Poems and Poetry

meaning of life poems

Untitled in February | A Poem by JD DeHart

What does the work mean
when you add it all together?
I walk through the hall,
mutter words and citations,
but what does it mean?

The day comes when you begin
to analyze what was the matter
after all. What was worth
a moment and more time.

The vacuum, the sound of feet,
the stack of magazines, the list
of publications, all of this bears
the on-going question.

What do I do, what is it that
stands and echoes? What is it
that slides away in dust?

Visit JD at https://onpossibilitypoems.blogspot.com.

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
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