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Best Grave Poems

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One Foot in the Grave by Vassallo, Alfred
She Walks On My Grave by Vassallo, Alfred
THE GRAVE DIGGERS by dunn, cherl
The Grave by Glass, Kiley
On My Mother's Grave by Musagasa, Mukoi
Grave Digger by Walker, Paul David
Lonely Grave by Fraser, Carl
Watery Grave by leonidas, Christopher
Grave Robbers by Grahamburglar, The
Bowed Into The Eerie Silence Of The Grave -Anaphora by BuhainBaello, Cynthia

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The Best Grave Poems

Details | Grave Poem | |


~ATLANTIS~   Featuring:) Kelly Deschler

Can't be re-written by the Gods
The land and sands of time'
Destroyed by the fire of Poseidon's curse 
Atlantis swallowed by: Earth

In one day and one night
Peaceful existence met its end
Built on a volcano, now surrounded by ancient rippled tears
Lava stripped apart the rich and glorious empire
Enriched by Engineers and Architects whom loved power more than the Gods 
Forgotten souls, sheltered by a watery grave
History withheld from shallow sunken memories,
Western sky's hide the truth, a vision from the Pillars of Hercules
"An island situated in front of The Strait of Gibraltar"
Ghostly ruins wait to rise above the Mediterranean and Atlantic Waves
A magical island held down by the hands of death, 
Atlantis lost city walls ---a secret hidden by mermaids
Partially buried, beneath the ocean floor it lies
The largest sunken treasure never to be found
Magnificent pillars of an imperial palace still stand
Somewhere hidden under ancient sand
Some are leaning against turrets, that toppled after the impact
Nothing human will ever inhabit these walls
No feet will ever touch these staircases, again
Only an eerie silence now resides here, with the blue-green waters   
Seaweed grows along it's outer walls, like ivy on a trellis.
Obscuring it even further from the human eye.
Other ocean tides will never compare
Tantalizing blend of fantasy and mystery
Stone walls covered with precious gems
 -Listen to PLATO'S voice-
"Look close, Look close, into the sea!"
Through the light and Pillars of Hercules
Some where out there buried in the vast 

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A

More great poems below...

Details | Grave Poem | |

The Devils Riddle

The Devils Riddle

Dark is the night
Dark is the soul
Dark is the heart that used to glow

Empty are the rainbows falling from the skies
Empty of the spirits when the darkness flies by
Empty is the treasure chest of dreams long gone

Tombs hold secrets of mysteries past
Tombs hold the dark to ensure it will endure
Tombs full of treasures are barren at last

Stones are grey in silence they sit
Stones are markers of the dark run amiss
Stones look up to overcast skies

   death looks down, the final curtain call
   smirks and winks, I will soon have you all
   dark and empty you shall soon be enslaved
   to the mysteries of dark empty ways
   there is no final place that you shall rest

emoH the angel of death has declared
“oN graves the trumpets play as I shall sing”

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Grave Poem | |

Do you remember me

They walk silently along my hallways.
Floors littered with faded finery.
Do you remember my Granduer?
I had once been called the Queen of the sea.
Pulled down to the ocean's floor.
Swaying silently, so many sad souls
They are entombed here 
Forever a part of me 
Left to wander my halls
Sharing this watery hell
Faces frozen in skeletal grins
Evidence of our eternal sadness
Fish now swim across my stage
The band is silent
Still I remember
I absorbed them note by note
They played till my last moment
Yet it was not for my benefit
For I had betrayed them
My promises were empty
Temptation, travel, time together
Some mercifuly escaped
What did they remember of me?
Some came back in ghostly form
Searching for those I had taken from them
I will not release them
For I do not wish to be alone.

Copyright © Richard Lamoureux

Details | Grave Poem | |

Nevermore Will Raven Return

 *Note:  A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three 
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday 
ended in January 2010.  Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to 
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped.  On many occasions people kept 
vigils  near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw 
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his 
grave.  Poe is considered the father of the American short story and 
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.

Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
     While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
     Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door

Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
     At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
     He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”

Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
     A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
     Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator

Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
     Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
     In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor

And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
     A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave       \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before                         \/ \/ \/
     Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave                     \/ \/ \/ \/

For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word

By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling 
Poet ~

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire

Details | Grave Poem | |

Poppies Red

November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada 
(Veterans Day)
When I was in grade 7 or 8 (I don't exactly remember) we had 
 to write poetry for a Remembrance Day contest. I won and had to read this in front of our whole grammar school. I must of been 12 or 13. This was my first real poem!
I dedicate this here today to all the soldiers who fight or have fought for our rights and freedom.

In Flanders Field with poppies red,
there lies the secret of the dead.
Those blood coloured poppies
so red and so gay,
bring the whispering sound
of Remembrance Day.

Those true earnest men
who fought for their land,
now lay beneath the musky cool sand.

Alert and ready at dangers call,
prepared to fight they would not stall,
but march right on,
now some there lay,
In Flanders Field,
with poppies gay.

Written by Brenda Meier-Hans 

Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans

Details | Grave Poem | |

Eternal Breath

I think about you, every single day,
Since from me, you were taken away,
Your absence has left my world cold,
Now I am alone, with no hand to hold.

I wish that I could bring you home,
So that your soul, shall need not roam,
I hope that you were given white wings,
To fly amongst, where the angel sings.

Within my heart, your eternal breath,
Shall now linger on, even after death,
My love for you shall never cease,
So, may you always rest in peace.

Written by: Kelly Deschler  

Gautami Phookan's contest - The Poet III

For Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Eternal Breath"

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Grave Poem | |


-Eden's Ending Eulogy-

Proceed here today, Eden's Ending Eulogy 
Gentle gracious her garden, the guidance 
I can't recall what was with the warm, sincere smile, and sunrise 
Lost at ease and clarity.......I Sleep! 
Forever In Peace, this dark, damp den, coffin will do
at last, a parting powerful, reunion and resting resort


Copyright © SKAT A

Details | Grave Poem | |

The Last Waltz

La dernière valse

From the skies
Clouds fall upon my dreams
I am up high, away from it all
I am far, but my tears still fall
I stand up and shout to Paris ( Pareee)
You left me, you left me here to fend alone
I can not danse, nor can I waltz
I am here, overlooking skylines of desire
Graveyards calling out my name
The clouds in the sky grey and dancing
The tour Eiffel stands up high
The symbol of all that makes me cry
I can not dance, nor can I waltz
Alizee Alizee go go go
Arête, arête my love simply won’t flow
Abelard died, and so must I
Lovers of love, wine runs dry
Poets and words, vices and crimes
Lovers of the majestic and the absurd
I was pushed over the ledge
In Versailles they left for me dead
Grandiose mirrors and artistic displays
I can not dance, nor can I waltz
So in the castle I will be slayed
By the demons of lovers
From the past, they do say
She left me here
On the left bank of the seine
So here I shall drown totally insane

Notes: I have on purpose used french spelling for some words in the poem.

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Grave Poem | |

I Found a Girlfriend

Took me the breath of all my life
A soul mate who could consume my heart wither a smile
I found that Gothic girl after dark
A little to late to consummate
I lie in waiting with a dead round smile
Empty eyes and a lot of guile
I found a girlfriend even if late
We lie together
Frigid is our state

Copyright © arthur vaso

Details | Grave Poem | |

A Demon Confesses

A Demon Confesses

I shun the light and do so cast the stone, 
rot the meat , ravenously eat the bone
Cut my way deep in every man that falls,
eat my thrills as my victim mercy calls!

Shadows, adorning my cloaks worn with pride,
once entered I rot the mind as I ride
Pain and agony my pets serve so well,
my purpose, sending 'em all right to Hell!

Long claws my daggers I do finely shine,
accept my gifts, your soul then is all mine
Dark laughter is my sweet joy letting loose,
long is you wail, your head is in my noose!

I too, serve my dark master very well
loyal demon, freed from the bowels of Hell!

Robert Lindley,
 no date- Edited today, shortened to a sonnet 
written so very long ago!

A taste of dark,
demons a reality so very stark,
I write safely within this brilliant light
spewing truth out to win another great fight..-08/24/2014

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Grave Poem | |


In Michigan, the weather can change for the worst in October.
This particular Halloween came a blizzaring.
The lights went out and in a dark, dark room, candles were lit; therein, the opaquest 
narrative was captured.
* With the shape of With figment With look I will invent the human. Through the mind Via light With aspect The being I will project. I saw sadness. It stared directly at me. I gazed back. It begins to glare. I looked away. Why am I afraid? It is an ape, a primate. With child fists, I walked toward this apelike creature and strike out. Finally, I saw more than eyes and it pounces. It is a little child as a man. My hands represented some insight. Would we fight? ** The universe stood as earth. Solar we are to the sky above. Humanity shouts with a hoarse voice. Man, woman, and child stands as an echo. God sent the demons. The sinners are all of us. Through commandment of what Hell is Heaven is not. Demons are with God. The Pacific Ocean is the end of the world. It runs east and west. Why do we not investigate this? [Because our capabilities are limited!] Are we afraid of what we will find? We discovered each other and now we hesitate. Procrastination is a thing that delays knowledge. Are we wise to seek? Demons are with God. Are we? *** Body [body] {Body}! Gut (gut)! Skin and bones wake up! I am a reincarnation of that that is not known. Many have come before me but none was as I am. I am the body for the human to gut a man. However, women are now involved and they want to be in the belly. Instinctive they are but this was only for man to do. Why do they want to be that damned fool? Unconscious to the world that they are within, one would ask self why they want to be like men. The answer becomes to fit in. What if there is one left out? The answer becomes their bodies have been gutted and they are only GI. **** The Moon has no Gods. The Sun is what speaks to us. It tells us prophesy and what the world shall become. We are mongoloid, brown and bronzed spiritual to our existence. Our tribes are of North America. A hundred plus [we] stand[s]. Our land is our strength. We fought. We won. We lost. Died from disease but gave birth once again. Our population stands now and we are healthy. The European man has given our wisdom and knowledge. Our minds are set on our economic growth. We will become political minded. Five hundred nations are we those lost tribes of our history. ***** The mockery of man is a stance of incorrectness. It transforms through government and states that your freedoms are not anything to believe in. You, as people, are nothing but possessions and no one knows who is blessed. You are lucky to be here. Your way of life is given by our nation’s wealth. We are brought together as immigrants and the natives of this country are indigenous. We cannot pretend that we are more than that. We must pedestal ourselves to unity and know that people are only structure to adhere. One came for liberation. Others came via slavery. Nomads were unbound. They let them in yet they were said to be uncivilized. Today we are unified. We are the United States of America bound, bonded, and realized. {We are gratis; free to form our own lives.} ______________________________________________| PENNED ON SEPTEMBER 13, 2014!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker

Details | Grave Poem | |

In Shadows Beyond Reason

Beyond the iron gate, alone I read your name, through tall weeds, grown A vigil, where the mossy stones Cleave to breast of wasted years I feel you standing here with me Deep in the dark, where I am drawn Where whimpering trees, brown grass and weeds Are weeping in the morning's rain There is a web, that pulls me in That tugs at me with silken thread A withered garland, black with dread Calling me to hear the wind Where dust to dust, of what has been Is quietude, and vague recall That falters in the falling leaves Yet alters what I've always known I know I loved you long ago It comes from you, in thin-leafed songs Two centuries old, and can't be seen Shadowed by the granite years Behind the gates where you have lain Sharing earth with dried up tears Defying time that lies between I see your name, through tall weeds, grown A vigil now, where mossy stones Bring with them all the wasted years Between us now, I feel the cold Defying lucid reasoning

Copyright © Carrie Richards

Details | Grave Poem | |

Hell-Hound Allows No Souls Out

Hell-Hound Allows No Souls Out

Deep in the darkest pit,
where anguished screams resound
Evil thoughts feed the it,
fanged , demonlike hell-hound

No mercy for those so lost,
only torture to pay the cost
Gnawing on its victims with relish,
the monster growls so hellish

Desperate pleas never heard,
too late for any praying word
Looking in deeply is insane,
here, mercy calls always in vain

Dark shadows skirt about,
hellhound allows no souls out
Fear forces me to not see,
that fate once was awaiting me

Distant pits rumble much the same
Death final victor in this hellish game

Robert J. Lindley, 2-14-2015

note --  Edited and shortened poem from a very much longer 
write many decades ago.

Copyright © Robert Lindley

Details | Grave Poem | |

Death of a Flower

Down on row and pit and mortal flower
  The undertaker's men stood grave and bier;
And brave stoic death fills the living hour
  For ever more a day, a week, a year...
Where bathed in shafts of exalted light toll
  The bells of Mass and vigil in Greenhithe,
When in bound clay an immovable dole
  Grimly hung the shadows in hood and scythe;
Yet I upon this ploughed earth sullen gaze
  And hearken in the blooms the winds of death!
What sting its pierce to a full end of days
  That dares to breathe on me its cankered breath.
Withered is the bud and brief flower shed,
Yet for a time its beauty shone outspread.


                     July 1995

Copyright © Keith Trestrail

Details | Grave Poem | |


Brewed tea
Wife and myself
Nothing between us
He was metamorphosed 
Into a frog
When his wife had left him
I needed
A lonely woman
Thousand years back
She shivered
In yellow sun
Struck by her coyness
God travels
With three suitcases
One for me
I kissed
Her frostiness 
And my lips turned icebergs
The bed
Gets embarrassed
At our nakedness
Her hands
Stopped me
To pick evenings
We two rested
In a cave of Kundalini
Behind the waterfall
The alien woman 
Travelled six moons
To deliver her baby in a burial ground 
An eagle swoops
On a field –mouse
Tables of wedding
The woman kissed me
I felt her hollow ribs
As if in a spring dream
The woman’s hair
Struck by a gale
Made waterfalls
My wife locked
Me one fine evening
In my neighbour’s hole
The rats are away
When mice take in
My wife’s clammy face
The summer rain
In exasperation
Took wings to raid the moon
Lolo my wife
Her green sleek steps
Thundered an innocent fly
In the dead of night
God made two wives
One for me one for my neighbour
My neighbour’s wife
Delivered a child
When I was asleep
The woman said goodbye
And I took a fish for dinner
I mistook it for my wife
My wife is a canvas
Where I paint
My forebodings
A painter’s apprentice
In sheer foolishness
daubed in red my wife’s rear-view
A squirrel saw my wife
And in haste
Lost her guava 
I was caught in neighbour’s bedroom
By my wife last summer
I lost my glasses
A wolf entered the graveyard 
And annoyed my wife
Sarah my wife
Dizzy commuters
Sarah wed me
And in brief forgetfulness
Greeted my neighbour
A tiger ate Sarah my wife
It happened by accident
The tiger knows
Morning bell
Wake up call
I want to sleep
Pola my pet fly
Fouled things up
She ate my wife’s breakfast
My dog Pintu
I set him free on my wife’s posterior
Eons ago a butterfly
Gave birth to my wife
Now, a caterpillar 
A hard slap
Hurricane Sarah will win 
You have gathered enough winters 
Woman sighs
Leave one for me
The woman flapped her wings
To clouded mountaintops
Silky as white



Details | Grave Poem | |

Dinner Grilled and a land Forgotten

You are far away now
Off in fields of gold
Dappled with evenings hot velvety light
90 degrees of separation has dulled the sword
 eased the pain
The grasshoppers chirp in unison to your labors but they no longer ache in your solar plexus
Nor mine
What sweet sorrow is loss and gain
I now walk down the very paths I have always so longed for
 the dark rich peat paths of happiness
contentment oozes from these fingertips as I write and I wonder if happiness is poetry
Or does it preclude it all together

The night sky fills with stars 
The stars fill with fire flies that burst out of them like infinitesimal lightning bolts
jettisoned to my soul

 he and I chase storms on decks swirled in smoke
We banter and bay at one another

 you are in a field of gold somewhere
or beside  

a river bed
The smell of the wet earth of shore beneath you reaches me… but momentarily 
dismissed as the ash of the bonfire of a week ago fire or the grill of last night’s 
unbelievably tasty ribs he concocted from air for me and me alone 

but then we shared with so many

Lingers on my lip tips…the bottom edge

 I kiss him and mean it with all I am 
A being 
a re-being

Super beings are we 
and our colors wash 
upon the canvas of my life 
melding into one great magnificent us 

Spectacular are we
the creatures who so love life 
we give our only begotten selves to each other
and never ever forsake 

Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift

Details | Grave Poem | |



Southern belle sits, with sweeter demeanour 
Awaits the return of her Soldier...she'll see
Sits for hours in the room they once shared
Flicking through photographs...old memories

Humming gently a song once so soulful
A song shared, as they shared love unspoken
Looking out from eyes of such longing
Recounting the time when her heart wasn't broken

She loved, to be loved, to be that special one
writes him her life.... and wishes brave
He passed from her site..but not from her memory
southern Belle wipes a tear..before visiting his grave

Copyright © Ian Guyler

Details | Grave Poem | |

Sea of forgotten dreams

Cold and dark, the eyes of the depths
glaring at the stars above.
Few dare descend the steps
which reach down to oblivion’s cove.
Heavy, the desire for truth,
like the chains dragging my body further down
unto fate unknown.

Beyond recompense, lies the ruin
sunken to forbidden ground,
now home only to the strangest of creations
and catacomb to the drowned slaves of history.
Will all memories be as this one day?
Ghosts that haunt the corpses of humanity’s ambition?

Black are the bells that once chimed to announce omen.
Buried are the thoughts that walked my mind.
Broken are the tables where ideas once feasted.
Bound are the hopes, eaten by preying sharks of doubt.

Weighing down, the garments choke the breath of life.
There, where insanity was sane, beneath facade’s streams
lies truth, in the sea of forgotten dreams.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas

Details | Grave Poem | |

After the fall

Quite frankly, I don't remember at all
You see I was quite young when I took my first fall.
Don't know which parent was there to catch me
Or how hard the decision was to stand back and let me. 
Did I topple forward or backward, or who made the call. 
And who scooped me up crying
After the fall.
I can't remember the joy of first letting go
And taking that step without holding on. 
Groping my way forward
Leaning against the wall
I got back up 
After the fall.
As the Earth spun the years flew by so fast
At 17 I finally knew everything at last!!
Unexpectedly, I fell once again,
Head over heels this time 
And out on a limb.
I was so sure of that bet
I gambled it all
Heart bruised abused and then broken
After that fall.
And then I broke my own promise 
To not love again.
Hungry for life
I gambled to win.
Life is a theatre of first steps first 
A one act play with no time to rehearse.
Co starring in roles
Cast without planning.
"Never more" echoes 
The raven still chanting.
Undaunted unwilling
To let darkness win all
Trusting Father to be there
After the fall.
Then the day came
When I had a son
To let him learn the word hot And hope he'd not run,
Would he still love me
Or trust me at all
When I pulled my hand back
And allowed him to fall?
And knowing I'd be there again
To help him to stand
And knowing he might never walk
If I didn't let go of his hand
And hoping he didn't revert back to a crawl
When I let go of his hand
And allowed him to fall.
As the earth kept on turning
My heart kept yearning
My son now a man
Living and learning.
He hasn't held my hand now in a very long time
The cats in the cradle slowly plays in the back of my mind.
I looked in the mirror today
And noticed my dad.
And remembered a talk that we'd never had.
Remembering how he seemed towering and tall 
And was there every time 
After each fall.
I lose my balance these days now and again
My steps aren't as sure
As they once might have been. 
In the winter of life now
I feel so small
And wonder who'll catch me
If I take a fall. 
I suppose I'll just have to trust Father
With both great things and small 
To pick me up on the other side
When I take my last fall.

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw

Details | Grave Poem | |


A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream

Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens hells gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts

Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light

Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls

Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets 
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams 
from everywhere and nowhere

Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind

Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye

Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries

Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning hellfires
or cold earthworms await

Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler

Copyright © Kelly Deschler

Details | Grave Poem | |


Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”

Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”

One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But, there, to his surprise…

Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
Then, after the last one was planted,
He sniffed it; then turned and licked Bob’s face.

Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”

Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.

Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed. 
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.

Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he ‘d come on the double.

Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray, 
“Lord, let this day be my last.”

For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one night,
Both quietly passed away.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….

Stood an old dog beside the stone, 
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place. 
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then turned and licked her face.

She smiled.  “I had a dog when I was young...
a good one too.  His name was Pal.”

Copyright © Robert Candler

Details | Grave Poem | |


When you're drowning
Your last breath's for breathing
You're not saying goodbye
But a thousand thoughts you're feeling
When you're drowning

I'm thinking about you and me
Emotions flood my heart and mind
Girl, I just wanted our love to last
But I know I'm running out of time
The crashing tide comes rolling in
Sand castle dreams begin to fade
Singing our songs to the very end
Hold my hand to the water grave

When you're drowning
Your last breath's for breathing
You're not saying goodbye
But a thousand thoughts you're feeling
When you're drowning
I left you with unanswered questions
All my efforts only bubbles made
Girl, don't let my legacy be a quitter
If there was a way I would have stayed
But this tsunami quickly overtook me
Her blows were harsh, cruel, and mean
But only your face now as I go under
Those eyes the prettiest I'd ever seen

When you're drowning
Your last breath's for breathing
You're not saying goodbye
But a thousand thoughts you're feeling
When you're drowning


Details | Grave Poem | |

Saved For Raven

Her daddy’s grave is the oldest,
His name is hard to read.
She knew his stone had corroded
And has brought supplies she’ll need.

Near to him is her young husband.
He had been the next to die.
She used to come here often
Just to sit by his grave and cry.

Next to her daddy is her mother
After twenty-one years alone 
Her name shows up clearer and newer
On her side of the stone.

As the years went by the lot filled up,
A beloved young nephew is there.
She reads his age of twenty-three
And thinks that it isn’t fair.

The lot started filling faster
With loved brothers and their wives.
She remembers kneeling with her loved son
And speaking with him of their lives.

And now there’s a grave much newer.
She hadn’t thought she would see this one.
His name is there so clear and bright,
The name of her only son.

She looks down to where she is standing
As she feels the cold wind stir. 
RAVEN is chiseled into the rock
At this spot reserved for her.

lBy: Joyce Johnson  shared first place with Linda Marie and Carrie.

For Constance "The Rambling Poet; contest "Among the Dead"

Copyright © Joyce Johnson

Details | Grave Poem | |

Passage to Beyond

Passage to Beyond

Our loved ones leave this world
 softly fading
 a secret smile playing 
upon their lips
What do they see beyond the mist?
Is someone there? Waiting?

Others volunteer to disappear from this place
thinking it is the only solution 
to their heart shattering
from events old and new
Seeking relief at any cost
no thought beyond this selfish act.

Others, beloved forever,
leave this plane in a rush of fire,
fear, fury and bravado
so careless of the ones left behind
to mourn, to miss, to try to 
fit the pieces together again.

…..and if we watch...listen...very carefully
we will see....hear...our dead creeping back
to collect their footsteps.

Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machettes

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek

Details | Grave Poem | |

sea of love

beneith the phantoms of the deep
a wretched grave yard where love sleeps
all but forgotten loves of time
covered in fiction, rumors and lies
decay did whither their werry bones
and unrest bother their hearts left alone
suicide and murderous mist
malace and for thought of a poisonous kiss
for each they sailed the sea of love

clear skies and ocean above
below lost vessels that once rode the sea
smothered by waters that pulled down deep
trusting the ship they begged to sail
where calm sea's often become strong gails
and tossed are sailer to and fro
from the bow to down below
suffering what they didn't know
the sea's anger and ability to show

is there a god to which can be prayed?
where is Poseidon, can he be paid?
for safe passage through the rocks
take from us this state of shock
where every wave would cover thee
and silence prayer and every plea
certian distruction awaits this ship
being torn asunder by natures grip

thunder peels across dark skys
like a truth it is a light
but darkness denies it's pressence still
lightening cannot change the will
where fears would scare, the sailor steals
tighten the ropes secure the sails
love demands the highest price
certian risk and sacrifice
the abyss has claimed a myriad of lives
who death for love was satisfied

sailing on the sea of love
glimpsing the phantoms from up above
a sad sanity can calm the sea
and then rage take over and destroy what be
we cannot hide from love what love see's
the bigger the ocean the deeper the sea
the deeper the love the bigger the greif
no matter who or what they be
the ship is the hostage of the sea
you can sink in it's depths or to its shore flee
there is always a risk when you tempt the sea
and there is always a grave waiting for thee

Copyright © John Loving III