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abortion absence
abuse addiction
adventure africa
age allah
allegory allusion
america analogy
angel anger
angst animal
anniversary anti bullying
anxiety appreciation
april arabic
art assonance
aubade august
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brother bullying
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child child abuse
childhood children
chocolate christian
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class clothes
color columbus day
community computer
confidence conflict
confusion cool
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cousin cowboy
crazy creation
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culture cute love
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death death of a friend
december dedication
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desire destiny
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divorce dog
dream drink
drug earth
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education emo
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eve evil
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farewell farm
fashion father
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fathers day fear
february feelings
film fire
firework first love
fish fishing
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food football
for children for her
for him for kids
forgiveness freedom
french friend
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fun funeral
funny funny love
future games
garden gender
giggle girl
girlfriend giving
god golf
good friday good morning
good night goodbye
gospel gothic
graduate graduation
grandchild granddaughter
grandfather grandmother
grandparents grandson
grave green
grief growing up
growth guitar
hair halloween
happiness happy
happy birthday hate
health heart
heartbreak heartbroken
heaven hello
hero high school
hilarious hindi
hip hop history
hockey holiday
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horror horse
house how i feel
howl humanity
humor humorous
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hyperbole i am
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identity image
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immigration independence day
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inspiration inspirational
integrity international
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ireland irony
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jewish jobs
journey joy
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june kid
kindergarten kiss
language leadership
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light little sister
london loneliness
lonely longing
loss lost
lost love love
love hurts lust
lyric magic
malayalam marathi
march marriage
math may
me meaningful
memorial day memory
men mental illness
mentor metaphor
middle school military
miracle mirror
miss you missing
missing you mom
money moon
morning mother
mother daughter mother son
mothers day motivation
mountains moving on
mum murder
muse music
my child my children
mystery myth
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native american natural disasters
nature new year
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nice niece
night nonsense
nostalgia november
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ocean october
old onomatopoeia
pain paradise
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passion patriotic
peace people
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planet poems
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poets political
pollution poverty
power prayer
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princess prison
proposal psychological
purple quinceanera
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rain rainbow
rainforest rap
raven recovery from
red relationship
religion religious
remember remembrance day
repetition retirement
riddle rights
river romance
romantic rose
roses are red rude
sad sad love
satire scary
school science
science fiction sea
seasons self
senses sensual
september sexy
sick silence
silly silver
simile simple
sin sister
sky slam
slavery sleep
smart smile
snow soccer
social society
softball soldier
solitude sometimes
son song
sorrow sorry
soulmate sound
space spanish
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sports spring
star stars
storm strength
stress student
success suicide
summer sun
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surreal sweet
symbolism sympathy
tamil teacher
teachers day technology
teen teenage
thank you thanks
thanksgiving thanksgiving day
tiger time
today together
travel tree
tribute true love
trust truth
universe uplifting
urban urdu
usa vacation
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visionary vogon
voice volleyball
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water weather
wedding wife
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write writing
yellow youth

Long Funeral Poems

Long Funeral Poems. Below are the most popular long Funeral by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Funeral poems by poem length and keyword.

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
Long poem by Mark Massey | Details |

The Redemption - Part 2

The Procession

With love they make the passage into light,
in gardens lush each mourner stood abreast.
Then hand in hand they walked up to the site
she chose to be her final place of rest.
They all had gathered 'round the open ground
to sprinkle petals on the coffer tomb.
Cold silence seemed to be the only sound
as bearers placed it in its earthly womb.
And far behind the mourners stood a pair
of men in whisper as they viewed in grace.
One spoke about his life now in despair
and other days that brought him to this place.
  “No god of love would leave me in such pain,
   alas my faith in thee could be in vain”.


Faith in Vain

Alas my faith in thee could be in vain.
I’d called on you to give me strength to fare
the tragedies that fell on me like rain
and in that hour I could not find you there.
My son and wife are now three years deceased.
Malignancy has filled my mind with fear.
I’ve given up my search for inner peace.
Now only manic demons harbor there.
I still aspire that one day soon I’ll be
released from mortal shackles that I wear
and seek to find in heaven my relief.
Through faith in thee I hope to find them there.
  I wonder why the god of grace contends
  to test the mortal circumstance of men?


The Cancer

To test the mortal circumstance of men
my body fights a battle from within;
the cure too strong for many to defend
with poisons meant to make you whole again.
My ravaged state had left me but a shell
and made me wonder why I even tried. 
And as I drifted deeper into hell
my life was saved but for it faith had died.
My guiding light had been my family,
in darkest moments there to lead me on.
I realized that he watched over me,
providing strength in them to keep me strong.
  To know my loving family sustains,
  In death a living memory remains.


The Death of a Son

In death a living memory remains,
the patriarchal heir shall carry on.
In vain I walk because there is no name
to call a father who has lost his son.
He stood by me when I was in despair
and as those hopeless visions filled my head;
so futile my request that life be fair
or pray for death to take me in his stead.
My grandchild's birth, his son, shall free this pain;
too young to know his father could not stay
reminding us the best of him remains.
But sorrow won and death soon claimed its prey.
  With family we can conquer life’s demands;
  one man cannot secure such futile ends.


The Widower

One man cannot secure such futile ends
to ever mend a mother’s broken soul.
She was my lover and my cherished friend,
the anguish finally took its mortal toll.
We placed her in the ground atop her pride.
This single grave now binds me to this ground.
And soon our bodies will be placed aside
with fleeting hopes our spirits can be bound.
I called to Him, “Have mercy on me lord,
in my surrender, I’m a broken man.”
I knew it was his judgement I abhorred.
But who was I to doubt his holy plan?
  A granite stone engraved for evermore;
  the only way that memories endure. 


The Emptiness 

The only way that memories endure
when all my hopes have withered into dust
and everything in life I once adored
is gone and now in nothing will I trust.
My shredded faith I’ve cast into the air
in pieces I may never find again.
With you my friend these memories I share
so in my sorrow you may understand.
The friend just stood in silence for a spell
and turned to look into the mourner's eyes
then spoke of this great gift that had befell
upon him just before his son had died.
  Your faith in life and love you can restore;
  they live within the hearts of those so pure.


The Child

They live within the hearts of those so pure.
Each mourner grieves the passing of this friend.
The life and death for all is to insure
that everything that ends begins again.
A child is such a blessing to receive,
so filled with love it heals our earthly pains.
Just take this child to heart and you’ll receive
the blessing of the love he has ordained.
All those gathered stood for one last prayer.
With silence broken each then found their way
along the paths where others shared despair
among the stones where mortal remnants lay.
  The soul will find its way to Heaven’s door
  A stone shall mark all those that came before.


The Redeemed

A stone shall mark all those that came before,
the solitary soul shall reign unbound.
With mortal flesh interned forevermore,
we pray the soul is now eternal bound.
Through faith we seek an everlasting life,
we hope our prayers are heard in heaven's heights.
A fragile son cannot escape the strife,
with love they make the passage into light.
Alas my faith in thee could be in vain
to test the mortal circumstance of men.
In death a living memory remains,
one man cannot secure such futile ends.
  The only way that memories endure;
  they live within the hearts of those so pure.


                        Heroic Crown of Sonnets
                                        A. Mark Massey

Copyright © Mark Massey | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Diane Lefebvre | Details |

Wellington Gate

His walk into town would prove fateful that day,
As his mind wandered idly while finding his way.
His footsteps were brisk like fall chill in the air,
Past Wellington Gate, south of Denby town square.

He paused for a time as the hearse passed him by.
Its dark, somber outline contrasting the sky.
Stood still as it turned in through Wellington Gate,
Down this last dusty byway of sorrow and fate.

A pair of dark geldings, black plumes on their heads.
Seemed subdued in their manner while carrying the dead.
Their hooves beat dull thuds on the cold, hardened sod:
Alerting the devil, but more hopefully, God.

The box in the hearse lay there stark and austere.
Poor souls final journey, last trek anywhere. 
The small group of mourners now somber and mute
Trailed after the hearse in reluctant pursuit.

His thoughts then turned back to concerns of the day.
The errands in Denby that had brought him this way.
His footsteps trudged on toward the town just ahead.
On past this bleak place with its fields of the dead.

And the day passed by quickly as he made all his rounds,
Attending to business before leaving the town.
Then an overdue visit to a friend from the past,
Would leave his mind reeling, in tumult, aghast!

For Nell Reed had returned from her home far away.
Nell Reed had come back, never more would she stray.
The scene he had witnessed at Wellington Gate,
The pine box, the mourners, lamented Nell's fate.

Then a blow to his middle - sharp twist like a knife.
Twice now he'd lost Nellie the love of his life.
Nellie, oh Nellie sweet child of his youth.
How could he accept this - admit to its truth?

She now lay in her coffin - pale, cold, not a sigh.
No words would she speak, not one single goodbye.
No explanation of the times in their past:
Of unanswered questions, he could now never ask.

He then found himself back at Wellington Gate.
Fall shadows had lengthened and the day had grown late.
Dead leaves of November swirled under his step,
Invited him follow to where Nellie now slept.

The despair that he felt huddled there by her grave,
Made him seem as a man now most surely depraved.
Harsh pleas for the answers to questions long asked,
From someone once cherished, now part of the past.

Where had she gone while he fought in that war?
Why did she leave, did she love him no more?
Upon his return, mind and body all scarred, 
To face life without her - so sad and so hard?

He cried out in frustration, old sorrow and pain,
As he knelt by her grave there on Evermore Lane.
And the day turned toward evening, but he did not see,
Trapped there in his memories with no place to flee.

Then he sensed someone else, just behind, but nearby.
A young man with Nell's look, most especially her eyes.
In his hand was a letter, tinged yellow with time-
Nell's neat, tiny script penned on each faded line.

"She told me about you and what you once shared,
And asked me to find you, to tell you she cared.
She wished you to have this," his voice held a plea.
"Her last thoughts on this earth were of you and of me."

"The letter was written a long time ago,
When I was a child, before I came to know.
The man I called father, in the days of my youth,
Was only her husband; a well hidden truth."

"He raised me and fed me and treated me well,
But he never did love me and I always could tell.
This letter from mother should bring you at last,
Answers to questions that have troubled your past."

And the son placed the letter in his fathers cold hand,
Waited a moment - made a half-hearted stand.
But he turned then and left - back through Wellington Gate:
To the place he had come from and his own earthly fate.

And his father by the morning, lay frozen and dead,
On Nellie's cold grave with the message unread.
He never did view those last words meant for him,
It grew too dark to see as the cold night set in.

He succumbed to that cold and to Nellie's mute call.
And died where she lay on the last day of fall.
And the years passed on by, like the years always will.
They now lie there together, both silent: both still.

And all who'd remember lie near them as well,
No one now survives for this sad tale to tell.
Yet the legend goes on of this man and of fate.
It's still whispered while passing by - Wellington Gate.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by Shadow Hamilton | Details |

The Druid 3

Now that Crimson Fire was gone
Fire Eagle needed to gain experience.
For over ten years he travelled the lands
helping people, learning from many other druids.
One day he knew he would be called up on to
take the role of high priest as yet he felt unready.
Faithfully he followed the druid ways of peace and
nature. Living his life in mainly solitude he was
very close and in tune with the land and creatures.

He took part in many solstices and Equinox's abet
in a lowly position. Always he was learning and growing
stronger, facing many perils and banishing them all.
Daily his powers became stronger and people visited
him to learn from him. Eventually he took on his first
apprentice a lad named Tom. He taught Tom about the plants
that healed and those used wrongly that could harm.
In time he also set him tasks to prove his worth and heart.

Shortly after Tom left a group of priests came to his cave.
They told Fire Eagle to prepare for circle as one would be
held the following night. This a private circle only for priests
Fire Eagle did his cleansing rite and drank the Enchanter's
potion, now he was ready to don his ritual robes. Taking
hold of his staff he left his cave and followed the other
druids to the Sacred Grove. They sat and cleared their 
minds of daily thoughts letting the Grove's magic fill them.

They sat as still as statues as they medicated on life itself.
Finally the high priest Golden Stag rose and started to chant.
He blessed the other priests and gave them tasks to do
which must be completed by the Summer Solstice, to Fire
Eagle he said it is now time for you to come with me.
Golden Stag taught Fire Dragon all his secrets and set
him tasks which Fire Dragon strove to complete well.
Finally the high priest was happy and said you are now ready.

As you know I am old and it is my time soon to go to rest.
You have been chosen to take my place and I will conduct
the ceremony to make you our high Priest at Summer Solstice.
For the next two days you must wander the lands helping all
you find in need and healing those who come to you. It is 
important to stay in balance with Nature and you must treat all
as equals. Evil will try to corrupt you and lead you astray.
Keep this talisman by you and you will be able to see the truth.

As he wandered many called on him for help or healing
and giving them all his full attention he did his best.
Mid day before the Solstice a lovely girl came to him and 
sat at his feet drinking in his very essence, draining him.   
Fire Eagle struggled to clear his mind of her wiles and
remembering his talisman held it aloft, in blue smoke
she changed to an evil demon and burst into flames.
He had now completed his tasks and returned to Golden Stag.

Together they discussed what he had learnt while away.
You are now ready, said Golden Stag go and prepare yourself.
Well aware of this monumental moment he took great care
to follow the cleansing exactly. Finally ready they set off to
circle. Meeting up with other robed druids they reached
Stonehenge and entered its sacred circle. They did the rites
of purification and showed their respect to Mother Nature
then all bowed to the North, East and South and finally to West.

Golden Stag stepped into the centre and told all it was near 
his time to rest. The Druids moaned in sorrow yet knew it
was the way of things. Fire Dragon will take my place he said.
We will conduct his passage to high priest at this sacred time
in the knowledge he will receive the circles wisdom just like
all before him. He spread out the herbs and choosing several
mixed them together, then he anointed Fire Dragon with them
whilst he chanted. At the end he asked to be taken back to his
cave by Fire Dragon, he gave him his staff and robes and laid down.

Just like Crimson Fire he let out a soft sigh and left this world.
Now it was up to Fire Dragon to lead the Druids. His first task
was to lay Golden Stag to rest and he accomplished it well.
Many came and sat at his feet to learn the Druid ways.
A shy girl approached and in time Fire Dragon and her
fell in love and were wed. Sadly five years later she died in childbirth.

To be continued

Copyright © Shadow Hamilton | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Vicki Acquah | Details |

SCOFFING LOVE

`````````````````````````````````````````````````````March 27, 2013
Vicki Acquah




WHICH WITTY POEM
 DID YOU INSPIRE IN ME,
WHAT SINCERE PRAISE
 DID YOU GIVE MY WORDS
WHEN I THOUGHT 
ENOUGH OF YOU
SEND A POEM YOUR WAY.
WHICH LINE DID YOU WRITE WITH
MY SPIRIT SURROUNDING YOU
.
WHAT SONG DID YOU SING WHEN
YOU THOUGHT OF MY NAME
WHY DID YOU SAY YOU LOVED ME.
WHAT HAVE I DONE TO MAKE YOU SMILE,
HOW DID YOU GET IN MY HEAD ANYHOW
.
WHAT PART OF ME DID YOU AROUSE.
WHY DO I SAY I LOVE YOU.?
WERE YOU SINCERE WHEN YOU SAID "AMEN"
TO THE WISDOM THAT I SHARED
WERE YOU ONE OF THOSE WHO THOUGHT
YOUR MOCKING,WAS MORE VALUABLE
THAN COMPLIANCE.
 
 I HAVE LIVED WITH THE
RESENTMENTS OF SCOFFERS.
I DIGEST YOUR RESPONSE WITH A GULP..
I THOUGHT SO MUCH BETTER OF YOU.
 
I DO NOT HAVE A REAL CLUE-AS TO WHY YOU
WOULD BE THE ONE TO UNDERMINE
AND SCOFF AT LOVE-WITH SNIDE REMARKS
OF FALSE PRIDE;
I WAS CALLED TO THIS THRONE
YOU SEEK TO BANISHING ME FROM.
 
HOWEVER THIS can NEVER BE DONE,
NO MAN CAN PUT ASUNDER
WHAT WAS SET IN MOTION
BY THE HIGHER LAWS OF NATURE
 
I SPEAK OF THE ILLS IN SOCIETY
I SPEAK OF FALSE REALITIES.
WHAT YOU DIDN'T SAY HOLDS FAST INSIDE.
I SAW WHAT YOU DIDN'T DO,
AND WONDER WHY.
 
IN-SPITE OF YOUR MOCKERY
I STILL HAVE A LOVE INSIDE OF ME
THAT ADORES THE GREATNESS IN YOU
EVEN IF YOU CHOOSE TO UNDERMINE
THIS ONLY BOTHERS ME
BECAUSE OF THE EFFECT 
IT WILL HAVE ON YOU
 
ONLY MY FRIENDS WHO ARE GENUINE,
WILL CONTINUE TO RIDE ON MY CLOUD NINE.
RECEIVING NO THREATS, AS
HUMAN I BE, HUMAN I AM 
WITH THE ATTRIBUTES OF
GODDESSES AND MAN
 
TAKE WHAT YOU LIKE AND LEAVE THE REST.
BECAUSE OF THE WORTH I SEE IN YOU .
BECAUSE OF THE WORTH I SEE IN YOU .
THAT'S WHY I SO PERFECTLY ...TOLERATE YOU .
AND OF COURSE WHAT IS LEFT 
NEED NOT BE DISTURBED AT BEST
 
ONE DAY YOU WILL FIGURE THINGS OUT,
ONE DAY YOU WILL KNOW WHY
I SHARED A PART OF MY LIFE WITH YOU .
ONE DAY YOU WILL SEE
THE VALUES THATS BEEN  PLACE IN ME
.
BECAUSE OF THE MIRACLE--
OF LOVE AND FATE COMBINED
ONE DAY REASON WILL COMPLY
WITH YOUR FINITE MIND.
I KNOW WHO I AM EVEN 
THOUGH YOU DON'T
YOU DO NOT RIDE ON MY RHYTHM
OR STEP TO MY DRUMBEAT.
 
BUT STILL you will -TWEAK TO MY HEARTBEAT.
YET MORE WILL BE UNDERSTOOD BYE AND BYE..
AND FOR THOSE WHO FEEL,AND
APPRECIATE EACH OTHERS POETRY or story                                                      
EVENTUALLY ...THE reason will BE REVEALED
 
SO... WHEN THE SLIPPERY HAND OF HOPE IS
EXTENDED UNTO YOU
REACH UP AND GRAB IT
MAKE SURE YOUR GRIP IS FIRM.
 
BECAUSE WHO KNOWS 
WHY SCOFFERS SCOFF 
WHEN LOVE SPEAKS OUT OF CONCERN 
JUST BE PATIENT AND WAIT
SINCERITY AND LOVE
NEVER NEEDS DEFENDING .
ALL YOU LESS CALLOUS , 
WHO SEEK UNDERSTANDING
AS OPPOSED TO MALICE
 
I WILL JUST WAIT AT THE MOUNTAIN TOP  
ONE DAY WITH OPEN EYES YOU'LL COME
THE SLACKERS SHALL JOIN US THERE. 
NO NEED TO COMPARE,WE ALL NEED PRAYER
 
AS LONG AS WE ARE NOT STUCK IN RUTS
OR ON THE SLIPPERY SLOPE OF CONTEMPT 
AS LONG AS WE WHO HOLD THE ROPE 
ARE WILLING TO PULL OUR BROTHERS UP
WITH OUR WORDS,THE POETS WORDS  
THE MESSAGE FOR THE MASSES IS HOPE..
.
SO I LIVE FOR THE POEMS YOU SEND MY WAY 
FOR I GROW STRONG IN OUR RELATIONSHIP 
SAILED BY THE WINDS OF YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT
TO MY POETS MY TRUE FRIENDS,
I TRULY KNOW WHO YOU ARE, and...
DON'T EVER THINK I DON'T.              

  EVENTUALLY ...THE MEANING OF THINGS WILL 
BE REVEALED, SO... WHO KNOWS WHY SCOFFERS 
SCOFF WHEN EVER LOVE SPEAKS OUT.
 JUST BE PATIENT AND WAIT, SINCERITY AND LOVE
 NEVER NEEDS DEFENDING 

.ALL YOU LESS CALLOUS PEOPLE,WHO SEEK 
UNDERSTANDING AS OPPOSED TO MALICE, JUST WAIT
 AT THE TOP OF THE MOUNTAIN. 
ONE DAY WITH OPEN EYES 
THE SLACKERS SHALL JOIN YOU THERE. 
NO NEED TO COMPARE,WE ALL NEED PRAYER,
AS LONG AS WE ARE NOT STUCK ON THE
SLIPPERY SLOPE, OF CONTEMPT , 
AS LONG AS WE WHO HOLD THE ROPE
 ARE WILLING TO PULL OUR BROTHER UP

WITH OUR WORDS,THE POETS WORDS :
 THE MESSAGE FOR THE MASSES IS HOPE..
.SO I LIVE FOR THE POEMS YOU SEND MY WAY,

 FOR I GROW STRONG IN OUR RELATIONSHIP 

BY THE WINDS OF YOUR ENCOURAGEMENT,

TO MY POETS MY TRUE FRIENDS

,I TRULY KNOW WHO YOU ARE,
 DON'T EVER THINK I DON'T.

Copyright © Vicki Acquah | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Stanley Collymore | Details |

Gone and hopefully permanently forgotten

By Stanley Collymore

Never speak ill of the dead we’re constantly and solemnly
exhorted regardless of who they are or the life that
they freely chose to live, as they’re no longer
around, is the lame and unconvincing excuse
that’s often and dishonestly given in explanation, to rebut or
defend their name, any accusations or adverse criticisms,
however concrete or valid they might be, being made
against them; and in those circumstances therefore
to then embark on such a plan would in itself be
quite unbecoming while serving as nothing
more than a cheap and cowardly way of
attempting to exact one’s own revenge.

But hang on a moment, how truly valid is this
simplistic and supposedly moral exhortation; and why
should the intervention of death, distinct from any
other known phenomenon, be the sole exculpation for
someone’s life-long sins and premeditated wrongdoings
that disparagingly have callously, schemingly,
perniciously, quite methodically and comprehensively
destroyed the lives of so many who were
exclusively picked on and especially targeted for
reasons of dogmatic political ideology, or
those specifically and illogically
associated with their race
or ethnicity.

I was never a miner viewed as the country’s low-life and
thusmalevolently castigated as the enemy within, but
I am and have longstandingly been a proud trade
unionist whose movement just as
viciously by this self-centred,
venal and privileged elite was likewise tarred
with the same condemnatory brush and
scandalously branded the same.

Similarly, I was an anti-apartheid activist firmly
committed, as I always will be, to the noble concept
globally of the universality of human rights, equality
for all human beings and the ultimate eradication
of racism, tirelessly working also in tandem
for freedom of expression by everyone,
genuine democracy and the lawful and
moral right to withhold one’s labour,
and particularly so in manufactured industrial
disputes specifically designed to disrupt the cohesion,
deliberately break-up and ruthlessly destroy the
bargaining rights of all trade unions. 

So why would I, or anyone else for that matter
with a social conscience, want to actually
eulogize and not rightly despise someone who,
while together with their husband was
profiting massively financially from South Africa’s
apartheid system, none the less perversely saw fit
to label Nelson Mandela a terrorist and roundly
vilify the ANC as a terrorist organization, while
astonishingly and without a modicum of regret
laud the architects of apartheid and the
ardent supporters of institutionalized
racism as the veritable champions of
what they deem as democracy?

Unless, of course, such individuals have short or convenient
memories and are themselves a complete abomination of what
society, which we were told by this woman doesn’t exist,
or come to that humanity should actually represent!
So I’ve no apologies to make or will I relent from
the stance I’ve taken because Death, inevitable
to us all, has finally, and some would
justifiably say, long-sufferingly and somewhat
kindly stepped in and brought the life of yet
another tyrant to its end. So feel free those of you
who want to eulogize or even dress yourself up
in sackcloth and ashes if you wish amidst your contrived beating
of chests and sorrowful refrains; but in doing so, I’d like for
you in your unrestrained orgy of engineered anguish
and false grief to jointly entreat you to abstain
from ever doing any of this in my name.

© Stanley V. Collymore
12 April 2013.

In the midst of life there is death the great leveller of us all. We brought nothing into this world, and it is certain we can carry nothing out. So what doth it profit a man or woman if in their life time they gain all the riches of the world yet lose their soul for eternity? The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the Name of the Lord.

Copyright © Stanley Collymore | Year Posted 2013

Long poem by Bob Moore | Details |

Manchester United 1958-Part One

Listen to poem:
by Robert (Bob) Moore © 2015

I remember the 6th February, in 1958, 
the day before my 16 birthday, everything was great
I was working at the CIS, an Insurance mob in town
I’d finished work at Deansgate, and I was heading home

I joined the queue at Market Street, and I noticed some were crying
they were talking in hushed tones, about some people dying
then I saw the headlines, of the paper a man was reading what’s this I thought, that can’t be true, I could not catch the meaning

UNITED DISASTER. GRIM FIGHT FOR LIFE, is what the headline read
this could not happen to Man U, were any of them dead
these were thoughts ran through my mind, as tough men cried around me
I caught the bus, and hurried home, that’s where I felt I should be

The Busby Babes were flying home, from their game in the Euro Cup
they’d drawn with Red Star in Belgrade, which meant they would move up
to  play Milan in the Semi’s, at Old Trafford their home ground
but now that fate had played its hand, that meant nothing to those around

They had flown out on the Monday, Lord Burghley was the plane
and then on the Wednesday, it would fly them home again
because the plane could not carry, all the fuel it needed
it landed at Munich Airport, and re-fuelling then proceeded

At 14:19 GMT, the plane was cleared for take-off
everyone was ready, and the Captain let the brake off
the take-off was abandoned, when a gauge was fluctuating
and the engine did not sound right, when they were accelerating

They tried a second take-off, just 3 minutes later
but had to call it off, problems with the accelerator
the passengers then left the plane, and retreated to the lounge
heavy snow was falling now, the plane may not leave the ground.

Duncan Edwards sent a telegram, to let his landlady know
the flights have all been grounded, because of all the snow
The Captain told the engineer, the problems with their flight
the engineer said I suggest, you should all stay the night

I think that we can make it said the pilot Captain Thain
and 15 minutes later, they were all back on the plane
if we use the throttle slowly, we can build to take off speed
we have a lot of runway, much more than we should need

The less confident of fliers, and Billy Whelan he was one
said “!’m ready if this means my death”, and then it was done
Duncan Edwards and some others, had moved back into the plane
they believed it would be safer, if something happened once again

a decision now was needed, and soon one had been made,
they were going for a take-off, and everybody prayed
The pilot slowly moved the throttle, and then released the brake
As the plane moved down the runway, and began to accelerate

“Zulu Uniform is rolling”, was their message to the tower
it threw up slush, and increased speed, as they slowly built up power
the Captain called velocity, and then he heard the engine falter
he pulled back a bit, then forward slow, til he heard the heartbeat alter

V1 was called at 117, take-off could not be aborted
V2 was next at 119, the least to get us started
then he could lift us off the ground, and climb towards the heaven
however it was not to be, the speed stayed round 117

velocity dropped to 112, and the engine could not take it
the plane began to slip and slide, they knew they would not make it”
it skidded off the runway, and crashed into a fence
then crossed a road, and hit a house, the feeling was intense


Continued:- part two

Copyright © Bob Moore | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Timothy Jacks | Details |

My Grandfathers Dying Wish

See problems they no worry Timothy
He was raised by his Great Grandmother
One day she taught him
Miho you can make life beautiful or ugly
Work hard, find a woman who has a strong back
Beauty fades it doesn’t last long
Now let me tell you 
A woman with a strong back may not be your perfect companion
Times are changing, I think Faith is more important these days
I say okay Grandma, can I have the horachata now that you made me
No hush up! You can have it when I’m finished talking
Timothy come your poor Grandfather wanted you to have this
It is his Journal and I have never read out of it
She hands it to me
I am struck by it’s cover, it is brown and plain
Yet it spoke to me by it’s elegant style
These words were printed on the cover “Blanco Vendetta”
I was drawn and pulled in untill I was covered by the spell
The first page I open too it says “My first Mil Besos”
The Temptess that blew my heart away
I turn to page 33
It says “The story of an Apache Warrior”
There are no rules to an Apache Warrior when it comes to fighting
He says if you are my enemy I don’t care how but I’m gonna kill you
Page 41 is like a fist full of words thrown across the page
Barrio boxing, The protection of the Shield of Faith
Brokenhearted for my careless speech has left her heartbroken
Strengthened by Love “Amor”
Nourished by the sunshine in her hand
There is healing in its beams
Blessed by her presence Del Dios I am Greatful
I’m like Grandpa what did you say wrong
Then these words come to me
Give her your full attention when she speaks to you
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
So I close it and my finger brushes a bookmark
It’s the Last page
It says To: “Timothy my son who is as mighty as an army”
I Thank you for the Greatest Gift
For the Greatest Gifts are as small as your small hand that touched me
I plant these seeds and they will take root and grow because you are good ground
Timothy let me say That without you I would of never found my Faith in GOD
Listen for it is your Grandfather who is dead and speechless
Timothy you see the good in everything
And I know you will understand my words clearly
If a man gives you his word
Promise me not to plan your future on it
And if you give your word my son
Do everything in your Power to fulfill it
AND NEVER Promise more than you can deliver 
For it is better to put out more than you promised
Everyman is considered unwise when he appears foolish
I wish I could give you some insight about women
But your Great Grandmother may help you better than I can
But never timothy, Never be quick to fall in Love 
Or give your heart to a woman
Listen carefully to her words when she speaks to you
Cherish Her give her your full undue attention 
Because the Heart of the Wise studies how to answer
Love your neighbors as yourself
And do not strive against another man
If he has done nothing wrong to offend you
AS much as it is possible live peacefully with all men
And it is okay for you to speak these things with your Great Grandmother
She is a very wise and God-fearing woman
Amor take the greatest care of her, I Love you Son
Timothy when the time comes to avenge my death
Hit harder then you ever have before
But not in a Duel son, not like an open Vendetta
Marry his daughter Maria
The one who is pretty and Two years younger than you
Oh! He will suffer greatly!
And it will kill him to know that I chose this way to repay him
And remember son to be ready to fight any man at the drop of a hat

Copyright © Timothy Jacks | Year Posted 2012

Long poem by Laura Breidenthal | Details |

Doom of Ancient Bloom

Oh, this impish ill!
this mystic flock of ever-roaming pain;
You now possess fully
my body and my life.
I am at your full attention and mercy;
Do you not rejoice?
Are you not overwhelmingly triumphant?
This very body that shamed kings into beggars,
that made cowards into martyrs,
songs to motivation,
and indisputable chaos to nation;
All of my great works till now
are devoured by this deplorable disease!
Indeed, now all are indifferent to my successes,
to my brilliance and my legendary valiance;
You see no more but a breakable man-
Another mortal undeniably, indefinably, irrevocably….dying
 
This misshapen swarm inside distorts my frame;
These bones weaken as I lay
isolated in the mist below the disparaging judges—
Away from the ordinary who spat on me in revulsion;
The known healthy and the blessed—
The cursed clean!
Even relieving the dogs and the fiends from this stinking burden I am
but a rogue omen, and a threat
to their meaningless power.
 
My skin is paling, flaking—I feel it!
Though dread long has fled to sorrier lands,
seeping in the heavenly regions of trembling angels,
crying out to me to submit, and repent
to a god who has enslaved us—
To—in the end—die,
and for the bravest, and the best,
perish harshly and horribly!
 
Agony places itself in all that cries out in me—
tired agony mixed with the sting of venomous words;
My family—additions to the cursed clean—
They visited me once in prison;
My father, rigid, alien to me,
Colder than the prison walls surrounding,
and—of course—unwilling to be written upon,
stood silent, as my mother wept,
as my brother, his son whom he loves,
stared through me hollowly, dumbly,
possessing traits too doleful to acknowledge,
yet always, he is
more than anything I die to achieve.
 
Dead flowers crumble in my palms;
Now their known beauty is long gone.
I had been ailing, though enduring,
spreading and killing off fellow prisoners one by one;
The jailer became furious with the disease,
his dying wish to have me alone with the ground and worm;
His death and his bitter will against me touched the queen,
Who deemed the clean oppressed.
The solemn king whom I had served once with reverence
so soon sentenced me prematurely to this tomb,
to enclose a black hell of chilling cold around me,
and—as was ordinary—granted me
no walls to write on.
 
Tears fall…
I have learned in the silence even fury sighs and dims
 
Pacing and pacing,
I was soon reduced to feverish quaking,
and in every sense aching,
till the floor met my lips,
as the weakness took a fragile but substantial grip on my hope;
That moment, I begged this tomb to take me.
 
As fate has seen fit,
this is my dirge of a conclusion:
 
We all—cursed man—
All—ordinary and brilliant alike,
meet the same filthy fate
involving unassuming worms and dirt-
senseless deafness, blindness and darkness.
If I ever bloomed,
in your eyes, my father,
like your sons before me, I bloomed for naught,
only to, like infants, cry-
to die
and rot. 

For Justin Bordner's "A Tomb of Ancient Bloom" contest



Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2016

Long poem by Tiana Tillman | Details |

Celebration of life for Dalo

If I only had a few more minutes before you passed away
I'd tell you all the things I didn't get to say
I'd sit down with you and reminisce about our cape cod days
Go over one more time the particular day you walked my way
When you asked me, "can I meet your friend", and you and taryn danced the night away. It was no doubt, meant to be and your family instantly grew to three, taryn was your rock and Jordyn was your number one girl. Within a year you got the news you family would grow to four. I remember when you called me after receiving the news, you kept asking me if it was true. I told u yes cuz taryn wouldn't play a joke like that on you. You were going to be an exceptional father as you already had proven to be. As expected, You embraced the role and a new glow came over you that I had never seen before. The love the joy that shun through your eyes as your family became a family of five. a memory that will never fade in our minds. You worked day and night to provide your family with anything they did need.
I was amazed to see how much you changed throughout the years right in front of me. Your sacrifice, your drive. It was much too early to say goodbye. To a man who's smile alone warmed our heart, a man with so much love of life. From Haiti to Oregon, You played such a prominent role in everyones lives. Your spirit and values will carry on, especially through your daughters eyes.
I'll miss our talks, I'll miss the laughter, I'll miss your relationship advice
I'll miss you telling me to be happy and just enjoy life
I will cherish every word you ever said, even the ones I didn't understand
I will make sure the girls realize you are right there still holding their hands
Looking over them protecting them the best that you can
I will continue to bring my friend back to the joyous state I know you would want her to be. You'd tell her to keep your head up taryn, my love cuz I live inside of you too.
To wipe our tears and go on with our days.
Live life to the fullest and don't question gods way
If I had just a few more moments with you, there's so much more I would say
I'd thank you for the beautiful Angels you brought this way
I'd thank you for showing my friend the definition of true love
God blessed her with your presence in her life
Because You were truly heaven sent from above
For me the words unspoken never really needed to be said
More than just a friend you were like no other
You will always hold a place in my heart, because u you were my brother
Your love will never be forgotten
The fun we shared, The laughter, the cries
We know the hurt will ease in time
The joy you brought, with all of your love and affection
You will always be so much apart
Apart of your soul mate taryn, Your daughters Jordyn, taelyn and Jaxyn
Although we miss you, we are comforted your presence will never leave their side
So from this day forward, my brother, Dalo, WE CELEBRATE YOUR LIFE

Copyright © Tiana Tillman | Year Posted 2015

Long poem by William J. Jr. Atfield | Details |

Epitaph Eulogy BY Linda Blair News Flash OBITUARY

 

Epitaph – Eulogy
BY
Linda Blair

This man, lying here in state – DEAD – lives.
His aged soul - but not his heart – he gives
to me – for me - this is such a shame,
so on him – everything – I will blame.

He has always – to a degree -  been there for me.
in my need – my desire – much more, I want to be,
and so, because these things I want, are not met
I have left him perplexed, to wonder, worry and fret.

Fret about the things I do, I do not want him to know,
and so, I play my little games, put on a great show.
Now that he / I have gone - to that great beyond 
I believe I now understand my act – him I wronged.

And so, I now leave this old man – alone
to take his life’s journey - on his own.
I wish I could find peace and glory
in telling Bill, - for my act – I am sorry

I think he knew ?, that it is just not in me
to face up to, and accept my responsibility.
May god speed you on your way Bill,
I pray, one day. you may, again find life’s thrill.

B. J. “A” 2
May 29th 2004

News Flash

   Found today in his Prairie Avenue, seniors apartment, Port Coquitlam B.C.
dead of wounds inflicted, it has been determined, on May 6th 2004 by one
Linda B. of Dewdney Trunk Maple Ridge B. C. who has been alleged to have 
stilettoed Atfield in the heart, many times, in the parking lot of a gas station on 
Lougheed Hwy., and then left him to bleed to death in the parking lot of 
Shaughnessy Station, under the shadow of the catwalk that crosses over
Lougheed Hwy. It hovers over the 701 bus stop, the bus that provided her 
with an escape route, Poof and Mrs., Linda B. disappeared .
   There will be no formal charges laid against Mrs., Linda B. for her crime 
of being a product of her nurturing and nature, for her indifference. 
Mr., Atfield left an impression, he understood the nature of the beast that
laid within and in parting – departed – forgave once again.
   An autopsy performed on Mr., Atfield, revealed that the weapon used
by Mrs., L. B. was similar to numerous others that have perpetrated 
the soul of this old fool, tried to destroy him copious times, on previous
occasions. The scar tissue found, that doth surround, covers much 
of his beating, bleeding heart. This is Friendship ???, this is Love ???

Article written by B. J. “A” 2
Published by The Now News Paper

OBITUARY

Found this gray, gloomy day, of a broken heart,
friendship past away, ended, no chance for a new start.
Laid to rest upon a heap, Wm. J. Atfield Jr. of
Port Coquitlam, British Columbia.
Mr. Atfield is survived by his three Daughters,
his Father, Brother, Brother / Uncles.
Mr, Atfield follows the demise, the destiny,
the fate of many – relatives, friends, acquaintances,
stranger, human kind who have put their faith,
their trust their lives in the hands of friendships .

May 29th 2004

Copyright © William J. Jr. Atfield | Year Posted 2014

Long Poems