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Details | Grave Poem | |

Atlantis

~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 
ATLANTIS THE PARADISE


~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

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”

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.




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 ~


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"

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 
1970

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.

Details | Grave Poem | |

Six empty shells II


Six empty shells II

Beneath the blinding sun she star'd askance;
as he was walking to abut his fate
a swirling, laughing wind began to dance
and playfully their lives to desecrate.

Despite the heat he wore the tailored suit 
of color black; beneath the Stetson's shade
his stare was sweeping the adjoining butte,
with dusty ghosts to mime some odd charade.

Replacing the six empty shells he turned
to see her worried glance beyond the blooms,
that innocent embellished unconcerned
the reckless, smiling braves aside their tombs.

The Smith and Wesson forty-fours then bucked,
she knew the blooming noon was ending fast
and nothingness neglected to obstruct
what fates adjudicated to recast.

She saw the brazen shells inside the dust;
monochromatic synthesis and hues
of sepia were blurring in the gust
that whirling sang their lonesome, Tombstone blues.

Beyond the turnpike, where the roads converge
some crowing birds were messaging the tale, 
the spinning wind was bringing up their dirge,
on the deserted Arizona trail.

© 2014-08-24, G. Venetopoulos, All Rights Reserved
(Iambic pentameter)

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!

Note: 
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

Details | Grave Poem | |

THE OPAQUEST NARRATIVE

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!

Details | Grave Poem | |

Dead But Not Forgotten

There are many heads full of old age as beautiful
As the young age of years, past thus they are fully
                                                                 quiet
They're all full of wisdom, integrity and knowledge 
                                                                   full,
In years old they've dealt with life and have 
                                                      conquered it.


Alas, many young men do not sleep, he may be 
                                                            at battle
Political or alien but they may be earlier worse
So the old can breathe safely and no longer tattle
Dismiss what youth meant but be converse.


Jogging into a gauntlet, then they being cut
Then they will utilize their five senses, so let 
                                                         it be
In dire consequences, they wish to live but;
If they could only live in tranquility.


I'm thinking of those who died and lived less grave
This is dedicated to the many dead and not saved.

Written: Oct. 19, 2014
Eve T.M.Carter


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
 dinners

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 
all
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 
us


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 unmolested dole
  Grimly hung the shadows in hood and scythe:
Yet I upon this ploughed earth sullen gaze
  And wonder what cold disconnect is death!
What sting its prick 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

Details | Grave Poem | |

HAIKU 35

1#
Brewed tea
Wife and myself
Nothing between us
2#
He was metamorphosed 
Into a frog
When his wife had left him
3#
I needed
A lonely woman
Thousand years back
4#
She shivered
In yellow sun
Struck by her coyness
5#
God travels
With three suitcases
One for me
6#
I kissed
Her frostiness 
And my lips turned icebergs
7#
The bed
Gets embarrassed
At our nakedness
8#
Her hands
Stopped me
To pick evenings
9#
We two rested
In a cave of Kundalini
Behind the waterfall
10#
The alien woman 
Travelled six moons
To deliver her baby in a burial ground 
11#
An eagle swoops
On a field –mouse
Tables of wedding
12#
The woman kissed me
I felt her hollow ribs
As if in a spring dream
13#
The woman’s hair
Struck by a gale
Made waterfalls
14#
My wife locked
Me one fine evening
In my neighbour’s hole
15#
The rats are away
When mice take in
My wife’s clammy face
16#
The summer rain
In exasperation
Took wings to raid the moon
17#
Lolo my wife
Her green sleek steps
Thundered an innocent fly
18#
In the dead of night
God made two wives
One for me one for my neighbour
19#
My neighbour’s wife
Delivered a child
When I was asleep
20#
The woman said goodbye
And I took a fish for dinner
I mistook it for my wife
21#
My wife is a canvas
Where I paint
My forebodings
22#
A painter’s apprentice
In sheer foolishness
daubed in red my wife’s rear-view
23#
A squirrel saw my wife
And in haste
Lost her guava 
24#
I was caught in neighbour’s bedroom
By my wife last summer
I lost my glasses
25#
A wolf entered the graveyard 
Unannounced
And annoyed my wife
26#
Sarah my wife
Lumbering
Dizzy commuters
27#
Sarah wed me
And in brief forgetfulness
Greeted my neighbour
28#
A tiger ate Sarah my wife
It happened by accident
The tiger knows
29#
Morning bell
Wake up call
I want to sleep
30#
Pola my pet fly
Fouled things up
She ate my wife’s breakfast
31#
My dog Pintu
Hydrophobia
I set him free on my wife’s posterior
32#
Eons ago a butterfly
Gave birth to my wife
Now, a caterpillar 
33#
A hard slap
Stammering 
Hurricane Sarah will win 
34#
You have gathered enough winters 
Woman sighs
Leave one for me
35#
The woman flapped her wings
To clouded mountaintops
Silky as white

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>


Details | Grave Poem | |

Eden

-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
    Amen


~SKAT~

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.

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"











Details | Grave Poem | |

Buried, not Cremated

Here lies the arsonist, Ash James -
Although, he would have chosen flames.

It amazed us, once, to see the grave of a notorious pyromaniac in a local grave 
yard - I know that she would have certainly preferred cremation!

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

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 dripping in the weepy dawn 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
_____________________________________________________

Details | Grave Poem | |

An Unknown Man In A lonely Grave.

                                Let me say that the family involved still tend the grave to this day;
 
There in the brook, face down he lay;
While the log train slowly continued on its way.
When he fell, he had hit his head.
Yet no one realized that the man was dead.

He'd been to town for some fun and drinking,
(Or so those who found him later were thinking.)
The ride back to the logging camp was pretty rough,
And the train's vibrations probably threw him off'

Two hunters in the woods in a light rain,
Came across his earthly remains.
Who he was they had no idea,
But they knew they couldn't leave him there.

They dug him a grave in the midst of the wood,
With a river rock for a headstone, it looked pretty good.
Every year, these two returned to care for that site,
Clearing the brush and making sure all was right.

They continued this task as long as they could,
Then others took over tending that grave in the woods.
The annual trek requires about an hour all told,
But the satisfaction of serving is worth more than gold'

His name, his family, or the place he called home,
Have, for more than a century, remain unknown.
Only God knows whether he was lost or saved,
But be certain that He knows the man in that grave'

We will all end up like that logger some day;
We will also be forgotten in a similar way.
Our lives should impact the lives around,
So memories will linger, once we're placed in the ground.

Tooting our own horn isn't the point of this story,
But rather, being remembered for displaying God's glory.

                                                                                      Arthur Ball(H.S.L.P.)
                                                                                      June 15, 2006

      God Bless all at poetry soup.com keep up the great poems, Amen Robert.



Details | Grave Poem | |

Pal

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,
Bob 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.”

Details | Grave Poem | |

IN AN UNKNOWN GRAVE HE LIES

This is about a man whose name is Jesse
Born In Kansas and raised in Missouri
 Was called to fight for his beloved country
And  assigned to defend an outlying territory

Jesse fought as hard as any American would
For freedom and democracy he did everything he could
For Uncle Sam, even in danger steadfast he stood
Believing in his heart that everything will turn out good

He was with the Death March in Bataan
But he was helped to escape by his special someone
Josie was the name of this special woman
Who walked along with the March since it began

It was in the territory that he met Josie
A woman whose dad was from Cincinnati
The two fell in love cause they had chemistry
They had their first child in nineteen forty three

In forty four he was again captured by the Japanese
He was already sick cause he caught a disease
Was taken to a prison camp and placed under lock and keys
In the end the harsh conditions led to his demise

Josie tried to look for his grave but failed
She couldn't do anything and in sadness she wailed
There were reports that he died in the hell ship as it sailed
But to get proof to the true cause of his death we have failed

Jesse died in January of nineteen forty five
Stories about him that Josie told kept him alive
In the heart of his descendants his memories survive
Love for him in their hearts continues to thrive

But every time I go to bed and close my eyes
I see his face and think of the truth that I despise
My whole body stiffens and I get as cold as ice
Sadly thinking that still, in an unknown grave he lies

NOTE
(For my grandfather US Army 2nd Lt. Jesse C. Boak of the 33rd Infantry 
Regiment, who was declared MIA in WWII. His body was never found and true 
cause of his death was never known.His name is listed in the Tablets of the 
Missing at the Manila American Cemetery and on a Memorial Monument at the 
State of Missouri
Grandpa even though I never got the chance to really know you I will always be 
proud of you-JEB)

                                                           JESSE C. BOAK
                                                           2nd Lt. US Army
                                                                1917-1945
               Awards: Silver Star, Bronze Star, Purple Heart with 2 Oak Leaf Clusters


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.

Details | Grave Poem | |

Angel of Death

Angel of Death,
Cloaked in black.
With black scaled wings,
Upon her back.
Angel of Death,
Coming for me.
As soon as I sleep
Then dead I will be.
Taken by the night
It swallows and consumes me.
Now I am the angel
And death becomes me.

2003-2004
7th Grade