Birth begins the tragedy in us. Life's
First sound is a blank scream
Against sorrow's hidden portends of strifes
All we know are mirages and dream.
Mother took the news staring at the sky
She must have cried inside
For I have no evidence else. There's no why
For it ... how my rage defied
Her callous front ... he was her first boy
The only hero she spoke well
Of, his name was the formula for joy
In our house: anecdotes tell
Of his escapades ... youth defying fate
He had a cat's tenacity for life
And from evil wills found a golden gate
Of scholarship and exotic wife.
I remember when the years pulled him back
All he came with was a bag
Of books, and a couple suits in novel sack
His eyes time warped, a lag
Of missing years and loneliness enfolding him
But he was handsome still
And my soul cartwheeled at joy's fresh brim
Those moments that he filled
When eyes first contact spelled pride to claim
This aristocrat like a medal
I could wear. So young he was, her true flame
The son of love's sweet recital!
And many days sitting in his shadow, I heard
Him dream big things like stars
Far away, warm things like a fluttering bird
Things made bright to cover scars
In the sore of memory. His mind was his cliff
A risky place in the high winds
And closer to the edge for the Grail he'd drift
O how the giddy world spins!
He died in Kingston: William came and went
And my mother looked at the sky
But until she died, about his memory was silent
And I forever wonder why.
I loved him, you know, he was the first best thing
A poor child had to claim or show
The world ... with him I was no more common. A king
He made me in his gold of glow
Something that I looked forward to meet in me. I,
Like mother, been silence since
But sometimes my heart just heave and would cry
For time this love cannot rinse
And I that moment cannot comprehend, that death
Gave no notice to his lauded day
And like common dust on a wild wind's balmy breath
My brother was swiftly swept away.
Copyright © L'nass Shango | Year Posted 2009
High on the Normandy cliffs
Looking out over Pointe du Hoc
As cold Atlantic winds whisper out
The names of the brothers I left behind
Now only fine marble monument shadows
Dot the trenches and empty emplacements
As the final testimony of the fallen
Still ringing frightened with those desperate voices
Proclaiming both their lives and death
That they were ever here…
In the emerald hills of Collville Sur Mur
I can still hear the phantom naval shells screaming
Underneath the crying of men
Pulverized and dying in their comrades arms
All for the belief of the land from which they hail
While the roaring waves wash the still bloody sands
In and endless and rending cycle
That silent cacophony of brother and foe
Call out to me still for comfort and aid
Asking only to be remembered…
Copyright © Charles Fuller | Year Posted 2008
Moon Walk on Your Grave
A life begun in stardom,
now, ending up in shame.
Relentless media, cruel world,
who then is there to blame.
A sadness inside,
no tears on your face.
The pain all but over,
mass confusion erase.
In wonder we watch,
can a life be explained?
Can't surface your agony,
under facade you remained.
Let's focus on the talent,
musical joy that you gave.
In peace now I pray,
moon walk on your grave.
© Rene' Brady 2009
Copyright © Rene' Brady | Year Posted 2009
To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice
The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content
With the debauched path she hath went.
Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon
I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu
You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed
She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat
Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse
But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.
Copyright © Tom Hyam | Year Posted 2013
ODE TO A NEVER RECEDING ECHO
Day and night in an eternal combat.
A truce : the eternal cycle of night and light
Lost in the ruse of an eclipse.
Where is the truce in the ruse of going and coming?
You found yours swinging on that threshold,
Where udara tree dances to the choirs of the wind.
Then you bend to itch the scratch.
The debt of birth repaid too soon.
Where lion wimp and head dancer limp!
Have you journeyed through the chart on your palm ?
After a drunken sip of prerian spring.
Soured tryst with Sophia.
Cherubim through the umbilical returns
To the progenitor?not conceived! Unborn!!
Halo on rusty hair sits.
Or was it your iyiuwa. Unburnt
Pleat, unpleat then pleat…
Under the star-apple tree,
Where all roads meet
Do not live on the threshold
Stay with me, ignore the whispers of these shadows
Itching your feathered cap.
You have sucked through this nipple time dry
Leave her, now flaccid, bosom. see she shrieks.
Head of the Baptist shrieks
Superfluous gift for many half Christs,
Too proud for Baptism.
I wonder why?
A pine piercing the sun
Withers at the descent of a dozen, score moon.
Eleodimmuo it is you I am calling.
You, eternity lost in time.
A dance to a never receding echo
If now is dusk, I hope the echo stays
At least,for me, a pedagogic star.
While the magi?me, beside the manger wait
For the birth of light.
While owl hoots dove’s lullaby;
Vulture hatching in eagle’s nest.
You are my Ogbanje, my forerunner
Even if the lips of days hums dirge as they pass
Now, Soldier ant from the udara returns. again.
Matching, invading my tryst, feasting on a depleted layer.
Futile to chase; deliberate in pace
Need I learn this tune?if it never rest?
Fallowed stream bites as dreams cradle me.
The black thing chants Ogbanje, Ogbanje and I sign
At this never receding echo.
In memory of Onyebuchi
If you in dancing to, faults, my beat. see a fore admission of a mortal's fallibility
© Chikwado Nwattah . 2014
Copyright © Chikwado Nwattah | Year Posted 2014
My brother you lived by the sand and the sea they both set your spirit free.
Remembering all the times that we went through doing things that brothers do.
As a chef you loved to cook and create watching Grandmon in the kitchen it was your fate.
Family and friends miss you so they all wish you did not go.
And Rocky my brother what can I say? I know I will miss you everyday.
Copyright © Joseph Sergi | Year Posted 2013
Today, my heart heaves a heavy weight
Why, O! Why?
The soul crushing goodbye
Fervently I pray,
To see you just one more day
We part ways knowing it not our last
Looking ahead, thinking of our next
But Death, too grotesque, had other plans;
My burden to bear!
Why this painful news,
Only God knows
Wake me from this dream
A cold, unfathomable abyss
That I never want to revisit
We bow our head in sadness
And bury our faces in distress
My heart full of pain resonates its tears
If only, If only
We could haggle out of our demise
Gone too soon
The sheer disbelief
The promises you vowed to keep
Goals to reach before you finally sleep
You may be no more but not in my mind
Still here with me
If only I can see
A staked heart, resounding unbound tears
Forget you not; to miss you a lot
Lost souls, forgotten families
Never to me
Good tales we've heard
From generations long and dead
The happy ending cliche
For your soul, I pray
Here our fate! separated by worlds
While I wait
For the powers that be, to bide us again one day
But more, for in mere simplicity
I will never say goodbye
Forever with me,
My brother, my blood
In Loving Memory of our Lost Souls
Copyright © Wilfred Aniagyei | Year Posted 2013
All are dying be it young or old
We should say "here lies our dearest dearest friend"
But, this is not the truth being told
What lies here soon shall claim the Earth to dust once again
And he my brother is left in heart and mind lingering as thought
Wherebe the rest of him? Now and forever abiding with our god
To this still moment's finality is an inquisition
Did our loved one pass this test; the divine examination
All the answers lie in hopes for he, thee and myself
That in the end we must go on until we shall find out for ourselves
Copyright © Michael Smith | Year Posted 2013
Here lies too great gentlemen, father and son.
Named after Edgar Alan Poe, so great a man was he.
But now, alas! They are now where Poe is,
There spirits having returned to God until that Glorious Day.
Copyright © Rainbow Promise | Year Posted 2015
We only talked sanely a few times,
About how he also had a condition like me,
Although my dad, who had a Medical Doctorate, when James was small wouldn’t say,
Obvious as it was that he had CF from his inward-growing finger-nails,
Dad decided to bypass the issue, medicine to assail.
I have CP, and needed James’s comfy chair to read,
It was given to him in misogyny because it was blue,
About three months before he died he said,
I could have it, and must convince mum and dad that it was mine;
They were Christians, fundamentalist and strict,
And so sometimes there was an elephant in the room,
Between me and James, about the physical.
Death is inevitable, but to them it was only a maybe for James,
When the doctors had said that 14 was the expectation,
I prepared myself for the worst well before it occurred,
As an atheist I am, with no qualms or hesitation.
James wanted for me the best, happiness and friends,
Wanted me to do my best physically, ‘cos he knew I wanted that too,
But he also suspected that I would grieve for him rightly,
Not like a sentimental fundamentalist who believes that Jesus is risen,
But as a steadfast atheist who knows what has been given;
So he knew to remark on my immediate life without him so as to adjudicate.
I cherished Christinna Georgina Rossetti’s poem, Remember,
Long before and for some time after James’s death,
And quietly held in my heart the loved-one’s good wish,
Mum used to think that sometimes I was cold as stone,
But really I'd faced the fact that James was dead and gone.
Although Rossetti was by no means an atheist,
Her poem recites the mantra of the bereavement psychologist,
That to get on with your life as best you can,
Is a right, the partner of grief, and the pathway for your lone self;
In the Bleak Mid-Winter puts Christ as relational to nature,
Instead of pertaining nature to Christ, as it is normally,
And so we must partake of it within our space and our pasture.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015
I stood in the graveyard all alone,
With no-one else beside my ship,
But nature seemed near to me,
As it was marked repeatedly hip.
Rows and rows of specific dates,
Epitaphs of stories set by chat,
With the deceased person neat,
As the relative in the talk bat.
Birds were there, flowers budded,
Lush grass reminded me of growth,
And development was respected,
By an understanding of us both.
The liveliness of it and the lividity,
Of the greenery brought me home,
Made me sit in my opinion to share,
The views of him that did roam.
Death is not commented upon,
By death, or nothingness’s void,
By non-entity or by no feeling,
As death we don’t need to avoid.
Our living brain pertains always,
Cognitive wheels drive us to town,
Our connections by death’s reality,
Will only bring us sense, renown.
The cemetery bid me stand, feel,
Gave a megaphone for my emotions,
Death does not mean silence cold,
But active interactions and passions.
The deceased one’s pride, pleasure,
Is that you take the talking podium,
And express yourself by their death,
By your model of ‘em, plasmodium.
And death bid me welcome also,
In my right to free speech, voice,
Because it needs me paint, dictate,
The relationships of my choice.
No-one can criticise a memory,
Slate a scene between you, them,
Only fear of damning exposition,
Will see someone allege mayhem.
Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2016
I lie in my bed
In the late evening
When it came to me,
I was far asleep
But the dept of the news woke me up
William is no more.
My heart flipped in pain even more
And my head hurt me so much more
There he lie on the ground
Knowing nothing of life...
He crossed already to the other side...
Living his family behind
For him there was no more wind
For he has rested in flesh and in mind
I know you,
But now I knew him,
If you could open your eyes on last time
And see your family before the final time
If you could think and feel the pain you left
As you cross over.
I believed you was gone, when I saw you,
What a pity
Such a tragic city
What a cruel world.
We lived together in the day,
But now you live in the night
Every body cries, but yet you lie
Its noisy but yet your eyes are closed
Hours I remained sober
But when I sat and think,
My eyes began to wink
I could not control the tears
And so it rolled down from my eyes
Oh death, why have you no pity
Filthy upon filthy
Curse upon you death
And honor be to birth
And to the family, what a burden
You was my friend
Our friendship was sweetly
But it ended quickly
You will solely be missed
Adieu my before friend
Copyright © Philip Odiete | Year Posted 2014
Don’t let guilt be the drive that takes you away
Eventually everything you feel emotionally will be
Honestly I never thought I’d care so much that
But, I miss you and I know now that I’m wrong…
Why did god have to take you away?
Couldn’t he see you’re still needed here?
Mom needs you and so do your kids.
Dad pretends not to care but inside the feelings
Why did you leave, you should’ve fought harder to
We miss you as the days go by.
I see your face every time I close my eyes.
But it’s not the same without you here today.
With you gone the days just fade away..
Copyright © sarah moncada | Year Posted 2012
I keep in mind all the time that we spent together every since we were children. You were
my oldest brother who I loved dearly. I looked up to you even though I never showed it. I
loved you even though I never could tell you. I wish I could have told you at least once
that I loved you so you would know how much I cared. I have so many memories of all the
conversations and time we spend and wishing that I could go back to the day when I could
just see your smile and even see your face. I dream all the time for you and hoping that
this senseless murder was not true. How can someone one who you helped in their time of
need just take you from me? I cry day and night asking God why. Why did he have someone
you showed so much compassion for take your life? He took you from me, your brother, mama,
dad, niece and most of all your daughter. It’s going on two years since I heard your
voice. I can remember the funeral and how I was so sick seeing my brother laying there so
peaceful in his casket. All I can do is look at you in your casket in disbelief asking God
why? Why? Why? Why did you have to go away from me? I see you come into my dreams to let
me know you were okay, but still wondering why he would take your life. Did he not see all
you have done for him? I can sometime smell your scent and even see your body on your bed
when I walk pass your room. I have to take a double take to see if you were there playing
a joke on me but I then realize you are gone; gone forever. I know I will see you in
heaven soon, but that is not stopping my pain now. I will never get over you and I am
letting you know I have always loved you, but there will always be a question in my head
Copyright © Raquel Hines | Year Posted 2011
I guess he lost his way when
he left the beaten path,
I guess he was confused when
instinct and logic crashed.
I guess he killed his brain cells
with alcohol and hash,
I guess that his insanity
held him firmly in its grasp.
Asleep, I guess his paranoia
seemed to grow and bloom,
I guess he sensed something
paranormal in the room.
I guess his blackened pupils
must have scanned and searched the gloom,
I guess he thought he heard the
icy rattle of the tomb.
He pretended to have a job, I'm told,
and daily left the house,
then sat all day in the cellar,
I'm told, as quiet as a mouse.
I heard that when she wasn't there,
he sometimes wore her clothes,
I imagine him sashaying
on his man-sized tippy-toes.
His insanity made him mad, i guess,
if that makes any sense,
I know his thoughts were warped though,
by no coincidence.
I see him in a fetal posture,
I see him having lost all hope
and contact with the world.
I see him sitting all alone,
re-reading what he wrote,
a madman's twelve page ranting
in his sad and final note.
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009
The pain was so real for my brother Nate. We did not see the signs of the way he
was feeling. If he cried out for help and let us know. My dear bother would still be
hear and with the proper medicine he would begin to heal. What was you
thinking of that October day. When you took your own life that ended so suddenly
that way. Did you feel you were not loved and for that split second ended your life
instead of calling for help before you plunged in the water. What was on your
mind when you put your hands up with despair. And down in the water went the
car on that October day. Did you cry out did you try and pray. Did you find the pain
on this earth too much to cope. Dearest brother you are very missed it is sad but
true. Have I not told you more often that I do love you. I feel a loss without you
hear. I wish you were not gone I wish you were near. I can't stand the pain it is too
hard to bear Too For I look to this day that I wish I can change. That I made more
time with you my brother now it too late because you are in heaven with the
angels on high I will always love you my dear brother Nate you will always hold a
special place in my heart until we meet again in heaven the most beautiful place
where we will have no more tears and pain. Dearest brother until we meet again
I will love you always until the day when I die I will join you then only then we will
Copyright © Ann Wilson | Year Posted 2006
Rolling, heavy, grey-green clouds,
Overhead, in a circular motion
Tornado, forming upwards; fear
Your last thoughts, must have been terror
Your last emotion, uncontrolled fear
Train roaring in the sky
Wind, loudly blowing, pushing against life
I cover my ears and weep
Copyright © Doris Culverhouse | Year Posted 2010
I send my prayers aloft,
that's about all I can do,
no matter what I did,
I couldn't have saved you.
I was the innocent child,
confused by your disdain,
I never knew the boundaries of
your deep emotional pain.
In my eyes you had it all,
our mother's looks, our father's brains,
but now I know how sharp the edge
between genius and insane.
Now you're gone, I feel your love
that I longed for as a child.
Too late, too late, alone again,
abandoned and exiled.
So let me just say thanks again,
for that final poison arrow,
the anguish is a part of me,
embedded in my marrow.
(Remembering my brother, who took his own life last May, on his Jan 2nd birthday.)
Copyright © Danielle White | Year Posted 2009
Let me introduce you to a young man named Johnny.
He truly loved his brother Tommy.
As youths the two were inseparable.
But living in the projects, three years ago they faced the inevitable.
Sixteen years old playing ball at the park.
Neither one was expecting the car creeping through the dark.
The vehicle stopped about 20 yards away.
Immediately the bullets began to spray.
Scared for his life little Johnny began to flee.
And Tommy’s last steps were something he never got to see.
As the car sped off he heard an awful yell.
Before he could turn he wished he had been shot himself.
The vision he saw was a nightmare.
But it was far too real because Tommy died right there.
At the service he said a silent prayer.
Now 19 he lives without a care.
Left to face the world without his brother,
He makes sure his pain is felt by others.
As he recalls the blood pouring out of his mouth.
And the sound of Tommy’s last breaths gurgling out,
He feels the rage burning inside.
There isn’t anyone who can keep him in line.
Now he is the one causing the blood shed.
And he won’t stop until the man responsible was dead.
However, he is now the one being hunted.
Because another young “G” made the same prayer he once did.
Before the assailant finally pulls the trigger,
He lets a tear fall as he begins to whisper;
“Remember that kid you shot four times?
That was my brother man, now it’s your time.
I promised to see you die quick.”
Finally Johnny and Tommy are reunited.
Whether it be for revenge or just a street title,
Young men are continuing The Cycle.
Copyright © darrell jackson | Year Posted 2007
Where did you go brother?
Why did you leave me?
Who took you brother?
Did they take you safely?
Why did you leave us in tears brother?
Why did you leave me alone?
Where are you brother?
Why are you not home?
Why was this done brother?
Why did my world turn so cold?
Where did you go brother?
The answer remains untold
Copyright © Stephanie Moraga | Year Posted 2006