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Long Grave Poems | Long Grave Poetry

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

See also: Famous Long Poems

Long Poems
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

Long poem by Amber Stratton | Details |

Blinded By Darkness

I was blinded by darkness
Not knowing where I planted each footfall
I had a body I had a heart
I had a mind and most of all a soul
I thought I was alive with happiness and joy
Alive with peace in my soul
But I was wrong dead wrong
I was all but dead to the world
It was Death that captured and trapped me
In a grave not letting go of me
In the end not knowing it was little ol’ me
Trying to breathe trying to fight my way out
Thinking I was almost there to the top but not even moving
I thought I was justified by my negativity and actions
Not knowing it was trapping me further down
Displaying the ignorance of my ways without caring for the ones I loved
The pain of it that was caused went noticed 
Everyone telling me but not realizing it until now
Letting the deceit and evil willingly roll off my tongue
Thinking I was always right on everything
Thinking that all I need was the trust of man
No matter how long I sat by the fire I was cold
Even when the sunlight was resting upon my skin
I was still ice cold as Death’s very own 
I did not think that life would be this dead within
The darkness of the ice cold abyss of the grave yard
Picking and choosing what to do seems right but it wasn’t
Trying again and again until finally picking up the one thing 
That I thought would not help me in the long run
Thinking that I had all the love in the world 
Knowing that nothing can bring me down was one
Of the biggest lies I made myself believe for so long
Thinking I had fait and love in my life but I was wrong
And in the end all there  is was nothing but darkness 
Deceit and evil rolling off the tongues of you so called 
People walking blindly through the shadows
Of the ever present grasp of Deaths darkest abyss
Of all the wickedness that has been committed in my life 
Why now has the Mighty Father and Mother given me a second chance 
Why have they forgiven me of my sins without a second thought
Have I really forgiven myself so the Father the Mother and the Divine
To enter my body my mind my heart and my soul
Has the Lord and the Lady really seen that I have been trying to 
Change and to become an adult woman mentally so my 
Husband can rely on me in the time of need like now
I thought I was ready to begin a life with kids 
Until I realized that I am still one myself
How will the Lord and Lady tell me when I am ready to have
The family I want with my husband who is my soulmate 
All I can do is wait ever so patiently for the moment
The Lord and Lady will tell me when I am ready 
Inside that dark grave a white light came to me
With a hand to pull me out of my hole I dug and saved me
From my own condemned version of hell after praying 
They deliver me from my sins and the trespasses I’ve done
What are people going to do when they see me 
Completely changed after the long visit to LCJ
God and Goddess thank you for saving my when I thought 
There was no way for me to be saved and unworthy of it
Again thank you for everything I currently have
In my life my wonderful loving husband that only
Sees the potential in me all the time and the love he 
Gives so unconditionally to me even when I 
Do wrong in his eyes or the law’s eyes please 
Show him the same lovingkindness and forgiveness you 
Have so heavily laid on me to realize and forgive 
Myself and those around me like I should
Have so long ago when you tried to show me the light
I have forgiven myself of the anger and hate I had
For my adopted family and now it is in the past I cannot 
Change that but however I can change how the future 
Goes by what I say and plan to do now today
I can look back not so long ago the darkness that 
Covered my eyes then and hope the light keeps the veil away
I can see all the negative emotions that were running 
And controlling me I had no idea what to do 
Now I am grateful for the things I have for 
The things I have come to realize on top of everything
I am the most thankful to you in my life 
When I thought I did not deserve the love 
And the care you have shown me 
Love is for an eternity, not just a second, minute, hour or even a day. 

Copyright © Amber Stratton

Long poem by Katee Surface | Details |

My Little Boy Lost

My Little Boy Lost
by Katherine Huffman
Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, I can't find you, why aren't you near?

As I walk the streets in search of you, 
I feel a pull, a tug, not sure what to do.
I passed the park as I looked for my boy, 
Even passed our play spot, but in my sight, not even a toy.
After everywhere I thought that I could go, 
There was one place, but it can't be right, this is all I know.

Hello? My son, are you here?
I can't see you, can't find you,
Why can't I feel you near?

This evening begins as I lay to rest my head, 
There are some things I'm unsure of, 
Like making your tiny bed.
Oh God, whats happening, haven't I counted your toes?
What about cradling your head or kissing your little nose?
What are these things I am unsure of, have I even done? 
Where are you, where are you my precious son?

Mommy lays here, in tears, her face on something cold.
Where are you my son, it's you I need to hold.
I've searched all day, it's turning into night,
I'm tired, I'm lost, but I still won't give up this fight.
My eyes start to close, slumber is far too near 
If I fall asleep, I may miss seeing you my dear.

Next thing I know, as I wake to the sun.
Wondering what it is, what has been done?
As I sit, my eyes focus, I start to look around.
Then, for some reason, they are drawn to the ground.
As I look, I see what has become,
This can't be, what's happening, where am I my son?

That cold my face last night laid upon, 
Was a marker, with your name, 
Of your body my little one.
Those things I wasn't sure if I'd ever done, 
Were but the memories, I'd hoped to make with you my son.

You were here, I know you were here 
My beautiful, precious son.
You were in mommies arms, such a little one.
As though it were as simple as reading a book,
I start to realize
These tangled webs have become unhooked.

That tug, that pull that led your mommy here, 
It was your spirit, it was your soul, 
It was your heart my little dear.

Here you were, here you were, 
Right with me, so very near.
My little boy, my son, 
Mommies little one was here.
You see? You led me where I needed to go.
For it was well past the time,
To accept this I know.

I feel a tug, I feel a pull.
I feel like I need to hurry, 
Like I have to go.
There is someone I remember,
I need to get to I know.
He's a small one, a little boy. 
He's your brother, my son, 
He's pulling, he's tugging, 
Needing mommy my little one.
I have to leave, I have to go, 
To find my baby, my son.

Oh Thank You my boy,
For bringing me here.
For letting my mind begin to see clear.
You showed me the way, 
I now see the light.
I am so close, so near in this dark night.

So here you are, here you are, 
With mommy, my baby is so very near.
You are in my heart, my mind, 
And this little brother of yours, my dear.

My little boy lost, my little boy lost, 
it's you I have found.
You were there with me,
as I slept on that ground.

Hello? My son, are you here?
I can see you, mommy found you, 
In my arms I hold you so near.
I've bathed you, I've clothed you, 
And cradled your head.
I counted your toes,
I bent in and kissed that little nose.
As you fell asleep in your bed.

Without him, 
Would these be memories
we are making my dear?
Without him would mommy, 
Be able to hold you so near?

We have a little angel to watch over us for all nights.
In spirit, with us, his soul,
Our endless guiding light.
He's your big brother, my son, my precious little one. 
He's right here, a part of you, 
Never again to be gone.

My little boy lost, my little boy lost,
It's you, I can see.
I have to Thank You 
For guiding me!

Copyright © Katee Surface

Long poem by Verlena S. Walker | Details |


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

Long poem by Mary Oliver Rotman | Details |

Trilogy for My Father

(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)

His shoes by the front door make me cry,
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...

Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?

A cereal bowl waits in the sink;
The laundry basket overflows.
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession.
That's how he lived; that's how he died.

But Dad...

I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness, 
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie 
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
   with the turn of a faucet.

Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.

It seems, somehow, that there should be more.

(Part 2 of Trilogy for My Father)

We stand on cemetery Astroturf
     strategically placed to spare us the dread hole,
     snow scaling the tops of our shoes
          to compete with the ice in our hearts.

The old priest’s boots peek from beneath
     a cassock that dangles below his parka.
He jokes gamely about the weather,
     reading prayers for my father, a man he never met,
     with shaking hands and chattering teeth.
He is a stranger recruited by the others lest someone
     discover the shame of self-inflicted death.

Numb in every way it’s possible to be numb,
     we await the blows of a grief that suicide denied us
     and summon memories that refuse to respond 
     while, in their place, we have 
and snow.

(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman

Long poem by Inner Whispers | Details |

Steel Bars

Tried to trace this man, 
studied the case and had my plan, 
a soul is whispering from somewhere
asking for help, I said, back off !!!

But a call is a call
it searches my soul and being, 
then found myself doing it
i must say, back off to this man! 

Met him and succeeded 
invited me to his place, we proceeded, 
as I enter his great place
full of goons, must I back off from it? 


He offered a drink as he mixed, 
he went for a while to change his shirt, 
so when he came back and drink his piece, 
Alas! 10minutes, he went off asleep! 

Traced the walls for possible passage, 
and I have found where she was a savage
I hurriedly searched for the lock and there I found
hanging at the back of her life size portrait in grief profound! 

I ease to unlock by the key I got
and quickly lift her up, help her to get up
we walked pass by the sleeping monster
tried cautiously to escape away from there.

Damn, he is awake! 

He advanced to kick
threw it hard so quick
too glad I managed
to kick back in a glimpse! 

I reached my gun, hidden on my waistline, 
Aimened vigorously, with authority
Stay where you are! 
Back off !!!

He tied her up, 
used her for his cover-up, 
urging needs of flesh he had...
Damn man, back off !!!

Two years she wept for pain
asked mercy from this man but in vain, 
she almost lost her mind and gave up her soul...
Spare her, back off !!!

Caught between the crossfire
of ravaging flame of bonfire heat, 
Burnt her skin like hell...
Back off !!! 

He tried to get up, moved forward, 
I have to trigger the gun, 
I said, "Come on, and you'll be gone!" 
Back off !!!

And bullet is heard, ripping his left leg, 
fell down to the floor, he cried and beg
"Daughter, I love you so much, don't let her do this! 
help me, tell her back off please!"


I almost killed the man! 
Yes, why not? I can do it! 
But I controlled, called backups
I will never back off to this fight! 

I saw her weep loudly, her life was a mess
Damn to this vulture who eats his own flesh! 
He deserve a bullet on his head, don't you think? 
Ruining his daughter's life, he must be thrown in hell! 

Flesh to flesh, blood to blood
Is it easy to back off and just let this pass? 
No way! How dare anyone would say: 
Back off, Carole, stop and never look back! 

No, no, no, no, no! 

He must pay his crime, I swear he must die! 
But I am not a killer, 
nor a hunter but I would lie, 
If I don't admit I wanted him to burn in hell and die! 

Then I turned my back, let them get him
Turned him over, trembling with anger
He must be thrown into steel bars
let him pay what he has done, for years...

Steel bars, keep this man! 

Inner Whispers

(dedicated to the victims of sex slavery and incest)

Copyright © Inner Whispers

Long poem by James Clark | Details |

The Babaji Wheelbarrow

It was a dry, dusty day when I saw the wheelbarrow, with long handles made of dark wood. 
The wheel is struggling as it carries its burden, but it manages the job that it should. The man pushing appears to be crying, his eyes all puffy and red. It’s time to move on, but I wait,  I wait for him to reach me instead. The wheelbarrow has a dark green cover, such a sickly, metallic sweet smell underneath,  such a heavy lump in my throat,  “don’t lift the cover!” but regardless, I pull back it back to see.
The first thing to strike me, such a tiny hand, tiny fingers all bent into a fist, and an inch below there in my big gloved hand, the smallest most delicate wrist. Her face is held together by bright orange thread, her eyes are searching the stars. Her crown should still be there, on that beautiful head, where she lays, crumpled up inside her Dads cart. I put back the cover, swallow hard and just stand there, my head, Jesus Christ I can’t think,  my pounding heart tearing itself apart inside my trained body, at this beautiful little angel in pink. 
Her father, his eyes screaming toward me sobs gently, silent rage and yet deafening shock. Why can’t I bring myself to look into this man’s eyes, oh Lord, grant me some breath that I may talk. To say sorry, to ask why, to just speak in his tongue, to show him that I really care. I realise that I could never find words, I’ve no such tragedy to compare.
I walked away from the blue wheelbarrow, thinking that I could leave it behind. But every night as my daughter hugged me, that wheelbarrow crashed into my mind. Whenever she cried my stomach went tight, when she laughed those dark clouds disappeared, whenever she told me she loved me, I knew that I had nothing to fear, but yet so much. The wheelbarrow changed me forever, drank me to illness, and brought my whole life to the edge. I couldn’t switch off from that sweet smell, and I couldn’t explain that to friends. 
 I will never forget, such a small wrist in my hand, such beautiful soft lips kissing the sky. Such a pretty pink little dress, though stained red with blood, those clear and lifeless brown eyes. I wish that I had asked for her name, what to call that three year old victim of war, so small and so beautiful with those innocent eyes, my body aches that I can’t wish so any more.
If I could explain to people, about my demons, in one image to make them understand. I’d draw that blue wheelbarrow with the green cover on top, and that sweet delicate wrist in my hand. Two days after the wheelbarrow I became a Father and to my comfort, for the rest of my life I will know. No matter how often the wheelbarrow returns, I have my daughter, here for me to hold.

Copyright © James Clark

Long poem by cherl dunn | Details |


In the elliptical nights moonshine of night, a figure of lavender
And aged white lace, roams amongst the rocky sea shore, a 
Glittering phantom of beauty most fair, walking with an essence
Of smoldering evil and the smell of burnt sulfur fumes oozing
Outwardly catching upon the chilling autumn air!
In the bushes hear the rustling, the meowing of the felines,
For this is the velvet witch the care taker of the familiars,
Calls forth unto her four pawed legions, dwelling within
 The depths of the night, as eerie eyes pierce through the
Darkened glows of the shadow realm!
Glazing hypnotic orbs set in memorizing forms, glen in the
Flashing moon lights fine point of the ethereal sheen, small
To the large, they do so come, these creatures of the supernatural
Flame, called by their Mistress the Valet Witch, of Skat County!
Rubbingly, adoring at her shifts skirts of purplish hews,
These cattish guardians of deaths resurrection, and evils
Omens of shattered dimensions, purr with utter devotions
Loyalty, to her their protector!
As the last stroking of mid-night falls, a cloaked ghostly
Image, stalks the hallowed hollows near a rippling lake
Of lost reflections, no floating silhouette is composed
From the maiden whom crosses these waters of discontent,
Against these crystal clear waves of absolute calm!
Hidden beneath this bewitching shroud of ancient mysticism,
Echoes an enchanting voice of incantations speaking in a cat-like
Tongue, casting mystical spells of worships beguiling!
At the foot gates of the pet cemetery the valet Witch thus
So stops in sudden motions stance, than raising her arms
Upwards, she utters in words of a muffled language,
To those spiritually resting within!
All the winds breathe seems to cease for an instant,
As orbital greenish lights raise from their entombs of burial,
Floating within the waiting arms of this their honored
Matriarch, this cat collector dressed in lavender and lace,
The Valet Witch of Skat County!
In the mists of death’s vaporous out lashing, the capped
Figures shroud drops upon the soils consecrated ground, 
And in the night a voice whispering is heard, almost seemingly
As if a soft purring lingering within this darkness fading,
In the twilight of dawn first rays of light!
Two by two glaring emerald eyes flash into the forests wild,
Screeching in reverence respect, for their darkened mistress
Of familiar has left unto the gates of the neither world beyond,
The Valet Witch of Skat County.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN-fictitious legend-Dedicated to Skat my youngest soul sister!

Copyright © cherl dunn

Long poem by Ravindra K Kapoor | Details |

Poem written near a Cemetery 2 of 2

Poem written near a Cemetery  2 of 2
On 13th February 2012

But nowhere in that cemetery I could find,
Flowers smiling on any Stone, Tomb or grave,
Whatever big may have been,
The status of those, who were buried there, 
With or without any pomp and show.

Some of these yester year stars, 
Were laid here with a simple stone, 
Standing as a symbol of their death, 
Without telling their simple stories and 
And without telling much about their lores, 

I came back again after searching a lot,
On the grave of this noble soul, 
The small flowers were still busy in,
Swinging and dancing, 
On the stone of Sophia Rees. 

Those wild little yellow flowers,
Had called me from a distance,
Perhaps to convey the story, 
Of this unknown noble soul.

I counted those tiny yellow flowers 
They were six only all swinging in the air, 
To find on whose stone they were blooming,
I started reading,
The faint and dim stone lines,
Where the engraved letters had lost their ink,
Wiped away by the passing of time.

But the first three lines, 
Made me to stand on my toes, 
I could read very clearly,
In the clear upper lines it was written, 
“Sophia Rees Owen 31 years old 
left this world on 27th November 1834, 
Leaving her husband and six children. 
She was a sincere friend and 
Truly attached wife and Most devoted mother”.

Something told me silently in my mind, 
Why on this grave only,
The Nature had bloomed,
A bunch of smiling and dancing flowers, 
This unknown lady of yester years 
Was perhaps a noble and kind hearted soul.

May be Sophia was a lover of Nature,
May be a Poet, a Philosopher, a Painter or 
May be she was a wonderful Singer,
Who wanted to sing some beautiful songs,
But before she could have tuned her instruments,
Was called by the God in Heaven. 

What a strange thing it was, 
To come and to watch in that graveyard,
Those little flowers and the grave of Sophia Rees, 
Which I had noticed unknowingly,  
From across the boundary,
While I was passing on the road.

These lines are my homage to that noble soul,
Who is  spreading her smiles even to this day,
As if through these flowers, 
She was singing some of her most dear song.
Kanpur India 13& 14th Feb 2012
“Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen”
“In the memory of Sophia Rees Owen 
The beloved wife of H T Owen Esqr. 
Of the H C Civil Service, who died on the 27th 
Nov.1834 aged 31 years 11months and 18days.
Leaving her husband and Six children to lament 
Her loss. She was a sincere friend, a truly 
Attached wife and a devoted Mother...

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor

Long poem by HOLLY MOORE | Details |

Where is Linda

Her father’s grave was at the top of a hill overlooking hundreds of other plots with vases full of colorful poinsettias, white carnations, and decorations. Her name was Linda and it was Christmas time. She could see the beautiful arrangements everywhere she turned. The cemetery sat on top of the rolling hills overlooking the street. The backside was lined with large green poplar trees and grass that needed to be mowed. This was a peaceful place she thought to herself. This is how it should be for everyone who is in Heaven.  

She came to visit his grave every Wednesday evening after church. She liked to see the plot at night with the luminaries shining brightly. This time she invited her Aunt Sylvia to join her. It was Sylvia’s brother who was buried there. “See Sylvia”, Linda said, “Isn’t this splendid?” Sylvia replied, “Yes. But, I do not feel comfortable here. You do not know if all these souls went to heaven. And, if they didn’t where are they now?” Linda looked all around and at her father’s beautiful site and said, “With all this beauty, how can there be anything but goodness, here?” Sylvia shivered and responded, “Like I said, not all souls go to Heaven. You need to come during the day.” Linda laughed, “You’re not serious. This is a beautiful place. And, especially at night with all these beautiful colors.” Sylvia quickly responded, “It’s time to leave.” Linda, a little annoyed, said “Alright, alright.” And, they got into Linda’s car, and she drove Sylvia home. Very serious, Sylvia said, “Promise you will only go to the cemetery during the day.” Linda just shook her head.

The following Wednesday evening after church, Linda pulled her car up to her father's plot. She noticed his flowers were missing. So, were his luminaries, and Christmas decorations. She immediately called Sylvia. “Hi, Aunt Sylvia. It’s Linda. Have you been to my dad’s plot? His flowers and decorations are missing?” Sylvia retorted, “No, its evening time and a full moon. You should not be there. You NEED to leave!” Confused, Linda asked, “Why, what’s wrong?” Sylvia screamed, “Look around, are there any other flowers missing?” Linda, slowly turning around, noticed there were no flowers or decorations in her vision. Yelling and afraid, “Aunt Sylvia, there all gone!!! I’m running to my...” And, she was gone. Vanished. Sylvia, still on the phone, “Linda, Linda?"

 Sylvia was right, not all souls go to Heaven.

©Holly P. Moore
   November 2012

Copyright © HOLLY MOORE

Long Poems