Submit Poems
Get Your Premium Membership

Death Devotion Poems | Death Poems About Devotion

These Death Devotion poems are examples of Death poems about Devotion. These are the best examples of Death Devotion poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

Details | Free verse | |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

Worst Love Poem Ever Written

I suck at dying poems

Chemo poems, Metastatic Cancer poems,

Hair falling out in the shower poems


And I told a half truth

When I told you I could write you one

In less than six months (It's been eight)

I apologize for being so late


I wanted your poem to be pink and graceful

Like those ribbons

I see all over the internet

Filled with cheesy generic rhymes

That could get me hired by Hallmark


 I just know my metaphors will start melting

And that my similes will get all soft

 I guarantee you the rhyme meter will be off


I went to Google

And the typed in the word 'happy'

Three billion things came up

Not a single inference to

Breast cancer, hair loss

No redirects to mastectomies


The only thing research could teach me

Is that a good day on chemo

Is when your stool doesn't come out tar Black

And has no blood in it

Or when your urine

Smells better on Wednesday

Than it did on Tuesday

Sleeping less than 12 hours

When 24 would be better


Still I refuse to finish this poem

Without something bright and hopeful

And I know I'm doing a horrible job

America has more poets

Than it does alcoholics

   And Pot smokers combined

And you chose me to be

Your Breast Cancer

Poet Laureate

Trusting me to write a poem

About the biggest battle in your life


And don't think

I didn't notice your Facebook activity

Had decreased by 88%

In the last three months


And you aren't really

Coming to any more of my poetry shows

Ever again. Are you??

But we still have January, February


And how do you write

A Breast Cancer poem

With no references to breast

(I get embarrassed)

 That would be some kind of Oxymoron

I guess


But even if you had one breast

Or no breast

or if you had less hair than I do

I promise to look only in your eyes

And never ever even notice

Or even think about it

And never for a moment

Would I feel sorry for you

Yes I suck at lying too...


But I don't suck at loving you

Or at hoping you wake up tomorrow morning

 With no Cancer at all

And that The Eiffel Tower will be right outside

Your bedroom window...

And I would be right there with you

Holding your hand while we look down on Paris

And you can impress me with your French again


And if I ever make it

To the Pulitzer Poetry board

I might lose a thousand points

Just for this poem alone

And my hopes for the prize will be smitten

And some old person with white hair will say

That this was the worst love poem ever written

Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Emma's Epitaph

In the lough near Kylemore Abbey
Floats a little green fishing boat.
It wears with pride its battered paint,
From years of wear it lost its coat.

It made bitter the old man's heart
After sweet Emma passed away.
He now keeps next to home and hearth
As all his days are colored grey.

No persuasion can coax him back
To do what he once loved to do.
He was fishing when Emma died,
Even though she begged him not to.

Emma had been ill for some time;
A long spell since he'd heard laughter.
She felt that day that she would die.
Guilt would plague him ever after.

In verdant park her gravestone stands.
Her sense of sweetness still abides
In the old cottage they both shared,
Along with him her ghost resides.


Note: lough sounds like lock and means a lake

My poem was inspired by the titles of the six popular novels of
My favorite lady poet and writer Miss Jane Austen. One word from 
each novel is included in my poem.
Title's of Miss Austen's Books:

Northanger Abbey  
Pride and Prejudice
Sense and Sensibility
Mansfield Park

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme | |

Goodbye, My Child

Where cradled canyons sing
Of ebony wood in the forest
There lies a gurgling spring
Where cockcrows sing their chorus
To the melody of singsong birds
There I’ve concealed my sensuous words
Filled with befitted signs
The saccharine whiff of my designs

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Where the fogs of night are fountains
Spills of glistened moon ignite
By distant silhouette mountains
We dance with passion of fight
Entwining ancient stance 
Mingling hand in hand we dance
Till the mountains smile on high
Near and far we spring
To pursue the realest of dreams
While the world cries at its seams
Anxious in trouble to cling

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

To where the ridges merry make 
From the beaks of wooden bright
In sparkly pools the ghouls awake
That scarce to stir our night
We watch for seekers down under
Muttering secrets in their soul
We bid them lucks of shivers
Dipping gently in
From reeds that hide a tear of a foal
Under the gentle rivers

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

Far away she shall ever churn
The taciturn eyed
She’ll listen no more to turn
To the working mills beside
Or the scrubbing of the barn
May peace weave in her song
She shall wave in the yarn
To a haven known as Belong  

Come to me my mortal youth
To the wild realm of your truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only your tears be found

For she comes, the mortal youth
To the wild realm of her truth
Where nymphs and gnomes abound
For the earth is filled with weeping
And only her tears be found

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme | |

Eternal Breath

I think about you, every single day,
Since from me, you were taken away,
Your absence has left my world cold,
Now I am alone, with no hand to hold.

I wish that I could bring you home,
So that your soul, shall need not roam,
I hope that you were given white wings,
To fly amongst, where the angel sings.

Within my heart, your eternal breath,
Shall now linger on, even after death,
My love for you shall never cease,
So, may you always rest in peace.

Written by: Kelly Deschler  

Gautami Phookan's contest - The Poet III

For Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Eternal Breath"

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

The Rose

Once bloomed a rose so young and fair
With dark brown eyes and long black hair

Beside her be a tall dark tree
Whose branches stretch to smother thee

Too close beside the shadowy bark
That soon begins to leave its mark

She cries for help, but none shall hear
Her thorns too sharp, who’d dare go near?

To save this rose, who’d risk their life?
With naught to gain but pain and strife

Alone, afraid, she lays to rest
Her heart beats low inside her chest

And with the hour growing near
She sheds her final grieving tear

And so the rose soon falls asunder
Her final day, eternal slumber

She lies beside the old dark tree
The only one who mourns for thee

Copyright © Nina Hernandez | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ballad | |




		          On the ground…..


		Without a sound…..

Tears are

						As oceans sigh…..
The sun is


                   In her eyes…

The waters stretched their surrounding arms Caressing her precious prints with their saline charms Smoothing her past—an exhalation at last As legacy lavishes the flight of her path Withering and draining, absorbed in the sand Are the tears she once shed—no longer does she stand In kneeled acceptance her deep pulse unwinds As her melodious voice falters in the plague that binds In her serenest solitude have I kept her close As those streams do crash upon my heart-burdened coast I listened to her sing—as the sickness rose Like the tide’s sudden descent, oh how life suddenly goes!
Footsteps Footsteps Heavy now………. Carry her To bury her In the ground………. Oceans In motions WAVES//COLLIDE
…..Someone beautiful….. …..… has died………. ………………………………………………………………………………………………………………….

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Seasons of Life and Death

Under the care of sun and rain
My leaves have unfurled
My buds have burst forth
My own will has been done
This was my beginning
Through the seasons
Spring brought me to life
Summer grew me to new heights
The fall must come sometime
The frost will encase my barbs
And I will return to meditation
Waiting patiently for my rebirth
For your light to peek through clouds
Your moon to hold me within night
When spring returns...
I will dance in the wind
A never ending flower

Copyright © Sam Beloved | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme | |

Revive the Breakage

High upon the highest heights I see the most tremulous sight A small girl, fair and tranquil Smiling strangely, sitting still Beneath a sobbing willow tree She recites a verse upon her knee She sings a rhythmic hymn Not of death, nothing grim But prays that life will return Even for those who are doomed to burn The girl is a woman now Beneath the tree and upon the cloud She whispers, “I am watching you” Why then are you so blue? A single tear of sadness and joy Rejuvenate the quirky earthly boy Who sits down beneath the blooming tree Listening to her silent voice attentively She reminds him she was once young too That she also was a misty shade of blue But when the boy grows into man He has come to ignore the fair woman Who watches him still from above Burning and swelling with disdainful love The ways of the world have sweltered his heart And time has torn his soul apart Thus he has lost all innocence and light Battling his sinful lust—an endless plight! I watch as he feeds on others’ pains and fears Reducing the vigilant woman to tears The prayer of the innocent has been ignored Life has died and hellfire stored Into the hearts of the impotent In blue, fires of haze their heart is sent Toiling in misery and lament Savaged and severed by our regret The heavenly woman grows old and frail And the man still treads the sinful trail As the rotting tree withers into dust Can I revive it? –I must! Low as low can possibly be I watch myself condescendingly A tombstone, gray and hell-bent Frowning knowingly in bewilderment Above the dust that once was a tree She cries out a verse anxiously Faintly she whispers the undying hymn Not of happiness, nothing of whim And prays that life will come to end For those that break instead of bend

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

Forever Love

They sit out on the front porch,
with the grand-kids running  bout
As they rock back and forth,
they're still in love without a doubt
Many years they've had together
each one the other's friend
Their hearts are joined forever
though life, is at it's end
Beyond the age and wrinkles
they're still young and carefree
Hearts so full and happy
as the never-ending sea
Eyes still hold the flames
that have burned from long ago
Hand in hand they smile,
as they're rocking to and fro
His touch still warm and gentle,
he beholds his angel's face
The words so soft and fragile,
"I will always love you Grace"
Her hand he gently squeezes, 
and in an instant he is gone
She looks at the empty chair
that still keeps rocking strong
Sitting there alone,
she sheds a single tear
For many years he's been away
and now, her own end is near
A gentle breeze begins to blow
she feels his fingers through her hair
The time has come to re-unite
and finally leave this rocking chair
Bravely, she takes one last breath,
her lonely days now gone
No more to part from her true love,
together.....they live on

Copyright © Alana Tye | Year Posted 2007

Details | Romanticism | |

The word of beauty

The word of beauty I never thought about it
For me it always meant you
The word of trust I have never doubt it
For me it meant all the things you do
The word of nice and forgiveness it was the word I described you

After you had gone, what's the meaning of these words any more
Why would I use them, what can I use them for ?
Beauty, what that even means after you had gone ?
What's the meaning of forgiveness, when everything is wrong ?

All alone hiding in the shadows
Setting in every where gallows
Scratching my skin to get the poison out 
Maybe then angel of death will hear my shout
What's the meaning of love and care ?
 What's the meaning of that when I've no one to share ?

You were my soul mate how can I get another when I can't forget you ?
I've tried so hard, but I'm helpless no matter what I do
No one can forget his heart or forget to breathe air
If it's not you, then to whom I should give my love and care ?
They're trying to convince me to forget you and to move on
They don't know that there's nothing left to give, every thing died when you had gone

                                                   26 Oct 2015
                 Dalia Shahein, for the any sad poem contest sponsored by broken wings

Copyright © Dalia Shahein | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric | |

If I die young

If I die young would you buried me in place filled with flowers ?
If I die young would you stay by my side, holding me tight for hours ?
If I die young would you kiss my lips  before I fly away ?
And please don't cry cause everything will be okay...
I know that you hate to hear from me these wordsBut time can be deceiving and stab me with his sword
Believe me I don't wanna let you a lone
But I'll make sure you'll have someone by your side in case I've gone
I was a writer , I was a singer you were my lyrics you were my song
I didn't have home, you were my home we are belong
So if I die young would you buried me in place filled with flowers? 
If I die young would you stay by my side, holding me tight for hours?
 If I die young would you kiss my lips before I fly away ?
And please don't cry cause everything will be okay...
Sometimes I feel your hands getting around my waist
Kiss me one more time and I'll show you , I haven't forgot the taste
Your a true love that I once had
And saying goodbye to it , is what's making me bad
I don't need a therapy , I don't need a cure
When I had you , I had every thing and more
So if I die young would you buried me in place filled with flowers?
 If I die young would you stay by my side, holding me tight for hours? 
If I die young would you kiss my lips before I fly away?
 And hunny don't worry cause everything will be okay....

I wrote this poem after I heard (if I die young song) I liked it so much but I couldn't memorize it so I've decided to make my own version, hope you like it.

Copyright © Dalia Shahein | Year Posted 2015

Details | Romanticism | |


My husband comes to me from beyond a curtain,
      His soul visits me, of that I am certain,
           For in a dream, I see his face,
       He comes to me only by God's grace.

          Albert has been dead for many a year,
 But soulmates aren't separated, that is quite clear,
          Neither time nor space can keep us apart,
           For we have been together from the very start.

           He came to me when I was near death,
           Only sheer will kept my Life's breath,
           He stood on a cloud, all fluffy and white,
           It would have been easy to join him that night.

       But something inside me made me scream "NO"!
       "My children still need me, I'm sure that you know,
        Losing you and then me, would be too big a blow,
         I'll be with you shortly, you know how time flows."

                      I loved that man, I miss him still,
                      He was so warm, always a thrill,
                       He was the "light" of my life and he still is,
                       I was his wife and will always be his.

Copyright © Patricia Leonaitis | Year Posted 2006

Details | Lyric | |

Pins and Needles

Another song written in middle school - edited of course. ;)
[Verse 1] I'm trapped within these walls Never to leave at all I am the prisoner inside my own home My spirit is broken I do not believe I'm locked in this chamber which I cannot leave [Chorus] The needles that break the skin The anger that runs within I’m giving it all away Just to stay alive The needles that pierce my veins It will never be the same We’re on pins and needles now It’s how we survive [Verse 2] They say he’ll find me soon Got to get out of this room The blood will spill and he’ll take what he wants to I’ll never let him through GET OUT OF MY DREAM He whispers in darkness, “I’m not who I seem…” [Chorus] [Verse 3] The four walls around me They start to close in I know I’m too late now I know I can’t win So just tell me I’m crazy It’s all in my head You’re not the killer And I am not dead [Chorus] [Breakthrough] Don’t tell me it’s impossible To start it all over again Infection sinks through your pale skin You’ll curse the day that I’m dead [Chorus]

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2011

Details | Couplet | |

A Prayer for my Wife

                           A Prayer for my Wife

Now I’ll tell you all the details if I can keep from sheddin’ a tear
Last night when it got late and really quiet around here 

I got down on my knees, crossed my heart and began to pray
And in the darkness between me and God, here’s what I had to say

I love her so much Lord and I just don’t know what I’d do
I’m afraid that she won’t make it, that’s why I’m coming to you

Here with my heart open, at your mercy down on my knees
I’m begging’ you with every heartbeat, Oh Lord hear my pleas

I don’t know what your plans are or what you have in store
And I know I don’t deserve her and that she deserves much more

And don’t misunderstand Lord, I don’t assume any obligation
For your bounty in our life has exceeded all our expectations

But please allow her to live and me to be a part of that life
And I swear I’ll make this beautiful woman proud to be my wife

And if it’s not in your plans Lord then I pray that you take me instead
Cause’ I can’t live without my love, I’d be better off dead

And no excuses for my past Lord, but I’ll do better than I’ve done
I ask you only this, my lord, in the name of your Son.

I wiped my tears as I said my amen’s and prepared myself to stand
Stepped up next to your bed and began to caress your pretty hand

I stared off into space as all the memories came flooding in
Reliving each and every moment, over and over again

And as the first rays of sunshine, streamed in past the curtain
I felt an overwhelming peace calm my mind and ease the hurtin’

I felt compelled to kiss you so I pressed my lips to your face
And it seemed the room was filled in the beauty of God’s living grace

And you slowly opened your eyes and smiled for me to see
And I knew the Lord my God had given my sweet wife back to me

Copyright © James Burns | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

The Bell My Mother Rang

The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to have her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Narrative | |

JE SUIS CHARLIE -- Afterthought

JE SUIS CHARLIE — Afterthought

The shock of this most frightening tragedy is practically beyond 
the pale of any reasonable or adequate attempt or effort to explain
it or to rationalize the horrible circumstances surrounding it.

Let me just say that all of us who are writers and poets ply our
poetry, “our intellectual wares,” if you will, in a common written
medium that expects the same unrestricted level of freedom of
speech and expression exercised by those extraordinarily brave
artists at “Charlie Hebdo” who were recently murdered in cold
blood by self-styled Islamic extremists in Paris. 

It is also equally saddening and deplorable that some courageous 
police officers died in the line of duty defending these freedoms 
as well as some other security people and hostages caught up in 
the midst of these most terrifying circumstances. 

The heinous actions perpetrated by these armed extremists
destroyed innocent lives and affected the lives of a number of
loved ones whose burden of sadness and tragedy is unimaginable. 
Their actions also were an attempt to strike at the very heart of 
those sacred freedoms that all of us who live in open societies and
democracies cherish as part of our everyday lives. The armed 
extremists, by their actions, also personified and demonstrated an
obvious affectation for barbarity, stupidity, ignorance, and cowardice 
that were all on ample display as a result of what they did.

Freedom of speech and expression are among those certain
historic inalienable rights given to all of us by the divine hand of
God himself, and certainly not by the generosity of any government 
or religious group (regardless of faith). The brave souls who died
at Charlie Hebdo, died exercising this most sacred franchise.

The point I’m driving at is this: Those extremists who committed
these most reprehensible actions of recent against their fellow man 
did not win in spite of their collective efforts to destroy lives and to 
sully these precious freedoms that all of us as writers and artists 
hold so very dear.

The outpouring of emotion and sadness in support of these slain
heroes in the face of this most despicable crime is quite compelling, 
and underlies the continuing determination of all of us who love
and cherish the freedoms of speech and expression to continue to
speak out and to exercise these sacred rights without reservation.

With all of this in mind, I humbly and proudly conclude my narrative 
to all of you here by saying and echoing as loudly as possible:
“Je Suis Charlie” . . . “I am Charlie.”

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved (January 10, 2015)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric | |


Men say there are no absolute truths...

The Truth
Man can govern himself. He just doesn’t have the ability to do this successfully.

The Truth
There is one God. He has a name. He has a son. Their names are different.

The Truth
When you die, you are dead - not ghosts. It is that simple. That’s it, for now…

The Truth
Even though humans die, we were never meant to. We were designed for a time 
without end.

The Truth
The most circulated book in the history of Man must be more than a “book.”

The Truth
Happiness can be attained, even in a completely miserable place.

The Truth
There is no such place as a fiery Hell of torment, except in pagan mythology.

The Truth
There is a Heaven. However, its purpose is not what you think.

The Truth
The meek shall inherit the Earth.

The Truth... not that far from you.

Copyright © Mark Pringle | Year Posted 2005

Details | Rhyme | |

A Soul Awakened

She is the muse to her own sorrow; She is the digger of her grave. She is the painter of her ocean view and every fatal wave. She is the shadow of her Father; She is the darkness in your sight. She is the night without the stars surrounding pale moonlight. She is the music with no words; She is sweet love without the reason. She is your dreamer with submission cold by warmth with every season. She is your pet with cold intentions; She is your baby scared and shaken. She is the bold and pure- the lost and found, She is a soul awakened.

Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2013

Details | Double Dactyl | |

Beyond Your End

Look deep into yourself my friend,
if then, you need to look to me, 
and deep enough to see the end,
beyond your end is where I'll be.

Into the love someday you'll see,
becoming all the things you'll know,
before your very eyes, I'll be
already where you want to go.

I'll be your long and blinding light,
of which all life is awed,
the thread that reaches through the night
in search of what is God.

And in a while, if love is right,
and hope is not just more pretend,
though you have sought what e'er you might,
'tis me you'll find, beyond your end.

And I will love your death away,
removing from your mind
what'er your death might seem to be,
with love impossible to find.
Û  © RON WILSON aka vee bdosa

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Lazarus Walk

in the closet;
I wait for them to walk
so I can follow.

in my drawer;
he needs his license, money,
not a lot, 

pair of pants,
running shoes,
his watch,

field guide, 
floppy hat.
I won’t forget.

I’m ready, boots;
lead me;
it’s not too late;
it’s not.

©Kathryn Collins 
June 14, 2007

Copyright © kathryn collins | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme | |


Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”

Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”

One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…

Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.

Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”

Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.

Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed. 
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.

Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.

Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray, 
“Lord, let this day be my last.”

For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.

Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.” 
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….

Stood an old dog beside the stone, 
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place. 
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.

She smiled through her tears.  
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too.  His name was Pal.”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative | |

Raven's Plight

Raven was Death. She dwelt in death. She lived on death. Ages past, she had worn 
the blue-black, purple, feathers of the raven and dined on royalty at Tower hill. A 
tumble from grace had lodged her here in this fragile form. No more would her maw 
drip ruby red, no more would her caw fill the mourning, or her soaring flight slice 
the air like a Frenchman’s sword. A Raven, with clipped wings, was she.

Centuries had passed since she, in her feathered form, had feasted on the King.
**Bran the Blessed, giant, King of Wales, had been her down fall. Cursed was she,
as she dined on his eyes, in the field of battle. Ah, what did a raven know 
of the curses of man.  But, she knew now. Bran's head was placed,
as a talisman, on the grounds of Tower Keep in Londontown. She, 
transformed, cursed, walks the night in this beautiful, weak, human vessel for
as long as, Bran's name is remembered.

Her satin-sandaled feet hold her earthbound. Just as superstition 
holds her clip-winged brethren in the Tower courtyard, Bran's Curse holds her here. 
No longer can she fly, but, she is free to roam. The churchyard calls her. Ashen skies no longer welcome her, but the gravestones, spade-shaped like the tails of carrion feeder, beckon. The evening corpse has arrived. Draped in mourning weeds of black, her death-like pall, luminescent in the moonlight, her lips a tell-tale crimson, she arms her self with a firebrand. The bluish steel glistens. Death with a gun, certainly, one could see the 
over kill? She laughs. Looking skyward, she calls. “Husband*, children…” 
she mimicks the caw of her unfettered kin. “Come to Ma Ma..dinner is served.”  

*Raven's mate for life...or death? ;)
**Bran is the Welsh word for Raven/ King Bran the Blessed


Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme | |

Echos of the Heart

I thought of you today, sweetheart,
which is really nothing new.
I thought about you yesterday,
and the day before that too.

I think of you when I'm alone,
I often speak your name!
I keep your lovely photo,
in a golden picture frame.

Your memory's in my make-up.
it's like another body part!
I promise you, my darling,
I keep it locked inside my heart!

I'm told by friends, as time goes by,
that I will slowly heal.
I have my doubts about it,
because the pain is still so real!

Part of me went with you,
when the Good Lord called you home!
It broke my heart to lose you,
now, I must go on alone!

You're with Him now, in Heaven,
so all that I can do,
is say a little prayer each day,
till He calls me home, with you!

Poetic form:  Rhyme
Ralph Taylor
I love this poem because I wrote
it  to Una, my loving wife of 54 years,
who recently passed away. 

Copyright © RALPH TAYLOR | Year Posted 2012

Details | Ballad | |

Romeo and Juliet

When last they kissed, and summer’s lease
fell brief and sweet, and winter's chill would steal the heart away...

Sweet coral days, turned blight to rust, 
and Shakespeare's words,
will wring despair from what will never be.

Behold, your eyes that weep,
and empty arms will flail, for
young lovers swept away on wings so frail...
No other love could ever grieve so well. 
Shall hence, will come a cry, to shatter starry skies
with tragedy to tell

O’ she of flaxen hair, fair cheeks so pale,
His love was as a fever, longing still. 
His sorrow greater than the darkest night
Too cruel to bear, delusion played unfair
Despair, beyond all words could shout
Disquiet of the heart cries out
To death, that calls, from 'yond the distant stars.

Sweet love so rare, a thing beyond compare. 
Where whence their love, once like the lilac full
The blossom fragrant,  so sweet as whippoorwill
Ere' slumber's chain has bound them now.
Thy song has waned, the garland dead
upon the blade, upon the sword, asleep
The swollen heart with anguish weeps…forever is a love to keep.

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative | |

The Old Rugged Cross Suffered The Worlds Greatest Loss


My favorite of songs is The Old Rugged Cross.
   The most tragic of days was the worlds’ greatest loss.
For sinners that day were all given their chance.
   His Father in heaven could not even bear to look not even one glance.
Forgive them He prayed as His life’s blood ran down to the ground.
   Can you picture Him there wearing that thorny old crown?
On that hill so far away, sad but precious memories were made.
    Born of a virgin mother in the tomb He was laid.
Death could not hold Him, death would not last.
    Three days in that tomb, so long ago, death too it would pass.
He arose and was seen by many it was said.
    Our Savior arose from the grave and no longer was dead.
As He gave His final words to His apostles and friends.
    He ascended to the clouds but they knew they would see Him again.
He made us a promise He would rule once again.
     I feel that day is coming we’re reaching the end.
The prophecies that abound.
     With each new day they seem to be coming unwound.
Are you ready my friend for the Millennium Reign?
     Are have you sunk to wearing the mark worn by Cain?
Sacrifices my friend we all have to do.
    Just look at Jesus and the sacrifice He made, was made just for you .
So on that hill so far away I kneel at the thought.
    With His precious blood my cleansing was bought.
And what have we learned, or did He die just for nought?
    I look to Jesus and His love I have sought.
He must come first in all that we do.
    And when the day comes you’ll see I speak true.

Copyright © Ronald Bingham | Year Posted 2007

Details | Rhyme | |

Stormy Heart

Alone in loneliness Amid forever nights And these four walls In faint, whisper soft your name I beg out loud to the nothingness that remains "Please not another nightmare, no more storms" But, answers are merely glimpses of light From lightening... Filtering through the pane Empty sheets... Cast empty shadows on the wall Of places where you used to be Eyes wide open Now asleep, afraid I am to fall Trapped within this never ending dream I cling to all the memories that I have Spinning me closer to where you were, in parallel on the edge The thoughts, like imaginary rubble, comes tumbling passed A fire for you still burning inside Why can’t I let go of the tragedies last And silence your unrescued suicidal screams Or is it only the rain falling faster as it taps harder, and harder upon the glass Or is it of your wandering spirit Mockingly knocking? Haunting with its vindications Of "why’s" I can never seem to grasp All this amidst lost stares into black windows Where gutters overrunning, burdened by the strains And I swear I see your reflection Among the flashes, tracing out illuminations about your face And for the first time You are noticeably absent of all the worldly pains And your lips releasing out a comfort that for so long I've been seeking As I hear the words echo within my stormy heart "That where you are everything is okay"

Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2011

Details | Didactic | |

Speak of thee

                                        He is above us in the clouds 
                                run through the fields and speak of thee
                                              He will grow roses

                                       I will be the stem of the roses 
                                       for I shall never leave your soil

                                     You will be the tree I grow beneath 
                                             and he will be our rain.

Copyright © Andrea M Christian | Year Posted 2010

Details | Rhyme | |

Grandma Phoned

I have loved him since I was young.
Through every cloud, he rose the sun.
His work was honest – one-on-one with land.
I loved this farmer and his callused hands!
Safe, strong arms would lift me to sit upon his tractor.
Picture girl and Grandpa - no memory could be happier.

Today, I took the inherited watch from my mantle.
Now the cherished timepiece accompanies my flight,
Perhaps lending faith to my emotional plight.
Precious ticking in my pocket comforts my destination;
Brings forth his presence and I will not try to stop it
For the watch soothes my driving desperation.

Steering, I experience a constant sense of feeling
That wings have sprouted beneath my vehicle this day
As prayer of golden air to deliver me straight there.
So many endless miles of thunder under my wheels.
Thoughts ever somber tumble various appeals.
I gasp down feelings he may leave before I show.
He stays in my heart’s eye while I consume highway
On burning, dedicated tires determined to fly
Because Grandma phoned to say, Grandpa would soon die.

Contest:  Stand by Your Man
Sponsor: Silent One
Third Place

Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2015