meaning of life poems

Insight – A Poem by Sravani Singampalli

I once saw an old man
With dimples on his wrinkled cheeks.
He lived alone in a small cottage.
He worked very hard and
Always prepared his own food.
I wondered what made him
Live in solitude?
He used to collect
Dried magnolia leaves and twigs.
One day while passing by his cottage
I saw him painting the autumn trees.
I stopped and asked him
What is so special about the melancholy autumn?
He simply replied, “A new beginning”.
I was inspired and he gave me
A humble smile.

Salvaging Memories – A Poem by Roy Pullam

There was no joy
Ii the dreary morning
The house quiet
Since her burial
I opened the door
The flip of the light
Revealed the infamy
Burglars had invaded
The cherish space
Mother called home
I did an inventory
Dad’s knife
The family Bible
Mother’s favorite dress
All gone
The radio
Once close
To my father’s ear
His source
Of local news
Missing
Dishes, pans and glasses
Taken from the cabinets
William’s Christmas gifts
Purchased in the Orient
Dorothy cried
The pain
Of knowing
The memories
Of a hard childhood
Things with no monetary value
Seized in the sweep
Of valuables
My heart broke
No evidence
Of my childhood
Not one picture remained
All lost
The assault
On my heart complete
We divided
The remaining things
I took a pair
Of my father’s
Bib overalls
His soiled work shirt
From the hamper
The smell
Of his after shave
Still in the fabric
I found my mother’s purse
Under her bed
$2.00 in change
A handkerchief
Smelling of the White Shoulders
Velma bought her
Four Halls cough drops
For the cold
She got each year
I sacrificed other things
Allowing my sisters
To claim
What they wanted
To keep the old
Tired leather purse
Mother wore
Over her shoulder
We took the puny tokens
Left by the felons
Closed the door
And drove away
How miscellaneous
Are the things we treasure
The artifacts
Of a long life

What If – A Poem by Stan Morrison

what if I had had just stayed in new York
what if Abraham dared to eat pork
binary systems only give us either/or
parallel universes offer so much more

what if Columbus just had turned around
what if Newton’s apple didn’t hit the ground
nothing really defies imagination
just consider all the permutations

what if frogs had fur on their back
what if moose never left any tracks
there’re so many possibilities on heaven and earth
from the house of gloom to the house of mirth

What if salmon only swam downstream
what if things weren’t always as they seem
Children should be seen, but not heard
That’s excellent advice for the totally absurd

White Oak – A Poem by Roy Pullam

The country road
Ends at the graveyard
In the shadow
Of a white church
The steeple
Shows
Proof of its age
Peeling skin
Hanging
From the boards
Directly below the cross
Sections of old and new
Burials
Surround the building
Its expanded residency
Greater than Memorial Days
Of my youth
Names I recognize
Neighbors and friends
Reaching their ends
Stones bearing their names
Remind me
Of who they were
I can still hear
Some of their voices
Hear their laughter
As we shared jokes
My father’s grave
Amid the other granite
Heralds
That he came
With the dawn
Of the twentieth century
How he regaled me
With advents
In his time
Cars, planes and space craft
Rushing into his years
Since his birth
The marvelous adventure
With the awe
Never ceasing
As his life
Evolved from horse and buggy
To a modern world
Never jaded
He approached life
With wonder
Advocating
That I never
Close my eyes
To the ever-changing world
How I wonder
What amazement
He would find
In the nearly 40 years
Since his death?
My mother
As always
By his side
Her voice smaller
Accepting her role
As she did
When her father
Took her from the school
She so loved
Hers was to be a wife
To sublimate her ambition
To her husband
To put her 6th grade education
Aside
Folding it as past
As accepting
As the fate
Of the rag doll
She had carried
Earlier in her childhood
She never complained
Accepting her role
With so much
She wanted
Undone
I walked away
Heavy in thought
Aware
That others
Will read my dates
But will they appreciate
What came
In between?
Will anyone care
Enough
To remember my name
To learn my story
To see me as a person
Who lived
Who loved
Who had a part
No matter how small
In the time
Before them?

Life in Black and White – A Poem by Roy Pullam

Milestones like pages in my life
Flip as I read them
Often I revisit pages
That have special meaning to me
It is an incomplete story
A life
Filled with fiction
Opinions I had
At that time
With tragedy and heartbreak
But never
Enough romance
Still always passion
A caring
A wide-eyed enthusiasm
For what was in
The next chapter
I have not written
The epilogue yet
Searching my imagination
For a proper ending

Planning My Life – A Poem by Naduni

Sitting on a lonely chair
On a serene afternoon
When the moon is unusually there
Already in the sky
I naturally wondered who am I
What was I doing there?
Looking at an early moon
Offset in a bright sky

I saw myself through others
From their views and criticisms
And yearned to make them see
That it is not as bad as one may see
Then I naturally wondered who I am
Whether I really exist
Why should I plan my future ahead?
When I don’t even really exist

What a foolish thing this life is
We plan a journey we can’t foresee
We take for granted so many things
And wonder where we went wrong
When we fail to make that journey

I withdrew from reading and had a short rest
After all, book learning can’t do much
As you can’t commit suicide
When you know life much
I went back to reading
For you see
I cannot face life and leave my false dream

The Meaning of Life | Roger Harrell

I’ve noticed that the meaning of life
Isn’t some complicated thing,
It’s really quite simple:
Find out who you really are deep inside
And live your life doing what
You really love doing,
Don’t pretend to be someone you’re not,
Heal yourself,
Put yourself in others’ shoes,
Treat yourself and others with kindness,
Make the world a better place for
Yourself and everyone else,
Treat the planet with care,
Smile and laugh often,
Do nice things,
And love yourself and others.

Rather | Izzy Noon

Sometimes life is not
about rather,
Sometimes we bite, scrape,
just doing our mile by mile
best to scratch our names
in a brief sand.

Bittersweet It Tasted | Chris Byrne

As the years go by
I grow older, wiser,
Always thinking of that
Young lad slowly wasting
What tragic life he had.
Gifted was he, yet he never had
Seen the gifts hidden within,
The laughs and the beers
Hiding his pain, drowning
His sorrows, his gifts and talents
Becoming obsolete, getting older,
His voice keeps on going,
You’re getting there,
Bellowing deep inside,
You’ve realised your gift,
It’s using words. The old man
Thought to himself, if only
I had listened to
That young lad
As he sat back whilst
Enjoying his beer
Thinking of distant
Memories.

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