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Christmas Death Poems | Death Poems About Christmas

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

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Details | Heroic Couplets |

The Christmas Angel

Follow closely don't fall behind,
What we are about to do will blow your mind.
I hear your heart pounding,
As the corner we are rounding.

I see the building just up the way,
I have been here everyday.
Looking and noting all that is done,
For I knew this day would come.

I open the door and we are in,
Now all the fun will begin.
Stand behind me and now we wait,
Until she comes home to her fate.

I hear the keys in the door,
Be patient now she comes across the floor,
Sits down her bag and pulls off her shoes,
See I told you we left no clues.

She is sitting down with wine,
She doesn't know it's her time.
I watch and anticipate my next move,
I have something to prove.

I creep up slowly with my knife,
I have waited for this all my life,
I slide it silently across her throat,
This is what my life I do devote,

Don't act scared now that she's dead,
You wanted to watch deep in your head.
Your knew what I came to do,
Your still reading to get a closer view.

I prop her head under the Christmas tree,
Forever my Christmas Angel she will be.
Now lets leave before we are noticed,
I have achieved today's focus. 

Now see that wasn't so bad,
The best night you've ever had.
Unless you want the same fate,
Never mention this night's date.


Details | Epic |

White paper boat

White paper boat

Her image fled among the trees
his realness to intercept,
some Christmas day! With scenes inept,
beneath dark clouds and deathward's seize.

A mercenary sergeant was
that fought in wars for many years,
ascertained charge to volunteers,
instructing e'er the warfare laws.

The coffee 'pon the mountain glen,
on twilight time of wintertime,
his Christmas warmed (recalled a chime),
the M16 A4's his friend.

A ranger, served elite brigades,
but couldn't tell how life was lost,
his apparition of a ghost,
that fled to slopes and pure cascades.

He just recalled one Winter morn,
received her mail; on streamlet's banks,
next to the seething tracks of tanks,
he read her vows, on paper worn.

He never knew to phrase response,
and also thought she wouldn't wait;
his quantum was devoid of fate,
proscribing stronghold, Christmas' sconce.

On thawed snow-stream her worn mail goes,
white paper boat, comrade and guard,
his stare kept up, he was shot hard,
upon the snow, two qubits froze.

© 11-22-2013, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Epic, Iambic tetrameter)


Sponsor: Leonora Galinta
Contest Name: CHRISTMAS EPIC POEM

(for definitions, please read the "about the poem" text.)


Details | Free verse |

Holding On, Or Throwing Away?

There were things of mine in the drawers that could be thrown out,
But I kept gravitating to the things that were his.

His Public School 45 autograph book. It was red, white, and blue leatherette with 
a zipper.
Inside was his hand, writing the names of favorite teachers,
	And the dreams of the future you have when you are 13.
His father, an old world German who never shared himself,
	left ink blotches of emotion under his hand.

In another drawer, the fancy leather passport wallet complete with passport and 
photo.
	He was 16.
I don’t remember him talking about anything else with the same twinkle in his 
heart
	As he did about the 6 months he spent in Germany.

Here is a poem written to him on his 40th birthday,
	by his best friend in the world.
The gift made so much better because it was so unlike this IBM Executive
	to write personal poetry full of memories.

There was an untouched underwear drawer.
Belt buckles.
Cards of love and joy that I had given to him over many years.
A collection of Christmas wallets.
A yo-yo. Gift from a child with nothing else to give.
Old prescription glasses. Why do we keep those? Pocket knives, hankies.

A sweater and socks I knitted for him,
	Always said they were too good to wear.
		I store them still.

Every drawer I opened, every cupboard, every box stored away throughout the 
whole house had something of his tucked away within.
A stray bullet or black powder ball. A toothpick holder.
A cork screw. A flint, patches, pictures of his ‘49 Olds, a comb, a watch, pocket 
treasures.

~ Maybe if I go clean someplace safe like the fridge.
		And there was the bottle of Zeller Schwartz Katz wine 
bought for the coming Christmas season of entertaining.

This is foolishness,  hanging on.  
In spite of saving all this stuff
	the hole in me is still there. ...
		But I just could not throw him away.


Details | Couplet |

Unknown

Who am I?
Am I defined by what is near in sight?
Am I defined by what I have done,
Or am I defined by what I could become?

Perhaps I'm of no use.
To him, or her, or I, nor you.
Or perhaps I'm too misunderstood to be defined,
And it is something like understanding that comes in time.

And if to the world I'm never shown,
Yet in my own light I've grown and grown,
And so I can know no happiness but my own--
The reason for my smile, to you, will forever be unknown.

I do not pray for the world to know my name.
For it and verse; the letters are the same.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads,
I pray his pain my words to keep. 

Should his eyes rain on my page,
Better tears than storms of rage.
And if a man should find his sorrow in what he reads.
I pray his pain my words to keep.

And if to the world you're never shown,
Yet in your own light you've grown and grown,
And so you know no happiness but your own.
Let the reason for your smile, to you, only be known.


Details | Dramatic Verse (Verse Drama) |

The Promise

When meanings have been broken,
When your cross has been uncrossed,
When the reasons that you gave me,
In the labyrinth have been lost.
When your house has been emptied,
When your bedroom is swept clean,
I will come and wake you,
From your long and endless dream.

more at http://labyrinthoflies.com


Details | Elegy |

Christmas Rebels (3).

Then the leader in a flash
Sent his bullet through my 
Pregnant wife’s stomach, 
Sending the bullet out of her 
To my little girl’s brain.
He was a killer glutton, for he turned to my 
Son’s brain, scattering it,
With his axe, making the brain 
Splash on my dazed countenance.
They swiftly and organisingly boundled me up
Amidst my confusion and helpless struggles,
They cut off the veins at the back of my fits,  
Leaving me in a river of blood.

Death claimed my home,
His weapons were the Christmas rebels, 
On a melancholic Christmas night.
My saddest Christmas ever.

THE END OF THE MATTER…..

By Charles Melody (Lightening Ink)
For all the victims in jos crisis.
Rest in peace.


Details | Couplet |

The Ninth Of December

Daddy left Mommy, when I was two
She really didn't know what to do
Four little children under the age of six
Was a situation, she just could not fix

Christmas was coming, she didn't have a dime
The bills were piling up at the same time
She tried to focus on her belief,
Lost the battle and applied for relief

A county program, for the very poor
Barely kept the collectors from our door
So sad she was, by her lack of funds,
She couldn't buy presents, for her little ones

With grandma watching us, she left to go out
She never came home, we were forgot about
I was too young to remember Christmas that year,
It was years, before the whole story, I'd hear

Grandma tried hard to make it right,
She took care of us until Mom returned, one night
Branded in my memory, the day of her return
After nine long months, I would later learn

Mom never mentioned the time she was away
She loved us to the fullest every single day
Twenty-four years quickly flew by
When I think of the day it happened, I cry

God took my mother on the ninth of December
Unexpected, a loss I'll always remember
Going through her belongings, we came across.
A small newspaper article, that intensified the loss

How we found it I will  never know
This plea, with a picture, from so long ago
As I read the article, blurred by my tears
I was transported back, through the years

To a little girl on grandma's knee
Looking at a shabby, Christmas Tree
Crying for her mommy, who wasn't there
While grandma patted her silky hair

Grief, it hit me, no time to hesitate
When I saw the significance of the date
December ninth, the paper, said it all
Memory upon memory, I would recall

Two events, so many years apart
Yet, I could feel the child with a broken heart
Holiday Spirit, sad to say, I had none
Decorating that year without the usual fun

Mommies little tree, on a table it sat
Her homemade ornaments, and a tree mat
Going through the motions, I have to admit
All I wanted to do, was quit

Events don't shape us, they make us learn
Even grief, has its turn
Memories of a Christmas, thirty years past
Impressions, they fade, but still last


By Karla Null~Godsgift~

Your "Saddest" Christmas Ever Contest

Sponsored by Constance LaFrance~A Rambling Poet~










Details | Rhyme |

Bruno Sits

This is something I wrote after the death of my daughter (1995).  Bruno was her pride and joy and he sat in a rocking chair in her room for many years after.  I've revised it somewhat.  Unfortunately, my husband has also died since, so now we're down to two.  Now Colette's little girl, Grace loves Barbies

Bruno Sits Bruno sits in a rocking chair as though she’s coming hither. He's just a battered old Christmas bear but I remember that winter. Our girls didn’t know we searched at night as Santa’s helpers filled with delight. Jeannie, loved bears. Barbies delighted Colette. We bumped into Ken driving Barbie’s corvette. Suddenly looking at us with two beady eyes, was the biggest toy bear we'd seen in our lives. On Christmas day, Jeannie gasped at that bear Colette loved her vet We were all there. Now Bruno sits and sit so do I. I know Jeannie’s not coming. Bruno can’t say goodbye. Bruno will wait and we'll not forget Not I. Not papa. Not our darling Colette. We’ll see her again wherever it be. Now Jeannie’s adieu. We’re lonely as three. ©June 5, 2001 K.McL.Collins


Details | Elegy |

Saddest Christmas Ever

-DECEMBER 25,2:37 AM-

SHE WAS THINNING 'WAY-
HER COLOUR GOING GRAY
WHILE SHE DROWNED IN SWEAT:
"GERALD,HAVE YOU SLEPT?"

HER VOICE SO OLD,
AND GAVE ME THE COLD.
BUT HOW COULD I SLEEP
WHILE MUM'S LIFE COULD CREEP...?

I HAD BEEN CRYING
WEEPING AND WEEPING
SILENTLY FOR HER-
MY MOTHER WAS DYING..

I CREPT FROM MY BED:
NO LIGHTS; POOR AND SAID-
I HELD HER WEAK HANDS-
COLD WITHOUT LIFE'S TAN:

I HEARD HER BREATHING-
AND MY HEART CRAVING
FOR MAMA'S GOOD HEALTH.
"BUT," I ASKED MYSELF:

"WHY MUST SHE SUFFER
NEAR A WEEPING SON?"
AND WHERE WAS FATHER?
HE WAS DEAD AND GONE.

I WEPT AS I THOUGHT.
"RETURN TO YOUR COT,
YOU NEED A NIGHT'S SLEEP."
SHE SPOKE, MY HEART LEAPED.

"I SHALL BE HERE UNTIL
 DEATH IS NOT FULFILLED-
YOU SHALL NEVER DIE
ELSE I SHALL GHASTLY CRY."

SHE PRESSED ME TO HER HEART
AND GAVE ME A GENT' PAT.
"GERALD,PLEASE LET US SLEEP
AND MY SON DO NOT WEEP.

"IF I DIE, THEN GOD CALLED
CAUSING WEEPS TO COME FORTH-
BUT DO PRAY FOR MY SOUL,
TO REST IN HAVEN'S HOLD."

"BUT MUM," I CRIED."DO STOP."
"SON," SHE CONTINUED."DEATH 
IS INHERENT TO LIFE.
DEATH COMES 'ROUND AS WE STRIVE."

I TOOK HER HANDS IN MINE
FEELING THEM FREEZING,KIND:
-THUS ENDED HER EARTHLY STAY,
WHILE I STILL HAD MUCH TO SAY.....

...AND EVERY LAUGHTER EVAPORATED
FROM MY FACE  AS EVERY CHRISTMAS 
BRINGS SAD MEMORIES
BACK TO MIND......

-BY GERALDARTS
CONTEST NAME-"Saddest" Christmas Ever
SPONSOR-Constance La France



Details | Couplet |

WHY ARE WE HERE

Copyright © 2012 
12/17/2012 
(A Purpose So Clear) 

Like children we fear 
  In secret a somber tear 

Like learning to walk 
 Babies listen to talk 

And reach for a hand 
  To help them stand 

This too, we all must do 
  By HIS Hand made anew 


by: LP


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