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Women Death Poems | Death Poems About Women

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

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Details | Free verse |

STILL WINTER

Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer

Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around. 
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…     
~BY: PD~

Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey 

There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~

(for Catie's: Re-write contest..) 


Details | Iambic Pentameter |

Abbey


Amid the woods and snow he saw her form,
predestined oracle he sensed this was,
her recollected glance, was lone in storm,
outside the chapel she became first cause .

Lit were the chandelier's ocher chandelles,
his heartbeat thrummed an airy rhythmic spell,
the forest snowstorm reeled - shaped ghostly belles
invited him beneath the ringing knell.

Their Angel's bliss, his soul received in flames,
adept and kind the whisper of her voice,
"- Forgiveness calms those who indulge in blames;
devoutness is the prelude of free choice."

Outside he stepped beneath the Abbey's knell:
His voice dispersed above the snow and mass,
in cold embraced the iron wrought of bells,
- as waxen light passed through the chapel's glass.

His mind and woods enjoined in forceful prayer,
spells sacrosanct and numinous instilled,
in abstinence the sanctified abbe,
abandoned Convent life to years and thrills.

Escaped then he, to meet the woods in dark,
amidst their sovereign heights he was her groom,
continuum of time and space to arc,
his childhood's wraith became in mists and tomb.

© G. V. 01-04-2012 All rights reserved
(Iambic Pentameter)


Details | Epic |

raised from the dead

three women with points on their licenses to the tomb of Jesus they ventured
as they had a love for our Savior that was totally uncensored
they were told that the Roman soldiers over His tomb were standing guard
but they had a need to consecrate His body that compelled them to do their part
it was risky and unreasonable in the minds of most
but man's reasoning has no value when it comes to our Heavenly Host
to do the impossible that is what they desired
and with the power of the Holy Spirit they were then inspired
to walk by faith and not by sight guided by God's spiritual light

and when those women got to the tomb they then discovered 
that the sepulcher of Jesus was now uncovered
no Roman soldiers were in sight 
just an Angel of God wearing raiment snow white
"fear not" the Angel said, for the prophecy has been fulfilled
the Messiah  Jesus has risen from the dead for it is God's will
the mighty stone had been rolled away
it was a bold godly display

do you know that God will roll away any stone that impedes your life?
as He rolled away the stone at the tomb of His beloved Son Jesus the Christ
to be raised from the death of corruption and sin
restored, renewed, revived and born again
raised up from societal barriers of destruction
now a new creation in Christ's gospel production
the Lord desires that we live abundantly
and to walk with the power of His authority
so never forget the sacrifice and the blood that was shed
when Jesus the Christ by the hand of God was raised from the dead


Details | Ballad |

The Singer's Cloak

The singer sang from beyond the grave,*
Or in his grave, to be true.
His voice reached up to the architrave
And vibrated in every pew.

The vicar called on the choir to sing
As loud as loud they could.
But the voice had an even louder ring
Sending quivers down the rood.

Oh Lord, they sang, oh mighty God,
Gloria in excelsis deo.
But the singer sang of life’s hard rod
And of Hell's undying blow.

The women looked up the pillars tall,
While big-eyed children cried.
The singer had them in his thrall,
But was not to be descried.

The vicar read his sermon out,
As if proclaiming from the mount.
The singer responded with a voice so stout,
He sang of fear’s rich fount.

The congregation lost relation
To the good man’s godly word.
They stood in helpless trepidation,
Their souls so far disturbed. 

The church’s doors swung open wide,
To a cascade of chattering leaves;
The screams and panic and terror inside
Shook the church to its very eaves.

And then, oh then, oh horror pure,
The spectre appeared at the door.
His bloodied hair, his sombre allure,
Chilled the living to the core.

The vicar clutched up bible and ran
Through a hidden door to the side,
The singer opened his cloak like a fan
And wrapped all the children inside.

The women bemoaned this cruellest loss,
They wailed to the crucified Christ.
But bound and weak and nailed as he was,
There was nothing he could do.

* This Poem should be read in conjunction with 'The Pauper's Grave'


Details | I do not know? |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Ballad |

Antigone

I am the face of misery
My life, a dissonance of autumn and spring,
The years are written in the same
Lugubrious, nostalgic grey
How can it be the author to blame?
I cannot scream this all away…
Burn nor Bleed this all away…
To Death I am Ordained

Lacuna ever growing
With Velvet sheets of life flowing
Aeons apart of my "royalty"
Under the mask the cannot see...
Can you dispel this tragedy:
Antigone - Epiphany failing

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

No words of hope
No words of hate
Do I have Lenore to send to me:
The sordid child of Thebes
Caught In the longest nightmare
life - the slowest way to die

I know this is my life 
But I'm not under control
under the mask the will see
Just Another Human

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

If it must be…
Then just kill me,
(Antigone) sing me out of reality;
I wear this dissonant crown of shame
(Antigone) Of a kingdom's disdain
I hate to be this way... normalcy's bane
(Antigone) Here comes the edict, to blame
The sordid child of Thebes,
This is me,
Antigone

Can you dispel my life; this tragedy?
Can you control the storm in my mind?
I'm asking you: can you rid me
Of The Curse of Antigone?


Details | Shape |

Lost

into darkness 
this life descends 
mired at death's door 
as its light steadily dims
these aweary bleached bones 
doth mourn once youthful days
when innocence pure o'er this soul
in blissful ignorance happily reigned
before time's ephemeral passing breath   
enshrouded this woebegone heart's moody
mangled reprobate impenitent suasible flesh
with ne'er a humble outcry nor ire forbearance
this lingering bemired e'er obstinate human clay 
whence forth engenders hope's demise since afore 
existence's perfect birth beyond its motherly womb   
till sufferings' midlife malefic spirits furtively abort 
its righteous life-giving journey heavenward bound 
an inward promise greedily denied by passion's fire
mere dust in blackness of darkness wholly effaced
from paradise lost to limbo's nonexistent embrace
this inflexible cursed soul henceforth forgotten
a preemie spirit resident to fields of silence

© Eugene Harvey


Details | Lyric |

The Things You Wish You Could Erase

Sitting on the edge of the bridge
Holding unto that bottle of beer
The same beer that he drank 
The night he killed those people
Flashback in his brain
Gripping unto the bottle
nearly breaking it
hes sitting behind the wheel
Picks up the beer bottle 
Takes another sip
He sees the car
But gently closes his eyes
The women slams on her breaks
Her son in the back seat
The cars crash
Her car rolls down the hill
His car slamming into 
The side of bridge gates
The gates holding him steady
He gently steps out of his car
Seeing the smoke 
A gray car laying in the river
Below the bridge hes standing on
He runs down there 
Running through the water
the top of the car barely noticable
He helps the young women out
Not knowing about the little boy
In the back seat
She yells
"my son... my son"
She points to the vehicle
She takes her last breathe
Lays there helplessly
The man drags the little boy out of the car
A scratch on his forhead
Not breathing at all
The man cries
Trying to wake the kid up
Knowing they are both up in heaven
He vanishes
Several years later
He sits on the bridge
Holding the bottle
Has a child of his own
A wife of his own
Waiting at home for him
His son an hour before 
Wanted to walk to the bridge
With him
But the man just said no
The young boy just stayed home
His father never came back
They found him 
Floating in the same river
The women and her son were in

~Dedicated to Tommy~


Details | Free verse |

Somber Tears

As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.

As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.

I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.

I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.

And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.

And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.

He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.

And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.

Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.

She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.

I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.

I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.

The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.

Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;

But we still all cry,
Why?
Somber tears all fall in one big wave

crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.


Details | Rhyme |

Beyond the Frontier

Where am I? Why is it dark?
This isn’t what I had in mind when I left the park…
Why isn’t the wind whispering…the songbirds singing?
All I remember is a telephone ringing…
A scream and a crash and a pain in my side…
Is this what happens after one’s died?
I don’t feel like myself, I feel wild and free,
Yet I’m cold and alone, 'stead of filled with glee.

My whole life I’ve studied, and pondered, and prayed,
Trying to fathom what would happen this day
But now that it’s here, I’m beginning to fear
Maybe the afterlife’s not what it appears…
It’s certainly not what I’ve been told by my preacher
Or my parents or brother or best friend or teacher…
Is it a bad thing, or is it good?
Maybe it’s just not quite understood...

While I was on Earth, I just couldn’t wait
To meet good St. Peter at the heavenly gate
And ask him a question or query or two
“What was my purpose?” “What good did I do?”
“What’s it all for?” “How does it all flow?”
“Can I have one more body, one more try, one more go?”
But where is the angel? Where is the gate? And
If this is Hell, then where is Ol’ Satan?
Am I a lost soul? Am I forgotten?
Am I to be left here until I am rotten?

Lo and behold! what, now, can this be?
Is this a wonderful spiritual epiphany?
Is this the magical feeling all souls receive
When they leave Earth? Oh! was I that naïve?
How could I have not seen the realism?
Why was I consumed in man-made idealism?
This is more wondrous than all I was taught
Oh, all the times I argued and fought
With others, ‘bout how their views were asinine
Now I see, theirs were just as wrong as mine!
Little I thought was actually correct!
How, why, did I let others petty beliefs infect
My untouched, my pure, my virgin mind?
I regret all the hours I self-tortured to find
That compared to what I see now, I was empty and blind…

Wait - - What is this that I see?
What is this gateway that is revealed unto me?

Now a door is opened to my immortal soul
I am expected now to enter my life’s final goal…
I am scared, intimidated, but still I am glad…
For the truth I have just seen is anything but bad.
This is the end of my journey, I’ve nothing to fear,
For now I am going Beyond the Frontier.


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