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Death Nostalgia Poems | Death Poems About Nostalgia

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

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Details | Free verse | |

You Caught The Wind

I remember you, from when there was a spring When the seasons were ripe, with verdant green Our nimble feet danced in the wind and on the brink of everything Not a furrow in the brow of youth We borrowed life for just awhile We tapped our shoes, on a promised stage Where carefree laughter was the rage that filled our age with endless miles We danced and twirled a twin ballet just you and me on summer's waves Two pirouettes, in mode of curls of blossoms, frilled, and tender leaves unfurled in winds, we found a way to soar our wings, above the world We knew not yet of death or dying or of regret, or cause for crying But, something frowned upon the season You caught the wind, and without reason A colder wind that kept you flying far beyond my eyes could see And to the other side you disappeared beyond my words beyond my tears Now here alone I touch the day and taste the night remembering I will walk alone, in autumn sun And lay myself on dying leaves I think of you and think of then I feel the wind against my face that sweeps me to a distant place where I recall what time erased I'm closer now... to hear the sound The whisper of the seasons calling Above the trees, the sky is blue I think of you, and feel the breeze And all the while, the leaves must fall
.......................................................................................................


Details | Ballad | |

This Song is for my Mother

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared

Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……

For you

Would have placed 
A magic carpet 
‘neath your weak and shaky legs

Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again

Would have bribed 
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain

Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again

Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old

Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark 
And lonely soul

Be the girl
Playing games
In a world 
The sun won’t set

Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises 
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke

I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away 
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day

I’m  drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning

This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….



Details | Dramatic Verse | |

My Funny Valentine

Vino
Vinny
Vino
Vinny
There was no doubt I was seeing double
Vinny poured another glass
I actually think it was whiskey
There we sat, at the back of the Angelos Steak and Kill
The joke wasn’t lost on many
The joint was dark and filled with smoke
Each booth offering up its own unique privacy

Never an evening went by
That some devious plot or plan wasn’t being hatched
Tonight was no different
Vinny laid it all out on a napkin
He told me revenge is bitter sweet
Tomorrow night we would feast on the bitter and the sweet
I had no doubts
I was ready to prove my worth
I was ready

Well the next night came faster than a hangover
Eight of us left in two cars 
We had a shot of grapa, only that
The Capone said we needed all are wits about us tonight, and then some
Now no one could argue that, and no one would

Laughter and bravado go hand in hand
We arrived on the side street, where one lone doorman 
Was smoking his life away
Little did he know, how soon that fag would be his demise
One shot to the head, and blood spurted 
The water fountain of death
Began its dance


In went Vinny in the lead and me right on behind
One doesn’t waste time with fancy introductions
We were there to deliver the red blood of revenge
Sweet death served to order, and we followed orders
The dinnerware and glasses shattered, wine became blood
Made men fell, bullets tangoed uniting the living with the dead

A blood bath
There are no other words to explain
The dead danced with our bullets and fell onto the now red carpet
Revenge was served, they said bitter sweet
Me, I fell to my knees
Vinny he looked over with an uncomprehending stare

The waitress serving drinks
Was shot right through the heart, it was my bullet
That murdered my finance
For me this revenge was to be only bitter
Dazed I lay, in a pool of blood, hers

Sirens in the distance
Vinny yelling, get the hell up, get the hell up
There was no heaven or up for me
I was as good as dead
They left
I crawled over to her

Tears clouded my vision
I laid my head upon her breast
Entwined in agony, within the grasp of reaper
I caressed her soft hair, I kissed the sour blood of my sins
My enemies in death, served me my own poison


She put a finger to her lips
Seductively 
She whispered shhhhhhhh
I whispered back, with my now black heart

Be my
Funny valentine

She smiled softly and died


Details | Free verse | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.


Details | Free verse | |

Under the Willow Trees

A path strewn thick with rusty leaves led to nowhere and everywhere in our fantasies, rescuing us from after school chores and homework pages wrinkled in time; a memory come and gone returns to me. Back home, under a row of willow trees, I weep for my childhood friend, for the innocence lost, I thought I could keep, for the faded line between joy and pain that suddenly comes with age; I close moist eyes to see you dancing in rain showers and climbing up rays of sunlight, imagination uncaged; running carefree for hours - just us, two, whether skies were shades of gray or blue. We said forever, a pinky swear I remember, naïve in our make-believe world. How many years passed by, distance growing between you and I? A phone call once-in-a-while became just a Christmas card once-a-year. I hope you always knew the truth, I loved you, my dear friend. Time cannot erase our laughter caught on the autumn breeze and the childhood secrets shared on that path strewn thick with rusty leaves, trodden bare each year come fall of winter snow. Our laughter now echoes in dreams, chaffing the row of willow trees still sulking low, moss brushing tears in timeless beauty, waiting for you to come home.


Details | Free verse | |

WILLY NELSON

Willy Nelson
I heard he died last night
He was singing on the road again
He should have picked another song!

6-1-15

Not a Clerihew and pure fiction.. 
A word play off his famous song :)


Details | Narrative | |

Beginnings Or Endings

Birth was suppose to come easier than this.
I pant quickly as I was taught, 
but it isn't helping, nor does squinting my eyes.
But again, the pain evaporates for a moment
like the tears in the corners of my eyes.
It fools me in thinking it is almost over now, and I try to relax.
 
But all I can think about is my mother
and how different it was for her, 
especially, since her young husband was so far away

My back aches, and once again, I look for the owner of the mysterious voice
That voice is my own...
I groan, and the doctor finally makes a quick-fire decision.
I am given a block for the pain, an incision is made,
and although I feel numb, and my mind is foggy,
I can feel someone's hands groping, 
... a tug, a void,...a small noise...  of a babe..

The next several hours are a bit of a blur
until everything clears and I'm back in my room
on the sterilized sheets, too stiff, and too sleek, 
too fragrant of bleach, to think about sleep.

This miracle I bore, as soft as fine silk, 
with tiny closed fists, rose-petal nails
fills me with joy, with relief, I am filled
 with a deep pang of grief
for a long ago thief
I can feel the connection, mixed joy, and compassion 

I bathe in the scent of my brand new beginning ......
But my thoughts stream behind me,...... to a hope that had ended
My mother in bed, after losing her first....
So young, in her bed, without child,........ bleeding red
from the war that she fought, while my Dad fought his own

I cry tears all alone.... for the grief that she owned
I so cherish the breath.....of this babe on my breast

The circle of life, starts with birth .....sometimes, death




_________________________________________________________
3/14/14


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


Details | Free verse | |

Senility

The rainbow of reason ends
With a pot of gold and jabberwocky.
When hippocampus dwells in solitary,
       silent,
              eerie,
                    forgotten dormitories
of the expatriated mind.


In planned visits 
To familiar spaces,
When elapsed faces are still hailed with fervor, 
         and hasty,		
                 eager,
                      vivid candor,
As though they had never gone.


Deep in thought
In cavernous bowels tangled lost, 
Remote repartees recurring restlessly. 
          Cautious,
                      wary,
  	                    and ever leery	
of echoing footsteps anxiously nearing, as though someone might overhear. 


As even eyes fail to mirror
The twilight of past vigor,
Speaking in feeble voices muddled beneath walls,
            beneath walls,
	           beneath walls,
	                     beneath walls.
Walking politely in ancient, and empty, imaginary halls.


The stars stop still and unfleeting
Listening to last breaths, and the heart’s last beating,
To hearken timid last words from the past's last illusions,
            past apparitions,
                         past veritas
                                   past delusions,
Where celestial alae still go a-flutter with lost aspirations.


When the frail hand that once held and sheltered
Cannot even rattle dandelion clocks,
Or crush delicate imago wings into dust,
          and caress, 
                  and feel,
                           and touch, 
Save for Elysian veldts
Where the rainbow of reason ends.



Details | Epitaph | |

Forgotten

No name appears on my stone
there are no flowers strewn
grasses grows knee high
full of thorny brambles

How did this come to pass
that so soon I am forgotten
no longer in memories am I
no one tends to my grave

Yet but a few short years
have passed since my death
my name once on many lips
now only sighed by the wind
as it passes my resting place

Now, forsaken, forgotten
out of sight and out of mind
nothing now remains of me
just my crumbling bones
moulder away deep in the earth


Details | Rhyme | |

The Park -- Part One

Pigeons flutter in the park
eating refuse from the grass.
Noon comes; the hours pass.
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Silence reigns throughout the park.
A crumpled headline, a forgotten toy,
lifeless, do not hear a far-off bark.
In the park, not a single little boy.
Midnight comes; the hours go --
soon, the sky begins to glow...
morning breaks, and with it, sound.
In the park begins the morning round.
White skeletons of benches -- slats --
in all the wintry parks of Age
fill up in morning. Deserted flats,
each with the aspect of a cage,
become an unused, waiting gauge
that measures dull and wasted years --
floods of loneliness -- rivers of fears...
The weak and battered, pallid crowd
which, daily, parks ingest
speak in muted tones; but loud
is the message all suggest.
The clangor of the beaten Belles,
trampled in the slime of years,
entreats the mind to plug its ears;
yet, if it will, it hears...
memories, perhaps, keep active still
the shriveled and the loosened flaps
that are the mouths of all the Bills --
reduced to gray and ugly gaps...
Down the graveled pathways come
children bent on carefree play.
Belles, though silent, are not dumb,
nor will the Bills forego their say.
But warnings fall on ears too deaf;
around are eyes too blind to see.
And so the tots, too young for Death,
play on and on till time for tea.
Day after day after day
children come and children play.
Pigeons flutter in the park;
Leaves fall; the sky grows dark.
Once more, deep silence claims the park.
Midnight hours come and go.
The sky again assumes a glow.
Wind stirs dead leaves to rustle.
Starts again the aimless bustle
of the battered, weak, and infirm-eyed:
those whom living failed -- who died
but still must play their signal role
of unloved, friendless, unhailed Old;
who gather daily in the park
to envy tots their vital spark --
the hope, the promise in their eyes --
before it fades, before it dies.
But tots at play -- the young, the bold --
must laugh and sing -- cannot be told
that youth's not long and Time is cold.
Time devours -- a ravenous beast --
and men are the courses at his feast.
Some he swallows in their prime,
 On some he waits too long a time:
 these rancid morsels, Time's midnight snack,
explore their memories. They hie them back
 to that old moment, deepest black, 
when they first dared to know -- and first said --
that Time's the master all men dread.
(Please read The Park -- Part Two, which is a continuation of
this poem...due to space limitations)


Details | Free verse | |

Moon bridge

The moon so bold seems cold
with a halo of midnight glow
I sit mesmerized as the night grows old.

I bleed still, even after all these years
and I wait again through the night
aching in the depths of my soul
that no other seems to know
the Loneliness that has become my companion.

In the darkness we wait and confide in the other
our deepest fears as memories fade
in and out each season of change
            the nostalgia tempers the wars of pain
this tempestuous foe of ours
         wails at the gates of midnight
howling the warble of humanities last grace.

How the comfort of minds and hearts
turn from light to deep dark in the face 
of eternities long time clock...

I ache with wanting, with need and passion
          it is a lie that time heals and wounds scar
each night is fresh like the first
                              when I faced realities shock.

Who can wait with me?
Who can hold this hound at bay?
Who can cherish what little love left in me
             and make the broken whole?


I ache to be loved again as the love that burns
and waits inside of me. 
Who can comfort this emptiness and fill the void
                that so many leavings have left?

Cherish and love to honor and protect
             but who can slay these demons that hold my heart in wrath?
Who will walk the sulfur clouds of hell to save my mind
     and deliver my world to the gates of heaven
      with life, not death bridging the distance of pain?

I sit and wait at the floor of the moon each night
waiting for that bridge to carry me yonder,
      this moon who hangs heavy and ripe with the yearning of my soul
with clouds aglow as if I could sweep them across a canvas
   with the brush held in your hand

I rage at her as I wait, but still I wait and weep
as Loneliness and I keep each others company
wishing the clouds of that great moon could truly create
a way to find the lost, a pathway to home, lit by the legacy our love.


Details | Light Poetry | |

Birth and Death

The sun and moon conceived a star shooting through time and space born within the ocean delivered upon its waves while Beethoven's sonatas softly played nightly gales whispered those tunes to all the seashells beach sand passed through coral reefs as soles of lovers feet tread buried in beach fires deep begging the earth most humbly to draw a breath but over the cliff the hurricane's wind blew until death from those turbulent ocean waters came a sailor's truth watching a passing ship with broken sails and ghostly crew waiting as death cast it's ending shadow old, yet new sending those born in ocean waves back to the waters blue in birth and death none shall overcome casting us away to where everything was once created in it's hidden depths and there began an understanding between birth and death, a truce
Inspired by: John F. Kennedy." We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came." 9112007


Details | Epigram | |

Her Epitaph



 
" It was a great party, Wish I could have stayed longer.."


Details | Free verse | |

Emotional Turbulence

The voices grow louder, Intensifying with emotion, anger lining every aggressive word. My insides squeeze tighter as the vitriol poisons my mind, How does such hostility exist? As the sound of hatred deepens, The feelings strengthen their grip, like a vice, So tight, I can no longer breathe All the negative emotions I have ever felt, fill me, Threatening to overflow. So long have they been banished… Enough. No more! My mouth opens, An earsplitting scream of pain and suffering shatters the silence, Sobs of sorrow and grief wrack my body, Murderous shrieks of anger and hate, Wretched cries of self-pity and self-loathing, Poison the air. Now, free of these emotions. But the monster still exists Within the dark depths of my mind.


Details | Personification | |

Dark Shadows

The night approaches me again and you're not here still with me 
And here under my breath I call your name and I watch your loving face 
And there among the dark shadows  you'll come back  again the same  
I hear your haunting tune and I know that you'll be waitin'  this time for me. 

Release me from all this pain I'm sufferin "Come to me"and just take my hand 
Hold me in your arms so tight and please never ever let me again go 
Together we'll dream of that other time and fly away to that  magical time band 
There is no other place like this in heaven or earth where our love can only but glow. 

Join me here tonight,hear my voice into the night and just be mine for all time 
Come to me right now and give me all your love before the night is carried away 
Let me kiss your lips,caress and love you all night til we both see a brand-new day 
Disperse all the dark shadows in which I exist,come to me and be mine for all times.


Dorian Petersen Potter 
aka ladydp2000 
copyright@2010 


July 18, 2010 


Author Notes: 

This poem amongt many others that I'd written in my life,had been inspired by 
my very favorite and most beloved vampire character of all time, 
"Barnabas Collins" from the most popular daytime soap opera series ever 
produced on T.V. in my opinion, "Dark Shadows." This whole DVD collection is most 
wonderful! 
And Jonathan Frid is so awesome! 


Details | Epitaph | |

Floating.....

Wish I could have taken better 
Care of my body... 
Wish they could have stopped 
the cancer sooner... 

I'm just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 

If I had my way, I'd pick another church. 
At least one that spelled my name right 
On the obituary. 

I wonder if they knew, 
That I truly loved Sonya, 
but married Adele out of convenience. 

Wish I could have told my brother, Kenny 
I forgive him, maybe he wouldnt cry so hard. 
Wish I could tell Aunt May that hat is too big. 
I wonder if Tara knows the deacons 
Are looking up her dress. 

Im just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 

I wonder if the choir knows 
How much I really hate that song... 
Hope they know the Pastor's lying. 
I was not that good of a man.. 

That suit is not the one I would have picked. 
My body looks so much smaller, 
and that make-up makes me look too light. 

Im just a spirit now, 
Floating over my own funeral. 
Free from pain, free from it all. 

Wonder if they know, 
In spite of my short time on this earth...
i truly enjoyed it.
I truly loved it all.


Details | Narrative | |

Her name is Lovely part 2

Suddenly a very soft and familiar voice spoke to her conscious saying “Lovely”
“Yes” she replied   
“Tomorrow you are coming back home”
“OK” she said breathing heavily
The conversation ended right at that instant 
Seven minutes later the unpredictable happens and Lovely dropped into a short comma.
A new day arrives.

Date: 01/01/1788
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
Lovely wakes up; open the golden windows the sun is raising
Knock, knock someone is at the golden door
She didn’t know what was going on this time
She walks all the way to the door not noticing that her house was made out of the finest
marble, and the finest gold that ever existed.
Lovely answers the door thinking is the mail man with the missing letter.
When she finally opens the door instead of the mail man was her husband with open arms and
a smile on his face.
Saying “welcome home baby” “I had been waiting for you”  

WE ALL  GOING TO A BETTER PLACE SOMEDAY. OUR REAL HOME.



                                                                                        
Diogenes Zuniga


Details | Narrative | |

Another I Do Another Pledge

I saw death in the face of the viper
The day he broke my heart
Deep inside I know he set you free 
Sang the Meadow Lark

 Another I do! Another pledge
 The treacherous viper wore the same black suit
 He wore the colors of devil’s cape the second time around
Because strait is the gate and narrow is the way 

His face shines as he fake a smile
A sort of camera pose, 
I saw death in his face and Pinokio nose

The well-wishers whisper “no taste
 What a disgrace! , what a waste!
 A pitiful image of a man
 The pastor sadly said Amen!

I saw death upon the face of the haunted soul
The cracks in the old brick wall whistle a tune
“Thou stand before the alter another fool”

A wedding or a funeral an evening of doom! 
 The middle-aged groom
 The love, kindness in him decline.
Love is blind.





Details | Narrative | |

Her name is Lovely part 1

Date: 12/31/1787
Ding dong, ding dong, sounds the door-bell
She wakes up; open her window the sun is raising
Knock, knock, some one is at the door
She rushes to the door thinking is the mailman 
She is expecting a love letter from Iraq
She finally answer the door but stead of the mail man is an officer from the army, he is
well dress and carries a small box with him and inside of the box is an American flag with
three different medals.
One medal is for being a soldier of the US Army, the second medal is for being a national
hero, and the third one, is a medal of honor for dying for his country.
She goes crazy crying out for help, screaming all out that she was expecting a baby.
“I’m really sorry” the officer says
“If there anything I could do please call me” he reached his wallet and pulled out a
business card and gave it to her.
“He was a brave man” he said
The officer turned around and left the house with out hesitation.
Poor girl was drowning in her own tears; she still didn’t believe what just happen 
“Lord please help me”, “help me go through this horrible pain” she cries out.
She goes back to the bed and tries to sleep it off, but it didn’t work out, the pain was
too much just to act like nothing didn’t happen.
She finally falls as sleep after several hours of crying painfully.
She tosses and turns all night long, sweating like crazy with massive pain on her chest 
While she was having a horrible nightmare; dreaming about the death of her husband-


Details | Verse | |

In Death's Dream - Life's Brevity

A grey frame house and backyard swing call out to me from somewhere buried deep in time - a memory. A river front and 60’s band are beckoning - symbols of beginnings of my reckonings. Ostensibly, I cannot travel back in time, or I would be there dancing, not making rhyme. Oh, can it be the parks and wooded spots I knew now withering - will cease to be when I am through? Except in dreams! Were folks and my old haunts the same revisited, then on some stone would live my name. 7/11/2015 For the Brevity-The Short of It Poetry Contest of Casarah Nance


Details | Free verse | |

For Grandmomma Pt 2

Con't from Pt 1

At two years old your motherly instincts took me away./ What could my "mother" say,/ she 
was married to a man who had a violent hand./ I was too young to understand./ But being 
with Grandmomma was God's plan./ There was never a time I was too old for you to hold./ 
You protected me from abusive hands./ You would take beatings in my place from your old 
man./ Vile names would sting my young ears./ Your arms would comfort me and you would 
wipe away my tears./
     I remember as a child, Thursdays,/ being the best days./ A movie, then a toy,/ and ice 
cream could be no greater joy./ I was Grandma;'s boy/ You kept my belly full with home 
cooked meals./ You were the one who watched me ride my first bike without traiining 
wheels./ 
You use to tuck me into bed./ Read me a story and kiss my head./ The times I was sick with 
fever,/ you watched over me without catching a breather./
     For twenty-nine years your love was unconditional and without end./ You were not only 
my Grandmomma but my Mother, Father, my friend./ I pray my words spiritually reach to 
you beyond those pearly gates./ Because like in life, and in death, God had made us 
eternally Soulmates!/ I love you momma.....
 
Billie Jean Alexander Lopez     May 1, 1937-July 26, 2007
 
Note: I just finally finished this piece for my momma,  It took 2 years!
The form of poetry is "spoken work" Thought I would share this piece with you guys.
It's a deep personal piece and I hope it "reads well"   
                                                                         Jimmy


Details | Blank verse | |

Love Song

Here’s what I’m thinking now 
at the end of the world: 

There are no atheists in foxholes— 
no theists in politics. 
If knowledge is power, 
and power corrupts, 
then why did I bother reading you, Cicero? 

Does it matter that I didn't’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

There’s a poetry reading tonight 
whence I’I'll chide other poets 
who don’t sit alone. 
I won’t bring up death 
but I might have to breathe, 
even into a mike 
and mouth lines to get a snap or a boo 
maybe even a wince or two. 

Just maybe I’I'll talk about love 
and how following your heart is like following a dog— 
it only leads to vittles and (female dogs). 
But how many times have I used that line 
since the story I wrote about you, 
a witty and sexy and fictional you? 
Most likely I’I'll read something tonight about you. 

I won’t recite it from memory 
because I don’t think about you that much anymore, 
not even when I search for my socks in your drawer 
or when I put on the scratchy sweaters you give me, 
horizontally striped to bring out my eyes? 

I don’t remember your eyes 
except they are blue. 
And I don’t remember you, 
not even when I smell cucumber and apple, 
not even when I sleep on my side of the bed 
or when you walk through the door 
happy to see me; 
even then I don’t remember you. 
Does it matter that I don’t love you? 
Would it have mattered if I did? 

How about a few one-liners 
for the end of days?— 

Depression is self-awareness, 
which you’d know if you were; 
I need Ritalin to listen to you, 
Lithium to hug you, 
Viagra to feel you, 
and Valium to sleep. 

All you need 
is me standing there, waiting at home 
with turns of phrase and word plays 
telling you about why I hate Ayn Rand 
but want to buy as much as I can 
and how I love celebrity gossip 
and detest poetry slams 
and find rhyming trite 
except when I am. 

Hypocrites can still be right, 
which you do understand 
because you nod at my nonsense 
about fighting the man. 

But now, at the end of all things— 
I’m speechless and witless and pointlessly well-read, 
and you’re just sitting there, smiling 
asking me to pass the bread.


Details | I do not know? | |

Today Is Terrible----

The cracked spine of
the book I dropped
at the call.
A chip in my
windshield left by a
pompous *?#@! in a
red sports car as I
drive to the
service.
Rain expectorating
from an ashen sky as
the dirt is turned.
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
crack in grandma’s
spine from her fall
down the stairs.
The chip in her
amazingly smart mind
after eighteen years
as a teacher.
Tears running,
dripping from my
Mothers ashen face
as she cries “My
mama’s dead.”
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
cracked family
emotions left raw
and empty.
The chip in Grandpas
numb mind at the
gathering… “Where is
Irene she should be
here?”
Faces gone ashen
with dread, do we
leave him numb or
remind him that his
wife is dead?
Today is terrible.
Though this is less
terrible than the
empty silences,
missing the jokes
Grandma used to
crack.
Grandma’s laugh and
her endless smile
which always exposed
that tooth with the
chip in it.
Without her the
world has become
empty, bleak, and
ashen.
Today is terrible.

                   
                   
                   
          Summer
Gratias


Details | Personification | |

a conversation with steven-his battle with aides

i have seen my death
wrapped around a maypole
waving four corners in the wind
hauntingly
playing 
peek-a-boo with my soul

i have seen my death
as i march onto the battlefield
aimed to kill
that which threatens my very existence
my right to stand
on the balcony of life
feast my gaze on the rising sun
interlaced with the aroma of morning dew
sit at the edge of a quiet stream
watch the sun slip slowly
behind the mountain peaks
the air dancing
with the fragrance of lilac

i have seen my death
viewed through the stethoscope
of the minds of learned men
that boast their knowledge
their talent
their skill
as i move away from sterile hands
with sterile anger
pushing away sterile needles
that have not the cure
only promises of next time
i want answers to this rage
this terror
that no man understands

i have seen my death
through the eyes of my loved ones
as they kiss away
my fear
their fear
my death
their death
i cannot enter 
into their quiet soft place
my space
is filled with shadows
as i watch them close the coffin
on their humanness
but not their souls

i have seen my death
and
i'm not ready to die


Details | Lyric | |

Oklahoma City Bombing Grieving For Those Who Died

I only hear the silence as I stride, Twixt granite chairs neatly set in rows. The 169 chairs epitomize each life, Now neath a sea of grass that grows. My psyche periodically visits this place, All be it, here, their Spirits do not rest. However, a Monument and Reflection pool, Usher memories, as if at their behest. Still I visualize a chain link fence, With images, blossoms, Pandas and such. A transitory memorial that reaches out, To asphyxiated lives, as if to touch. For certain, I dare not challenge, The eternal rest, of those who sleep. But pausing at each chair, in silence, I recall this day's events and weep. I would to God, that casualties, Could discern today, my thoughts about. Then from the quiescence of this place, Would emerge an angelic shout. For I tire of silence.


Details | Free verse | |

Death comes to an Old Man

An old man, worn and wearied by the toils of life, 
stood alone in a darkened hallway, 
each wall hung with brightly lit paintings. 
He walked by the Mona Lisa, and as he passed 
he knew the reason for her smile. 
He paused before Cleopatra, Queen of Egypt, 
and the air seemed to be sweetly scented with the heavy perfume of roses, which pulled at his soul with soft, wraithlike arms.
He stopped.
The world seemed to shrink away from him,
dissolving into nothingness.
Before him was Van Gogh's "Starry Night"
Its yellow paint looked wet, vivid.
The blue rippled as the colours swirled
together, hypnotizing; the old man transfixed
by their mesmerizing beauty 
as he was swept up into their whirling splendor,
leaving the blue-shadowed hallway silent and empty,
as the pale stars wavered on in cold brilliance


Details | Couplet | |

Autumn

Immersed in the sound of the low rustling wind
Memories and places they haunt yet again
Passed by so quickly as each falling leaf
Drifting and flowing on an unyielding stream
A current to carry from birth right on through
Filling our moments with cares which ensue
A mind lost in remnants of lovers and friends
Babies and children and time long since spent
Familiar, intangible, just out of reach
Longing for ghosts that my heart doth beseech
Winter is looming and summer is past
A time for remembrance the years gone so fast
Beauty is captured in my last breath of life
The sparkling colors in the warm golden light
Do mimic the glory and wonder be told
In those bright days of autumn and a life to behold
 


Details | Acrostic | |

Final Slumber

Twisting the Misery around his Finger,

He walks to an isolated place.

Embedding his Heels into Sand, Carefully He

Offers himself to the Earth.

Lucid, Nostalgic Perfumes of a 

Deceased Love Permeate his senses.

Meagrely He closes his eyes,

And Remembers.

Night time captures the Sun and

Sinks into Sand. Darkness,

Like Liquid it Slips under the Surface

Engulfing the Labyrinth of Light,

Eating the morning hue, turning it to mist.

Peace is With Him, For Now, He

Sleeps.


Details | Free verse | |

For Grandmomma Pt 1

A lot of lessons learned./ I sip this Hennessey and fought the burn./ My mind is clouded with 
so many memories./ I hear your voice "Boy pick yourself up off your knees"./ But I wonder 
why God would take you away from me./ Please Lord I need some clarity./ Nothing makes 
sense.  I cry, I can't lie nor deny I'm drowning in my own dark obscurity./
     The pain remains inside./ Eating me alive./ I wonder without you if I'll survive./ I try and 
hide from the responsibilities in my life, but have no success./ So I'm left with this heartache 
in my chest./ Tears roll down my cheek./ Does that make a man weak?/ God I need to 
know./ Was it just her time to go?/
     So many times I sit down attempting to express what I was feeling,/ but my heart and 
mind wasn't willing./ Nothing I wrote seemed to be enough,/ to compliment you and your 
motherly love./ Every time I thought of you I felt like balling up in a fetal position and dying./ 
I could not write about you without breaking down and crying./
     For awhile I carried a bad attitude./ Looking for an excuse to accuse anyone in my family 
forever disrespecting you./ I think about all the tears my grandmomma shed./ I wished her 
alive and everyone else dead./ Was it my imagination or was it your pretty face I saw in the 
clouds?/ I hope you're looking down on me and you're proud./ And you're hearing my voice 
right now somehow./ I wish there was a button I could push to rewind./ So I can tell you 
what's on my mind./ Kiss your check./ Have you speak./ Hold you just one more time./
     Your passing took away my energy./ You said you would never leave me./ You were 
always so honest./ So when you broke your promise,/ It left me confused./ I felt cheated 
and my soul was bruised./

Con't in Pt 2