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Best Grave Poems

Below are the all-time best Grave poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of grave poems written by PoetrySoup members

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New Grave Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Grave poems are below this new poems list.

La Tombe d'arbre - Translation of Oodgeroo Noonuccal's Tree Grave by T Wignesan by Wignesan, T
GHASTLY GRAVE GATHERING by Troutman, Tanis
Born in the Grave by Robinson Jr., Freddie
Rise from the grave by Motaung, Pheko
Grave Robber by Robinson Jr., Freddie
The grave of an unsung hero by Kgaswane, Mpho
From the Grave by Tate, James
Whispers From The Grave by Loo, Laura
Grave Marker by Coyne, William
Someone walked over my grave today by Harris, STANLEY

View all new Grave Poems

The Best Grave Poems

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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~


Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

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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 | Year Posted 2014

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Caressed By Vines


Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
   old monuments of stone set on the ground.
Those silent sentinels that stand their guard
   above the souls, we honor and regard.

To honor and regard through all the years
   where loved ones come to speak unhappy tears.
Beneath the summer rain and winter snow,
   these monuments of stone, their sorrow show.

Like tender arms, the vines embrace the stones
   to comfort them, these guardians of bones
who bear the sadness brought to them to share,
   by those who stand and weep in silent prayer.

The tender vines grow thicker 'round the tombs...
   create a leafy shawl that lives and blooms,
and shows the hope of new life after death 
   which tangled vines embrace with living breath.

Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
   these lasting monuments where peace is found,
and frame the name of each whose life reclines...
   now resting safe and sound, caressed by vines.


Sandra M. Haight

~2nd Place~
Contest: Overgrown With Vines
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Theme: Headstones overgrown with vines in an old cemetery
Judged: 10/08/2016


Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Year Posted 2011

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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 | Year Posted 2014

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DaRK CloUds - A collaboration with Liam Mc Daid

Grey clouds the innocent sky ambushing light turns dark 
stumbling over a tombstone opening up cold graves

When eyes become frozen behind scenes in hidden truth  
as a weight deadens upon the shoulders without hope 

A ghost from past experience consumes the present 
and golden sands blacken beneath your feet fallen one
  
Deep undercurrents strains awaken in the ocean 
Invisible cloaked dagger pierces without mercy

I pray waters calming find peace in this mortal frame
as the whirlpool of desires casts an ominous spell

Upon the sea of life Satanic storms enter Hell
and exudes within the malevolent clouds failure
 
Forgiveness stands at the crossroads beholden no more 
within promise of a dream transparent through the rain 

As yellow moonlight draws one pathway clearly cutting  
brings you safely home to love under a fragile roof   

Under black currents of loss when the heart returns beat 
in the last teardrop sorrow remained faithfully loved 


In collaboration with The Irish Poet Liam Mc Daid 
2016


Copyright © Red Fiery | Year Posted 2016

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Become

I close my weary eyes
I quake and tremble
The meaning of life losing its hold,
Losing its wonder
In this magnifying, mystifying Sadness

Where is the river, 
Where is the ocean
To drown these sorrows...

The dry formations in this barren land stay tall,
Pools holding life drying in the dinosaur wasteland 
I am bones...
I am bones sinking in the waterless chalk

I keep these eyes shut
To hide inside my meditations
My ears have grown accustomed to the silence,
And sensitive to the drops of tears
They dry too quickly,
For the sun is against the moisture
And all for the fossilization of my soul

Where is the river?
Where is the ocean...

I do not ask with hope-
I am too ancient to beg for miracles
To dream, yet, too long I have slept
I ask on account of who I once was,
A land so lush and plentiful
See now only the dryest thrive

I am bones on the brink of history...
The elements have claimed me
Life will return elsewhere
I am become by the rock and the sun



Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2015

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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~


Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2014

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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


Copyright © Brenda Meier-Hans | Year Posted 2014

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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 | Year Posted 2013

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Whispering Old Cemetery


I came across an old cemetery today while exploring,
     Full of broken, toppled headstones and tangled weeds;
There was a deep hush, a whisper and a sigh, I felt tears,
          My tears were falling for long dead souls forgotten.

A tree's roots are entwined around an old, tilted stone,
     In loving memory of my husband George, born Feb, 1882;
Oh, George you were loved very much once upon a time,
           God took him, but he will not be forgotten, engraved.

And I am of the age of Aquarius too, just like you,
    I love violets and everything purple, and I am so mellow;
Oh, George were you a deep thinker, sensitive, creative,
           I get hurt easily and I always want to help people.
            
Be at peace George in your decay and ravaged grave,
     Listen to the twittering of birds this bright sunny day;
Promise, promise, I will be back to lay some purple violets,
          Forever now, dear soul, you will dwell in my heart.

Now, be still George, I heard your whisper  . . . 

____________________________
April 28, 2016

Elegy

Submitted to the contest, Any Poem Written in April 2016
sponsor, Laura Loo

First Place
_____________________________________________

Written for the contest,  Universal Acrostic Collaboration
sponsor, Steven Henderson 


First Place


Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

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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



Copyright © Ingrid Showalter Swift | Year Posted 2014

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FAMILY SECRETS

Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed … A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’ It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription Carved in the decaying stone I read Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33 Fell asleep with her tiny angel Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone 08~04~16


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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HEARTBROKEN CHILD CRIES

FICTIONAL EMOTIVE WRITE
Since I was a tiny baby I was brought up by my grandparents and had a very happy childhood. I knew that they were not my real parents but they gave me such love that I didn’t ask any questions for fear of upsetting them. Grandma’s eyes would mist over any time anyone mentioned my parents so I knew something bad had happened to them Whispers in the hall The child is too young to know They passed so quickly I left home at 20, married and moved to a small town about 50 miles from where I grew up. I was always in touch with my grandparents, but over time old age crept upon them and I recently cleared the family home when grandma passed away. I discovered yellowing newspaper cuttings, which told of how my parents had been killed in a horrific car crash, it also detailed their final resting place in the local cemetery. Family secrets Scrapbook of old photographs My parents smiling Dawn is breaking and dappled sunlight streams through the trees. A veil of grey swirling mist shrouds the cemetery. I pull my shawl closely around my shoulders and begin my search. Strands of ivy hang down from the towering yew trees, its dark green tendrils wrapped around the grey granite graves clinging so tightly as if it was trying to hold up the graves like a puppet on a string. The fallen gravestones remind me of decaying teeth with many gaps where stones had crumbled with age and neglect. I walk slowly, reading the names of those who now had eternal rest. Eventually I found their grave at plot 142, where a marble angel watches over them sleeping. I scrape off the thick lichen, which obscures their names. Tears fall and I hug the gravestone wishing I could embrace my parents for real. I greet my parents Stone cold grave gives me closure Heartbroken child cries 09~26~16 Contest Overgrown With Vines Sponsored by Broken Wings


Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

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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 | Year Posted 2014

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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 | Year Posted 2015

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Haunted

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 | Year Posted 2015

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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 evening,
Pal quietly passed away.

Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.” 
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh 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 through her tears.  
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too.  His name was Pal.”


Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

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The Butterfly Dance

Dance
Between the granite stones
Of the dead
Long ago last breaths do part
Memories seeping in dirt
Black birds and magpies
Lace and knots
Lingering thoughts
Swaying too and fro
Insane

Dancing 
On top of the dead
Lover is all but gone
Butterflies shown
That life flies on
As shadows rest
Upon ones breast


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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Pemaquid Point Elegy

Scatter my ashes at Pemaquid Point,
Let the wind sail them home to the sea.
Cradle of life, be my cradle in death,
And set my spirit free.

Sun will warm the daylight hours;
The lighthouse illume the night;
Waves provide rhythm and gulls give voice---
Music to ease my flight.

Eternal rocks will form my tomb,
Sand my quilt shall be,
Protecting from shipwreck and raging storms,
And I’ll become one with the sea.


Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

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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!


Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

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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 bothered 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 prayers 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's 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 takes over and destroys 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 | Year Posted 2014

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The Graveyard - Visual 3

Here forsaken souls are gathered; Gathered in night’s cold wrap of woe. Woe to those who now are treading; Treading the paths that lead them here. Written June 7, 2015 by Andrea Dietrich For the "Four Lines Only" Poetry Contest of nette onclaud Based on visual number 3


Copyright © Andrea Dietrich | Year Posted 2015

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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

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



Copyright © RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY | Year Posted 2014

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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 | Year Posted 2014