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Famous Short Tomb Poems

Famous Short Tomb Poems. Short Tomb Poetry by Famous Poets. A collection of the all-time best Tomb short poems

by Octavio Paz 
To the debate of wasps
the dialectic of monkeys
the chirping of statistics
it offers
             (tall pink flame
made of stone and air and birds
time at rest on the water)

the architecture of silence

by Emily Dickinson 
 A Dimple in the Tomb
Makes that ferocious Room
A Home --
by Charles Bukowski 
 To end up alone
in a tomb of a room
without cigarettes
or wine--
just a lightbulb
and a potbelly,
grayhaired,
and glad to have
the room.
 
.
.
.
in the morning
they're out there
making money:
judges, carpenters,
plumbers, doctors,
newsboys, policemen,
barbers, carwashers,
dentists, florists,
waitresses, cooks,
cabdrivers.
.
.
 
and you turn over
to your left side
to get the sun
on your back
and out
of your eyes.
 
from "All's Normal Here" - 1985
by William Henry Davies 
 Sweet Chance, that led my steps abroad, 
Beyond the town, where wild flowers grow -- 
A rainbow and a cuckoo, Lord, 
How rich and great the times are now! 
Know, all ye sheep 
And cows, that keep 
On staring that I stand so long 
In grass that's wet from heavy rain -- 
A rainbow and a cuckoo's song 
May never come together again; 
May never come 
This side the tomb.
by William Butler Yeats 
 Whence did all that fury come?
From empty tomb or Virgin womb?
Saint Joseph thought the world would melt
But liked the way his finger smelt.

by Godfrey Mutiso Gorry 
 This country nurtured hope decayed,
The politician cruises on a 4WD guzzler,
The thief.

Feeling the base of his belly.


There is a slum in my heart
But I cannot relocate it to my foot
Nor hand nor back
Its rusted tin makeshifts make my blood flow slow.


War has filled my heart with bullets,
Steel and blood do not mix.

A bullet lodged in my head
Is another brain of the dead.

Africa my home
Africa my tomb.
by William Blake 
 I went to the Garden of Love.

And saw what I never had seen:
A Chapel was built in the midst,
Where I used to play on the green.


And the gates of this Chapel were shut,
And Thou shalt not, writ over the door;
So I turn'd to the Garden of Love,
That so many sweet flowers bore,

And I saw it was filled with graves,
And tomb-stones where flowers should be:
And priests in black gowns, were walking their rounds,
And binding with briars, my joys & desires.
BURIAL  Create an image from this poem
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 
 To the grave one day from a house they bore

A maiden;
To the window the citizens went to explore;
In splendour they lived, and with wealth as of yore

Their banquets were laden.

Then thought they: "The maid to the tomb is now borne;
We too from our dwellings ere long must be torn,
And he that is left our departure to mourn,

To our riches will be the successor,

For some one must be their possessor.


 1827.
*
by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe 
 WEEP, maiden, weep here o'er the tomb of Love;

He died of nothing--by mere chance was slain.

But is he really dead?--oh, that I cannot prove:

A nothing, a mere chance, oft gives him life again.


1767-9.
by John Keats 
 This living hand, now warm and capable
Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
And in the icy silence of the tomb,
So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
So in my veins red life might stream again,
And thou be conscience-calmed - see here it is -
I hold it towards you.
by Emily Dickinson 
 To put this World down, like a Bundle --
And walk steady, away,
Requires Energy -- possibly Agony --
'Tis the Scarlet way

Trodden with straight renunciation
By the Son of God --
Later, his faint Confederates
Justify the Road --

Flavors of that old Crucifixion --
Filaments of Bloom, Pontius Pilate sowed --
Strong Clusters, from Barabbas' Tomb --

Sacrament, Saints partook before us --
Patent, every drop,
With the Brand of the Gentile Drinker
Who indorsed the Cup --
by Robert William Service 
 Here lyeth one
Who loved the sun;
Who lived with zest,
Whose work was done,
Reward, dear Lord,
Thy weary son:
May he be blest
With peace and rest,
Nor wake again,
 Amen.
by Andree Chedid 
 Where is the distant voice
That speaks like my soul?

Buried beneath daylight's clamor
Gold and the seasons

Beneath groaning streets
And the ferment of cities 

In my grave of care
And blond laughter

In what bare tomb must I lie 
To summon the voice 
That speaks like my soul?
by Emily Dickinson 
 Sweet hours have perished here;
This is a mighty room;
Within its precincts hopes have played, --
Now shadows in the tomb.
by Hafez 
I called to fading day
As o’er the hill she flew,
‘Whither, glad light, away?
Take me, O take me too!’
She said, ‘O wingless one,
Thou hast thy memoried sun’.
I said to the droop’d rose
Awhile that was so fair,
‘Why dost so swiftly lose,
Sweet grace, thy blooming air?’
She said, ‘This is my doom;
Cherish thou beauty’s tomb’.
I cried to Joy as late
I stood, bidding farewell,
‘Must this be too thy fate
Whom I have loved so well?
He said, ‘My gift I leave
With her whom I bereave’.
by William Butler Yeats 
 I dreamed as in my bed I lay,
All night's fathomless wisdom come,
That I had shorn my locks away
And laid them on Love's lettered tomb:
But something bore them out of sight
In a great tumult of the air,
And after nailed upon the night
Berenice's burning hair.
by Omar Khayyam 
In philosophy, if you are an Aristotle or a Bouzourdj-mehr;
in power, if you are some Roman emperor or some
potentate of China, drink ever, drink wine from the cup
of Djem, for the end of all is the tomb. Oh! though you
are Bahram himself, the coffin is your last sojourn.
by Robert Louis Stevenson 
 LOOK round: You see a little supper room;
But from my window, lo! great Caesar's tomb!
And the great dead themselves, with jovial breath
Bid you be merry and remember death.
by Emily Dickinson 
 Of Course -- I prayed --
And did God Care?
He cared as much as on the Air
A Bird -- had stamped her foot --
And cried "Give Me" --
My Reason -- Life --
I had not had -- but for Yourself --
'Twere better Charity
To leave me in the Atom's Tomb --
Merry, and Nought, and gay, and numb --
Than this smart Misery.
by Robert Herrick 
 Laid out for dead, let thy last kindness be
With leaves and moss-work for to cover me;
And while the wood-nymphs my cold corpse inter,
Sing thou my dirge, sweet-warbling chorister!
For epitaph, in foliage, next write this:
HERE, HERE THE TOMB OF ROBIN HERRICK IS!
by Robert Herrick 
 Virgins promised when I died,
That they would each primrose-tide
Duly, morn and evening, come,
And with flowers dress my tomb.

--Having promised, pay your debts
Maids, and here strew violets.
by Omar Khayyam 
When I am dead, wash me with the juice of the vine;
in place of prayer, sing above my tomb the praise of
the cup and the wine, and, if you would find me again
at the day of doom, seek me in the dust of the tavern
floor.
by William Drummond 
 My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize:
But he, grim grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having decked with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
by William Butler Yeats 
 Through winter-time we call on spring,
And through the spring on summer call,
And when abounding hedges ring
Declare that winter's best of all;
And after that there s nothing good
Because the spring-time has not come -
Nor know that what disturbs our blood
Is but its longing for the tomb.
by Emily Dickinson 
 Drab Habitation of Whom?
Tabernacle or Tomb --
Or Dome of Worm --
Or Porch of Gnome --
Or some Elf's Catacomb?

Book: Reflection on the Important Things