To elucidate a divine Hypothesis.
~~/|\~~
Namaste'
~~\|/~~
Sep 17, 2009
Sep 17, 2009 at 4:49 AM UTC
~for you~
me you and this here
writ somewhat clothed
pretty **** imaginative
words, six-pack abs,
sheathed in black lace thigh highs,
a verbal escapade to reality
lick the screen
dare...
lick yourself,
dare...
only fair,
words so fluid, so sensual,
when shared...
best, stupendous
commemorative
come to my bed,
come inside my tablet
thrive on pleasured kisses,
exchange of the essentials
bean~genes of threeselfs blended
what glory glorious
that moment,
can relive it,
with eyes contacted ..
where to here now hereafter,
when to here, poem return come once more
knowing we have jointed,
acknowledging the creation of a
co-memorizing-tionary diction,
recycling this one poem,
our commemoration coin
that only goes up in value
I love you...
Jan 17, 2015
Jan 17, 2015 at 9:44 AM UTC
I am a dreamer, a silent dreamer
Wishing that might be mine,
Exaltation, my ultimate passion
A sweet revenge in style.
Joshed, provoked, condemned, riled
A series of mad disaster,
Incited anger had driven me wild
An atrocious quill's my defender.
Keep the wicked flame enkindled for me
Never let it suddenly die,
'Cause by the time you eye on it directly
You'll be the one to poorly say bye!
I'm born to delude through my own hostile ways
But not to my own defeat,
Here's comes the night to stealthily replace
Would you like to let go and retreat?
I know you can't bear my insolence
'Cause you don't understand my fears,
And if for you it makes no sense
Well, sorry but you bring me no tears.
I've learned all these from my miserable past
But these ain't worth my commemoration,
For all those things will not ever last
So just look out for my sly deception.
Feb 10, 2013
Feb 10, 2013 at 3:29 AM UTC
When first your glory shone upon my face
My body kindled to a mighty flame,
And burnt you yielding in my hot embrace
Until you swooned to love, breathing my name.
And wonder came and filled our night of sleep,
Like a new comet crimsoning the sky;
And stillness like the stillness of the deep
Suspended lay as an unuttered sigh.
I never again shall feel your warm heart flushed,
Panting with passion, naked unto mine,
Until the throbbing world around is hushed
To quiet worship at our scented shrine.
Nor will your glory seek my swarthy face,
To kindle and to change my jaded frame
Into a miracle of godlike grace,
Transfigured, bathed in your immortal flame.
1.5k
Inspired by Tonya Riddle,
Wife, Mother, Sister,
Nurse, Poet, Gardener,
and a
friend
<>
The littlest things you all say, the lightly remarked,
or weighty beloved ones, 100% guarantee a smile
or a tear, no difference, but all press me to grab
the nearest papyrus, to ink that notion, an
untimely timely near midnight revelation,
requiring a scribing to permanent-seal that moment’s
custom potion, via magnification.
It ain’t easy, kinda of reverse curse from
the many wintry months of the ‘tion’s absence:
motivation, inspiration, perspiration go
on a round-the-world cruise and when
they don’t invite you along, in-truth,
semi-secretly, poetry is kinda de-relevationed (less urgent)
For I have seen a picture, a memorial garden bounteous,
Jordan’s Garden,
so late night, kind words exchanged in reciprocation,
as we both stagger gently into sleep and a new
twenty-four, and here, and I hear, the realization
thoughts inescapable, demanding: creation, visitation,
& ****** a instantion ripening and
Fruition.
A lovely word this one, for it’s strawberry season
on the north fork of the isle, accompanied by
imported Carolina peaches,
and when the roadside farm stands offer them for
sale, included is a a couple of paper towel slices,
for the fruition juices runneth over
(stain stick not included)
So just before midnight, the electrons and (t)ions inform
that tonight, a calming of words, revelations of affection,
salve the grieving heart that runneth over
which surely was my intention,
as well as a celebration of commemoration, and in
calming you friend, my eyes wet, not realizing, that
I’ve written a smile upon my lips, a precursoration to a
rarity, a well and good night’s sleepy and hallowed
restoration.
7:47 AM Mon Jun 26
Jun 26, 2023
Jun 26, 2023 at 5:52 PM UTC
I became stunned by the roaring cheers from the townsmen.
The men and women herded together like cattle for this long-awaited celebration.
Countless faces known and unknown encircled me.
I had finally received my much-needed recognition.
I had become a phenomenon whose story would be passed on from generation to generation throughout the entire nation.
I noticed my cheeks had become soggy, stained with a salty residue.
At last I was someone, someone who attracted immeasurable admiration.
I eagerly looked around for my family; I wanted them to join me and take part in something so great, but they were not present.
This slightly saddened me, but it was rather short-lived seeing as how there were multitudes of attendees there to honor me.
I suddenly became distracted by the beauty of a young woman who possessed emerald eyes, red locks, and tiny-dotted freckles.
She came forth and put daisies before me and then quickly disappeared into the boisterous mob.
I called out to the woman, not knowing her name.
I wanted to run after her but I could not move.
I rapidly became frantic.
I was screaming, begging, and pleading, but no one bothered to help me.
They all just stood there staring at me; I felt pathetic.
Then there was a tall, broad man - a giant to be exact - who stood towering over me.
I noticed his freshly-polished, black boots were stained with crimson that trickled down, staining the ground.
His shadow blocked the sun and my view.
I looked up at him.
He started to slowly arch his back and descend towards my face.
I recognized him…
We recently had a brief encounter with one another.
A peculiar man he was - he just stood in the corner of the stage, staring off into the distance without muttering a single word. He was motionless, almost catatonic-like. He didn’t even have the gall to face me during my commemoration.
He was clearly an insecure and paranoid fellow.
He hid under his blackened hood and guarded himself with a glistening, silver
axe.
Apr 6, 2013
Apr 6, 2013 at 3:57 PM UTC
Gazing above heads of my brothers standing in commemoration,
I watch as the sky becomes red, fluttering with poppy leaves.
Silence is deafening as memory escapes the deathly bounds,
There are men and women to be remembered this day of days.
Wind swept watery eyes cling stare into the daylight blackness,
Numb hearts and heavy breaths couple those solemn senses.
Pray. And pray again, for wounded heroes and the mortally lost,
Whose families torn comfort shall not repair to this great despair.
For they, they are deserving.
Jan 18, 2014
Jan 18, 2014 at 8:50 PM UTC
An overall’d uncle stabbed over homemade champagne drifts around the bend.
A commemoration quilt and the Adamsville population shifts around the bend.
There’s an old hymn torn out of Martha’s hymnal, an elegy, a black dress.
“These details seem important,” Preacher says in European swifts around the bend.
The rains come and wash away the things we bury, bodies and toy cars.
Lowlands become lakes and a lone, malaise blackbird lifts around the bend.
A boy, all elbows and knees, in corduroy everything, in the thick of it,
drives a truck with no wipers, no license, the stick shifts around the bend.
The homes with electric lose electric, and the newspaper floats off porch.
No news today, nor tomorrow these are philanthropic gifts around the bend.
Jan 9, 2015
Jan 9, 2015 at 12:49 PM UTC
The bagpipes blast through the open window
a marching band
a commemoration of The Battle Of Jutland
up the road, a stones throw,
the military cemetery full of dead young men.
Remembered now in solemn hearts and minds
- the mindlessness of war, the breaking of hearts
when the bagpipes stop piping, the silence.
May 31, 2016
May 31, 2016 at 8:34 AM UTC
The fallow flags lull in a languid sway at half-staff
flaccid reminders for those who quickly forget
limp in the wind as faint as that day
commemoration of anniversaries' memorization's
plaintive anguished lamentations jeering at
the stuffy affected and tired testimonials
torpid, dense and listless as the President's third rehearsed
recited repeated languorous speech of the day
Apr 27, 2013
Apr 27, 2013 at 9:06 PM UTC
all my poems
have become people.
i've tried the imagery, the
rhyme, the stanza,
the verse.
but i think i'm cursed.
sometimes it's him,
or her,
or them.
sometimes when i start
a line
it twists into a familiar shape
and the poem is a polaroid
slowly appearing.
i've collected people
and things
and ideas
and they all weave together
like a novel.
more and more these poems
seem like snapshots,
or a failed attempt
to capture
all the little things that make
him, her, them
beautiful and real.
maybe i'm on a quest to feel
or on a journey of commemoration,
but the people i've let in
have stolen my pen,
my poem,
my heart,
without an invitation.
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 11:49 PM UTC
when we first came to this land,
blood was shed for our entitlement.
when we first came to this land,
we took the things that were never ours
and trampled its native growth.
when we first came to this land,
we instilled in it a sickness that may never be cured;
we tarnished sacred lands with greed we call virtue,
and when we did so, we stood on the throat of humanity.
there are some people who are doomed to repeat history.
there are some people who will trample native growth,
spread sickness,
and stand on the throats of our people.
with the heavy weight of six centuries upon our shoulders
we stand,
a hobbled nation no longer able to stride,
heads held high,
through this sea of blood without meeting challenge.
with six centuries passed, we commit genocide anew.
it is not the native growth that suffers,
but the very peddlers of greed who are infected
by the sickness of consequence.
but they alone will not suffer.
as we march through this new iteration of history
wearing death masks instead of cloth,
thousands of innocents lose their lives
in a battle of which they were never a part.
the single day that we dedicate to gratitude,
the one day of the year some remember
to give thanks in between passing heavy dishes,
is not a commemoration of discovery.
it is a commemoration of consequence and greed.
and six centuries later,
it is our own people who we will massacre with the cry of freedom.
Nov 19, 2020
Nov 19, 2020 at 8:52 PM UTC
The setting sun shone through the trees,
The trees without the guards.
Where freedom's here now, left behind her moments of long passed regret.
May the sun above the death camp, fall but never ever set.
In the minds of the now living and in the future, let freedom always reign.
Lest the world of true humanity, never e're forget.
(C) LIVVI
Jan 27, 2015
Jan 27, 2015 at 2:03 PM UTC
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With agony, thou cry, thou scream and thou sleep
Staggering over time, the extensions of gore
A morph possessed over the flags: cloistered around throat
An uttering of serene eons, of atrophy and of thaw;
A morass of hegemony, of identity and war
Withered from bullets,drained over the ground
A knock on the coffin of tommorrow and the past
A chronology misplaced and outdone
And a synapse of presence smothered with the breath of dust
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With hope, thou bawl, thou shout, thou sleep
Chaotic commemoration ruptures over the streets
Splatters around an arcane, segregated country
Under the mud of enigma lies the rotten leaves of history
Away the tomorrow leans, restless and unknowingly
For it lies awake with the screams of a rifle, the screeching audibilty of ghostly mutterings, the camaraderie caught on flesh, between the teeth of craved monarchy
For the tomorrow lies awake near the history.
For the past suffocates the vivacity
Yclept the peace, yclept the tranquility!
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With anger, thou yelp, thou break, thou sleep
A hymn of sigh deafens the petrifying serenity
A sigh outraged with the murmur of life
Seismic ephemerality tears the ground apart
Barges in, the present, whispers a cry
The tomorrow lies still over the chunks of calamity
Lulled to sleep with the kiss of presence,
With the screams of a distant enmity:
The burial of time that has been cloistered around the anonymity
The burial of the ceased, the past, as a euphemism
The burial of the existence, the present, as a mayhem
The burial of the undone, the tomorrow, with a malediction
All three in the same grave, punching the timeless, imminent reality they delineated
Which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
With silence, thou shatter, thou question, thou sleep
Down the ground quaffs the time
Of a city that no longer breathes
Out inundates the prayers of a dilemma
For a country is to cleave
Fidelity over a continuum, with faded prayers, shares a discourse
Befuddled with an antinomy, it asks itself, how an epitaph shall be wrought?
Down the ground swallows the confusion
Of a city that no longer cries
Now, which ground shall thine eternity crawl beneath?
To be overwhelmed by a plenitude of halves
In the name of peace, in the name of life!
Which ground shall I die beneath?
To lie awake with an eternal sleep
I no longer whisper over the divided streets
Not to awaken the past, not to revive the wounds and faded hymns
I breathe in the dust, devouring the ceased
For a divided city is to be kissed
Down I no longer hold an impulse to scream:
A gush of presence that arises a breeze
That of which billowing up the grave
Releasing a future for a road ahead
With hope, I bawl, I defy, I beg
Yclept the peace, in the name of solidarity!
Sep 15, 2017
Sep 15, 2017 at 5:28 AM UTC
Looking into you're eyes
Is like squinting into the sun
As I rip out the pages
To my most truthful memoir
So I never really existed at all
And now I sit
Replacing the pages
With memories
Yet to come
And never to come
Until we are all left
Confused and belittled
Surrounded by the philistine artists
Who have become
Chauvinists to real talent
Tightening nooses
Around our feeble throats
So we don't leave as they planned
Blinded
We still manage to see
More than the others do
Not as a result of our superior vision
As a result of their ignorance
This rogue world
Has commenced
It's crumbling
Like the memoir I fabricated
Instead now burning to become ashes
To be lost
To one day be found
But never recognized
For how could one ever
Recognize ashes
To be a commemoration
Of the forgotten truths
We think about using
The last bit of intelligence
They haven't taken from us
Along with our passionate indignation
At a futile attempt
To kick out the chairs
Still supporting us
From underneath
For then the war would be over
But not won
And we see
A cease fire is not in question
But the sky is still blue
So ask yourself this
What is it we are fighting for?
Sanity?
Because that is still
In our possession
But that is what they want us to believe
So look at that blue sky
As your eyes burn from the sun
And remember
How very complex
Your existence has become
I wonder
If we can ever call this
An existence anymore.
Dec 13, 2013
Dec 13, 2013 at 11:18 PM UTC
It’s just another world without you—
Empty as the outside of Time.
It’s now but another hollow street
When you disappeared into your serene retreat.
This galaxy of elegy and commemoration,
These yesteryear’s cheers of annual celebration,
How can they keep rolling,
How can I keep going, independent of your forgoing?
These voices have no weight and these stories have no soul
Your conversations, your smiles, were all I cared to know
And now, as good as any gravestone
your faceless face now hangs alone—
Framed in my heart for all to see
I love you: Please come back to me.
Oct 10, 2013
Oct 10, 2013 at 9:30 PM UTC
"In commemoration of this great inspiration... 50% off of entire shop! Hurry before store closes!"
sigh
*because a consumer market and materialism are surely the best way to
remember and celebrate a man who strove for the best in humanity.*
Jan 19, 2015
Jan 19, 2015 at 8:06 PM UTC
Your words fill the pages of my holy book.
I soak them in with blessed praise.
I will take communion from the longing in your eyes,
Nourish and rejoice in my abundance of you.
Enter your heart and treat it as my temple.
Respect with silence the miracles you bring me.
Baptized in your showering adoration.
Washed clean of my heart’s past torments.
I will present you the sacrifice of unbridled passion
And with abandon, trust in your embrace.
Hymns are your breaths between kisses
And these sheets, the alter for our love.
We will rest together until our last days,
In commemoration of the religion we have made.
© AlyssaStarnes
Sep 12, 2011
Sep 12, 2011 at 2:46 AM UTC
on February 18,1688 the germans bravely protested against the condition of slavery a monument still stands to this day in commemoration of the landing of the german colonists and earlier on the monument's other side on October 1683 these same fearless colonists caused a rumble within that place for they strongly believed inside their hearts that all men were created equal and each deserved to be free.and i'm sure that with their own eyes they saw the ensnaring chains of slavery torn apart and quickly fade .the steady rain of torment ceased to fall anymore on black limbs .freedom's bright light pierced the darkness for the humble whose hearts with silent prayers sent up to HIM than freedom spread through out the land.but its mighty voice would not have been heard and known without helping german hands.
Sep 27, 2013
Sep 27, 2013 at 10:11 PM UTC
I burned my eyes
In commemoration of the fire
Fire that was coming
From your mouth.
Like the Samurai swords
Words are sharpened
On the skin of a woman
Penetrates the blood
Irrigated dream
-Drips through memory.
Mar 23, 2013
Mar 23, 2013 at 5:52 PM UTC