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Death Ballad Poems | Death Poems About Ballad

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

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Details | Ballad | |

The Ballad of the Poet

*The Dead Poet*

Many blocks along the road, 
Kicking down walls of heavy stones, 
Yet no one could draw through the walls of her lonely bones.
A poet who could not write what's inside. 
Her pen had gone ink dry. 
Her beady eyes lost the feel of an angelic realm.
She tried! 
She tried until she could no longer cry!
A poet who stuttered with the mind and out came no words.
This poet hangs on a mound with a picture that tells a sad tale.
A poem that broke verses in a Carpe diem dream.
She ruffled her arms once more as if she could fly.
Still nothing, 
Everything felt dead inside. 

Trap in a mental state that clots the willing vein.
Isolating her form in a room with no door.
She stays this away from the feel of the marvel pen.
To never go back, and feel again.

In the most ominous way,
She lets out a cry, 
A cry, never heard before. 
Running from this evil, that stain her world. 
 
Words buried deep and behind a new exterior box, 
Her insides grasp all the air of airs once alive. 
A talon drop into the next,
This troublesome poet gave up on everything. 
Had nothing left, but the empty space within. 

Next!
She curls herself into a fetal world.
At last, she closes her eyes, to feel no more.
A poet who died the day, joy wiped the glee from her face.

by;PD


Details | Ballad | |

Ballad of a fighting man

Ballad of a fighting man

I’d rode along that dusty trail
For five long days, and more
That sun had beaten down on me
I was a thirsty man for sure
I entered me, Rotgut Saloon
And strolled up to the bar
I said “Bartender give me whiskey
For I have travelled far”

Folk were crowded round that bar
All drinking thirstily
They all looked wary, and afraid. 
They had in them no glee
I needed me, some conversation
So I’m looking all around
And then this voice it growls at me
A cold, and fearsome sound.

I looked into this pilgrims face
I don’t like what I see
Two glaring eyes as cold as steel
They pierced right into me 
I knew this guy meant me no good
He’d never be my friend
That if I did not act real soon
It would surely be my end.

His voice said ‘Draw you mangy dog’
And he went for his gun
His hand it moved like lightning
I knew I’d be the one
To die, unless I moved real quick
My hand was fast as light
Two shots rang out like they were one
And that did end the fight.

I saw his body lying there
It laid still on the floor
Although his draw was lightning quick
 My speed was even more
So Winston Kelly lived no more
While a wound was all I had
Although I was the Victor then
I really felt quite sad.

This man died, oh lord what for?
What a crazy world I lived in
I swore that I’d not fight again
A new life I’d begin
I hung my shooter up forever
And I became a preacher
And, of the ways of our good Lord
I did become a teacher.

11 July 2014 1725hrs.



Written for Jerry's contest 'A town called 'Rotgut'


Details | Narrative | |

A Doctors Ballad

I never really understood people until I took apart my old school chum Rick.
Now I know exactly what makes the human heart tick.
The intricacy of the human circuitry is Gods most artful work without uncertainty.
Like a great operatic performance accompanied by a grand orchestra, all our organs sing as one and all together.
To give such life as this in a manor of theatrical grandeur, but life comes at a cost however, this is something that we can not sever, for one soul to live it must take from another.
You see hunting a human is just like hunting any animal, you always track those that are weak and incapable.
I study those that indulge greatly in life's pleasurable sins, I always proceed to take them apart starting with their limbs.
To squander such a gift is a crime against those souls no longer living.
It is a crime that should be dealt with swiftly and unforgiving.
You may find my words harsh and cruel but punishment is dealt where punishment is due.
The scholars and gossips call me a Devil worshiper or a Satanist.
But I am an admirer of God and I dream to be like him, a great creationist. 
To some I'm known as the mad doctor who haunts the river Rhine, but to my acquaintances I'm known simply as Victor Frankenstein.


Details | Ballad | |

The ballad of Tich Thomas

The Ballad of Tich Tomas
.
A dog was howling in the night
Perhaps she knew the truth
That Tich would not be coming home
This dog needed no proof
That the man who she loved so
He’d come to her no more
Because Lance corporal Thomas was
 A victim of the war.

Now Tich, he was a country boy
His farm it was his life
A boon to his community
He’d give in times of strife
He learned his trade in farming school
With honours he’d come through
Then settled down to work his farm
That’s what he planned to do.

But then, one day it came to him
The news he did not need
He’d been called up for army life
He went off without heed
To do his time in Puckapunyal
To get him set for war
He soon made it as Infanteer
So he joined a fighting corp

He worked real hard and gained a stripe
This showed he had potential
He earned his skills in jungle fighting
And then there came the call
For he to go to Vietnam
To five RAR he was sent
Charlie company was his unit
When off to war he went

It was in April sixty six
Our man went into battle
There in the Phuc Tuy provence
Those guns did roar and rattle
Our Tich he fought real gallantly
So brave was he, but then
The shrapnel done it’s evil job
He joined the fallen men.

They brought his body back to those
Who were waiting for him there
The whole town came to welcome him
And helped with grief and prayer
They buried him with all the honours
That came to fighting souls
Who died to keep their country free
Courageous in their roles.

More honour it was placed on him
By the country where he’d fought
They built a statue in his name
And his likeness it was caught
By the sculptor who did honour him
And carve him into stone
And now Tich Tomas guards the park
As he stands there all alone.

If you’re ever down in Nannup town
Go to the park that’s there
You’ll see the statue of young Tich
As his spirit everywhere
Will fill the souls of those who see
This fighting man, so brave
Who’s body lies so peacefully
In his own town, in a grave.

2007


Details | Ballad | |

The Ballad of Clifford Griffin

In the spring of 1880 young Clifford Griffin immigrated from England to Colorado.
The death of his fiancee left him bereft and he was searchin' for his El Dorado.
He settled in Silver Plume where he and his brother bought the Seven Thirty Mine.
Clifford and his brother Heneage became very rich from ore that assayed very fine!

With all his riches, Clifford chose to live in his lonely cabin above the town.
His only companion was his treasured violin which he played with some renown!
His melancholy melodies wafted down from his mountain aerie 'most every night,
To be heard by the whiskey-guzzlin' hard-scrabble miners to their delight!

Clifford always dressed in black, enjoyed fine cigars and was quite the dashin' bloke!
He seemed content with his solitary life and in business was as solid as an oak!
Alas, death cast its gloomy pall high above Silver Plume one moonlit night.
Instead of sweet violin music, a single shot was heard that left the town affright!

Next morn his mortal remains were found in a grave he'd dug for himself alone.
His heart-broken brother found the pistol with which his brains he had blown.
A grand monument was erected atop the mountain just above Silver Plume,
At the very spot where Clifford lay midst the ponderosa and Columbine bloom!

Mysterious events now occur on that lonely mountainside accordin' to local lore!
'Tis said on moonlit nights sad violin music is heard below on the valley floor!
Folks have seen a black-clad phantom smokin' a cigar and drawin' a bow,
Playin' melancholy music and a wraith in Clifford's likeness a-swayin' to and fro!

Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) All Rights Reserved

Entry for Carol Eastman's "Story Poem" Contest


Details | Ballad | |

The Ballad of Malcolm McCorey

Come and listen awhile I pray
To hear a sad love story,
I have only a minute to stay
To tell the tale of Malcolm McCorey.

I'm Malcolm, Sally was my bride
I've loved her since grade school,
She was my life and my pride
And, I was her ever loving fool.

Work let off early that night
And it was pouring down in sheets,
When my eyes beheld the sight
Of Sally whoring 'tween the sheets.

My Sally was not forthcoming
And, I was blind by love's adoring,
I swear I never saw it coming
The day my Sally went a whoring.

This wasn't some casual adoring
That I might could understand,
This was at our home a whoring
In our bed with another man.

It was a cold and rainy night
And it was pouring down in sheets,
I wasn't prepared for the sight
Of Sally whoring 'tween the sheets.

The truth came like a blinding light
She couldn't wait to shut the door,
When I came home early that night
While she gaily played the whore!

She glared up at me in surprise
At seeing me suddenly arrive,
I stared back into her lying eyes
Down the barrel of my forty five!

It was a stormy and dismal night
And it kept pouring down in sheets,
I'll never forget the awful sight
Of Sally whoring 'tween the sheets.

The Padre' comes to comfort me
My life's now run it's course,
Today my pain will cease to be
Soon, I'll feel no more remorse.

I forgive myself of all at last
My soul will soon go soaring,
Today will soon be o'er and past
The pain, of Sally gone a whoring.


* Malcolm was executed in may of 1969. May God have mercy on his soul.


                        Timothy I. Brumley


Details | Ballad | |

The Ballad of Delilah Logan

Delilah, the young woman with the yellow locks
Light skin, brown eyes, vengeance in her walk.
On the run from a past filled with gloom
Can’t escape her curse; suffering and doom

The darkness calls her name as she runs from the devil
Monsters of the night out to terrorize and revel
Blood left in her path but not by her own doing
For the gift of immortality, death is ensuing

Oh wow what she’d give to not have to run
Every life and every soul, another mistake
Her soul she would give to see the demons be gone
But her curse is eternal, no way to break

Delilah, the beauty with a heart of stone 
The queen of the dance, lonely hearts as her throne
Intoxicating kiss, she brings men to their knees
A hundred years of running, yet she can’t drown out their pleas

To be in her bed is both a blessing and a curse
One night in bliss; and the next night in a hearse
But the curse is not so absolute, there’s more to it than death
The trail of blood goes deep before the final breath

Oh wow what she’d give to not have to run
Every life and every soul, another mistake
Her soul she would give to see the monsters be gone
But her curse is eternal, no way to break

All she wanted was to be loved; she didn’t know what it would cost
All she wanted was him; but in the end he was lost
Lies and deceit, adultery and sin; the price the heart pays for a fading moment
A hundred years later, there’s nothing within. An eternity of torment, cursed to repent

Oh wow what she’d give to not have to run
Every life and every soul, another mistake
Her soul she would give to see the evil all done
But her curse is eternal, no way to break

Visit my blog to read the rest of my Free Supernatural Poem Novel: https://freesupernaturalpoeticnovel.wordpress.com/


Details | Ballad | |

Population Control: a murder ballad

A grim occupation was his indeed
And was one that the world thought it didn't need
Which is why this ballad chooses to extol
Not "murder", but "population control". 

One Killer chose to hide his true name
By taking another's; he felt no shame,
For then he's be free to pick and choose
Someone to kill, and have nothing to lose.

A child perhaps, or reven a father;
With helpless infants he did not bother
But mothers, he would leave alone
(They reminded him too much of his own).

So much blood had he already spilt;
Despite this fact, he felt no guilt
He felt he was destined for this task;
Helping the world, though it didn't ask.

One shouldn't laugh at his self-given job
Though his resume was rather macabre,
He helped evolution by doing his best
To weed out the weak and spare all the rest.

Though murder is certainly an evil crime,
And murderers should pay for it with their time,
Consider the benefit this man had to give
By removing the weak from the strong that still live.

For science keeps the weak and diseased from death
And holds onto poor souls stuck on artificial breath.
So consider this man's actions with silver lining,
Or when the world gets overcrowded--stop whining.

But don't misunderstand what is being said here;
This poem makes light of something that's feared
And don't be surprised when someone takes role
Over humanity as "population control".


Details | Ballad | |

Ballad of Alexandria the Female Knight

Alexandria was a gallant knight,
She used to sit at Arthur’s Round Table.
Dressed as a boy, she helped knights fight evil
As the Blue eyed hero of this fable.

The young lady fell in love with Arthur,
But unknowing, he married Guinevere.
Alex’s heart was hurt, but she stayed true,
She battled alongside him without fear.

Sparring with Lancelot, she learned to fight,
Alex earned respect from her belov’d king,
He never knew she was an armored girl.
He only saw her long weapons in swing.

On a dark and stormy night they set off,
The knights of Camelot looked for The Grail;
Alex as custom rode by Arthur’s side.
They searched through forest glades without avail.

Finally they came across a large cave,
Its dark and dank depths were filled with despair.
Alex entered in front of the brigade,
Arthur gave her braveness no thought or care.

Down in the black unfathomable cave,
At the farthest reaches a light appeared.
Guided by instincts, they knew this was it,
The home of the Holy Grail they revered.

The room guarding The Grail sparkled with gold,
Hundreds of cups lined the intricate walls.
Together the comrades stood and puzzled.
Which of these cups would bring about their falls?

Would it be a goblet, made out of glass?
Could something like The Cup be plainly wood?
Arthur studied the many chalices.
He thought he’d found it, no one understood.

On a pillar was a gold glass, shining.
Its pleasant brightness filled up the whole room.
Arthur was about to drink its liquid
When Alex interfered and met her doom.

Arthur’s brave knight wanted to try it first,
She knew the wrong choice would bring instant death;
So she begged Arthur to let her test first,
After drinking, she soon ran out of breath.

Alex knew that Christ was a carpenter,
She wasn’t surprised that he’d chosen wrong.
Alex knew that her love would bring her fall,
So our hero bade a silent so long.


Details | Free verse | |

A Ballad of Fading Flesh

Under your skin lies a new body, 
a body so perfect you'd skin 
yourself if you knew how sublime 
existence could be with such 
perfect, shimmering and angular 
pulchritude. 

The same practice works with 
your mind. Just get rid of it, 
(a shotgun works well, or an icepick) 
and another will grow back in 
a few days, one without any of 
the prejudice, hatred, jealousy or 
fear 
of your old mind. 

The old mind goes to mind school, 
and learns how to not be a piece 
of sh*t. 
Then, it gets inserted into the open 
and waiting cranial cavity of a 
newborn Kamchatkan tribesman. 
This process is known 
as 'brain-birth.' 

Hopefully the Kamchatkans 
will never discover that 
their precious ritual 
is little more than 
psychosomatic thrift shopping.


Details | Ballad | |

A ballad for Hannah

A ballad for Hannah (In memory)

I awoke this morning with a frightening chill,
Hannah has been killed
By a group of peers,
There was never any violence
Only immaturity from them all.

Day by day was Hell
She always felt like she was locked in a cell,
The rumors grew closer
Minutes got longer,
Death was knocking at the door.

No one noticed her sorrowful eyes
Or even wondered if she wanted to die,
All that mattered to them
Is letting everyone know
That she can not be trusted.

She plotted a devious deed
Who would notice this lead?
Her fall would be quick and painless,
No one would ever suspect it,
Hannah has been killed.


Details | Ballad | |

BALLAD.

Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.

Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.

Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.

Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.

Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.

Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.


Details | I do not know? | |

The Ballad of the Winter Fallen

It was the cold and dark of winter
I was outside playing alone
My fingers were chilled like cinders
I ventured far from home

I turned around and it was white
I couldn't see at all
So I closed my eyes real tight
Then I began to fall...

I fell into a slumber
Awaken by bright lights
I heard the sound of water
I felt I slept all night

I saw a beautiful girl
With a voice as enchanting as gold
Her clothes white as pearl
She wasn't that old

I took her sweet soft hand
We walked to a grave
The grave's in white sand
My soul she couldn't save

Lights of green and blue
I was suddenly in a room
Kids in white dresses too!
Could it be my doom?

Taken to water so clear
I could hear my dad calling
His voice full of fear
The sound so loud appalling

I fell into the pond
Appeared in front of the door
This is the truth my bond
My dream existed before


Details | Ballad | |

BALLAD.

Go saddle me the black black steed
For I am going on a long long journey
Go wipe away the tears that roll
Across brawny cheeks of gypsie lassie.

Fifteen well made men going on their steeds
To get their brides leap over the strand
The brunt hills in search of a namer
Drying fast to justify conscript of land.

Twilled with a broach and a ring wintry
The death stalks the hill with sickled moon
The leaden sheen on the steed’s back
Has turned the night’s face into a roon.

Late late yesterday I saw the moon
Full bodied like a new sickled maned
The death will stalk these streets tonight
And am afraid of downy owl’s nickled bane.

Come on fair ladies hang your hair down
Over the fair head over the abordour
The fifteen men have gone to castle waste
And along came the death to devour.

Go saddle me the black black steed
The merry castle keep has hovelled a cry
Though death stalks every haste and waste
And brawny cheeks of gypsie have gone dry.


Details | Quatrain | |

Ballad Of A Desperado

...inspired by the Robert Earl Keen Jr song 
   'The Road Goes On Forever'


Flyin' high thru south west Texas
black Camaro's leakin' oil,
radiator needs attention,
sputterin', it starts to boil.

Up ahead a service station,
gotta get attention quick,
a fast mechanic and a twelve pack,
cigs and chew will do the trick.

Curt's his name, his disposition,
mean, and dangerous to boot,
he robbed a bank in Amarillo,
teller there he had to shoot.

He doesn't know the teller made it,
thinks he's headed for the Chair,
guns the Chevy, checks the rearview,
blows a tire and fits the spare.

Evenin' comes, it starts to rainin',
visibility is bad,
seven beers, he feels some comfort,
wildest time he's ever had!

Heading southward to the border,
up to speed, he's almost there,
no sign of lawmen in his mirror,
no restrictions anywhere.

North of Shafter there's a roadblock,
troopers out in full array,
he floors the pedal, doin' ninety,
they're not gonna block his way!

He slams a cruiser at full measure,
they are stationed full three deep,
a fiery heap of molten metal,
none to grieve and none to weep.