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History Death Poems | Death Poems About History

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

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Details | Epic |

Black Diamond Night

Black Diamond Night (a coal miner’s cemetery) 

Where the ebony, we call “NIGHT”,
Old black rocks sit under the twilight.
Diamond shape eyes unclear and lonely, 
Sinister through hostile spirits only,

I stumble across these stones without a bone.
A solitary confinement alone,
From a barren zone the light transcend.
Only in time, our minds will mend.

Endless valleys and limitless stones.
These bones- these bones they sit alone.
The abyss, of rotten cavities with no fill,
A system no power can unwell the drill
The blood that passed over without a spill.
Peaks collapse into a spellbinding chill.
They are trapped! They are trapped!
Another diamond in the rough. 
Is what they left.

Obsessed with the dead without a death. 
A death that impatiently awaited their last breath.
Gushing, into the gems of dead chemistry,
Diamonds holding its own intensity,
These lonely graves, on top of sycamore hill.
Coal mining hearts that will never heal.
If only shiny eyes could see?
These lonely bones inside of me!
Moving in every direction possible
Flowing in every direction noticeable.
Sockets without eyes.
Stones hiding under the cobalt skies.
The mad sparkles, the madness dies.
Throughout this mess, we held in the blasphemous.
Intervening lots of gems so miraculous.
  
Into a stone of self-religion,
A black night filled of legions.
Acknowledging the soul's capacity of free.
Near the frail bones that sit alone,
Alone they sit in a morbid home.
Through a path unclear and all alone,
Troubled by the visions of my own stone.
Where the night takes place in the dark. 
The ebony rides under the diamond bark.
Along with the coal miners who never got to see the;
“Diamonds of another day!”

:) my own personal favorite poem


Details | Rhyme |

Forgotten Heroes of the Somme

Over the top lads, for old Blighty! Hold the colours high!
Say a little prayer for me, for this summer day we die.
My brothers from the ripened field and blackened mill, shop floor, 
Your brother in a killing field to fight a rich man’s war.

In bloodied mud and shattered wood, fight legions of the brave,
Unwitting youth, you’ll do your duty until you’re in the grave.
A sergeant greets a fresh-faced boy, “welcome to the slaughter!”
Here you die from three diseases, bullet, gas or mortar.

In arms we fight together and in leaden hails we pass,
We die amongst the filth and stench that once was verdant grass.
“In the morning we will remember them” we hear the leaders call,
Those fickle words of history, will not remember us all.


Details | Rhyme |

Lest We Forget

In churned up soil the poppy rose 
On top of death, still steadily grows 
And in our minds we see the crosses 
That lie in rows and count our losses 

Blood that drips from tiniest bloom 
Beloved children, lost from the womb 
Their essence blown upon the earth 
For infinity, will show their worth 

And so they marched by decree 
A war they fought, so we could be free 
The poppy, how we remember them now 
So in silence we do reverently bow 

One single day, just once every year
To remember all the horror and fear 
To give thanks and praise, to those in need 
Who saved us through unselfish deed 

For so young when they said goodbye 
With no idea that so many would die 
In Flanders Fields where poppies grow 
Innocence, now lays buried in each row 

For those that did return safely home 
Their spirit lost and so had flown
To fly away among the peaceful skies 
With friends and larks with carefree eyes

In the thunder hear the roar of guns
Calling to all our native sons
Arise, arise, from sleep once more
For once again, there will be war

In Flanders Fields, the poppies grow 
They cover our loved ones, buried below 
Like a blanket, they protect all within 
From a world that is ravished by sin 

More souls will join them as the years go by 
More wars will be fought, as the lark does cry 
More fields will be filled, with our dead 
And poppies will mark their graves in red

"Lest we forget and more shall die"
"In Flanders Fields our loved ones lie"

 


Details | Narrative |

How a Blue Rose Came to be

Once upon a time, many years ago,
There was a sweet and lovely -  red, red Irish rose,
That was plucked prematurely, from the garden vine;
A budding beauty, taken in her prime.

She was laid to rest, upon the death, of a lovers dream;
Upon a chest of ebony, where lie, his would-be  Queen; 
Lowered deep into the depths, of the church yard cemetery;
Her scarlet petals, wilting in the summer breeze.

Then the earth begin to fall, like autumn leaves;
Upon  her petals, and the chest of ebony,
From above her tomb, where stood the grieving groom
Weeping , weeping,  like a willow tree.


Then the sky begin  to disappear, amid that mournful cry,
As  tears - from above, fell from that lovers eyes,
And came to rest, like dew drops on that  Irish rose, 
As she disappeared beneath the earth, there in his grief below 
                                          
                            	 ~~~~~
		
In time, he laid a stone of ivory - upon her grave;
Etched deeply  - with the promise he had made:
To love his Irish Rose - forever and a day.

                                  ~~~~~

The years and all their seasons came and went
And a million lonely tears were cried and spent
Upon her grave where everyday he kneeled and prayed
And dreamed of her until his dying day.  


		~~~~

The epigram has long since faded on the ivory stone   
That still stands alone   upon her grave
Where from the million tears of love he gave
A seemingly impossible - blue, blue rose has grown.

 
 Written:  June 18, 2010

Note:  To late for the contest,
but I thought I would post it anyway. 










Details | Epic |

Echoes of the Stone

ECHOES IN THE STONE

No one can turn back the hands of time
Reliving the war,  TEXAS her independence
The tombs so deep, where real hero's fought and fell
A place so precious, sacred in every hold
A timeless journey, with no stop to heal
To find your eyes upon this treasure's glaze
Hearing stories not found in fairy-tale books
Finding GRACE in this AMAZING place
The legendary ALAMO, over freedom, a ghost town
Walking by the thousands, beyond this land
Outnumbered 
Echoes in the stones
A painful event, UN erased

Defenders of the ALAMO, gathered to unite
With their life's they put up an honorable fight
Heroes who embraced a defeat in March 1836
A battle deeply wounded overnight
Bravery in their hearts
No time to be scared.
Where the wind now blows,
Echoes in our souls.

With one touch, embrace the south wall
Hearing whispers, sad echoes-I call
Chills traveled down my spine
Standing among all heroes who are still buried, 
In their home at the ALAMO
Echo's in the stone
Proud of the ALAMO.

Echoes in the stone 
Where a hero still stands tall
Heros even beyond their last breath, 
Death being their only bail
Heroically fighting with their own will and liberty
In hopes that justice would prevail
The ALAMO rebuilt, standing strong
Full of life, in the center of San Antone'

The voices, the scream, 
Piercing the stone
Fighting till their death
"Remember the Alamo!"
The echoes in the stone, a hero's home
Locked inside each stone of eyes
Heroes who died,
Cried their last words
"VIVA THE ALAMO!"

   SKAT


Details | Verse |

The Dogs Of Warsaw

They slipped their chains and spread their brains
On walls of bricks and mortar,
Bared their teeth in their belief,
Prepared themselves for slaughter.

Howled aloud in the smoke and cloud
That prowled the streets and alleys,
The sounds they made in their parade
Echoed down the valleys.

They shed their blood in crimson flood,
It stained the roads and gutters,
And people hid and crossed themselves
Behind their doors and shutters.

The gunfire cracked and bodies stacked
As one fell on the other,
When it was done and lived there none,
Each sister mourned each brother.

The sun it rose, diseased and froze
Out on a wracked horizon,
The jackboot bastards drank their fill
And cried out: “What’s our poison!”

Black as soot on a winter night,
Thin with eyes red to the core,
The tourists armed with skulls and guns
Beheld the Dogs of Warsaw.

Torn like rags in a threshing mill,
Shapeless sprawl on a killing floor
Yet history will not forget
The butchered Dogs of Warsaw.


Details | Couplet |

To All Of You

There are times we are left to cope
With situations that drain our hope

Leaving us full of despair
At how some people just don't care

About the evil that they do
To good people like all of you

We are left to somehow face
That in mankind there is disgrace

And those of us left alive
Must find away to survive

As you pick up the pieces of your life
Without your mother, father, husband or wife

And some of you God forbid
Without the love of your kids

We must band together with a brotherhood
Show that in this world there is some good

Because we are together in this deal
We try to help each other heal

We seek in each other good advice
And offer each other sacrifice

We hold each other in prayer and song
As we continue to re-build the wrong

Because what else in the world can we do
Except let the light of good shine through

The evil darkness and despair
Of a catastrophic lack of care

We want you to know you are not alone
Think of America as a giant cone

And all of us are funneling through
Our prayers and hopes to all of you


Posted for Nathan's 9-11 contest


Details | Narrative |

The Ghost Dance

A shaman prays, the Spirit hears
While a Seventh Calvary regiment waits
Unarmed, a tribe endures a Union's hate
Their animosities, and their fears
As the blue coats begin to circle...
Their wrath begins to circle.

That shaman saw but a single Spirit
That was split between different beliefs
He could accept the white Spirit Chief
But the white men would not hear it
They would not blend their God
With the red heathen God.

Anger explodes behind powdered shot
Spraying death from muzzled shame
Cruelly winning their ill gotten fame
Painted heroes claim a tainted spot
History claims the Ghost Dance...
As death claims the last dance.

A Dakota creek runs darkly red
Forever silencing the Ghost Dance
A chanting shaman dies in his trance
One hundred fifty Sioux lay dead
Now, only blue coats remain...
Only the blue remain.

A creek ran red with Union shame
When a shaman called the Spirit Great
And that Spirit did not hesitate
He fell on Wounded Knee and came
To take His people home...
His people swiftly home.


                                     Timothy I. Brumley



Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) |

the day you flew to Heaven


           We knew , it was if a moment stopped in time 
              hearing the news before most of the World did
           He loved to fly his plane from Colorado to Monterey Bay
           He was a avid golfer at Pebble Beach respected 

           He had loves and passions from many places 
           deciding to fly low through the overcast red sunset
            Not only did he love music and inspire all 
            He loved his Plane , he will always remain a beautiful Soul

              The next day it was confirmed ..all saddened 
             It was John Denver's plane that went down
             Today in Pacific Grove stands the Memorial 
             So Kiss me and smile for me we will ~
              always in loving memory 
               OH babe ,  do we hate you go ~    
                            
    

         Inspired by ; contest in Music and Loss of an Artist
                   "Leaving on a Jet Plane "
             


Details | Free verse |

Under the Tall Trees

Of dust, of dirt;
suspended, lost, remarkable.

Of no merit;
forgotten, under the tall trees.

And bury him;
No accurate history serves.

Under cross;
buried in sand,
buried in dirt.

His face will carry forth,
past this miserable state.

To birth,
to die;
forth not.

Behold;
of man, 
of earth.

Of dust, of dirt;
suspended, found, 
frozen in time.


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