The single white rose captured the old gardener's attention,
He lovingly cared for it, like it was his own grand-daughter,
The roses were just like family and friends in his eyes,
He gave them bright sunshine, and plenty of fresh water.
He had always planted roses in reds, yellows, and pinks,
Yet, it was the one white rose that he favored most,
The old gardener admired it's innocence and elegance,
A quality that the other roses just could not boast.
This precious rose was pure white, like new fallen snow,
Which only a cold, late November day could bring,
It's delicate petals were soft to the finger's touch,
Similar to that of a feather, in an angel's wing.
The old gardener was perplexed and astonished,
Only this rose bloomed through spring, summer, and fall,
Each of the other roses had withered months ago,
The frost and cold weather did not affect it at all.
With a smile, the old gardener took one last look,
Unknowingly, death would soon come without warning,
After he had settled down for a nap in his chair,
He drew his last breath, later on that morning.
His funeral was held on the very next day,
Loving words were spoken, as he was laid to rest,
His grand-daughter approached, with tears in her eyes,
As she placed the single white rose upon his chest.
The cemetery was a quiet and peaceful place,
Where family and friends gathered to remember,
A gentle snow began to fall upon the casket lid,
Brightening the gloom on this final day of November.
The old gardener's soul departed from this earth,
Lead away by a choir of angels, on delicate wings,
Then on through the pearly gates of heaven's garden,
Where the white rose still blooms, in eternal springs.
November 25th, 2013
Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013
The October sky is crying,
Pelting the ground with tears.
Remembering the days of yore,
Of when…you was happily here.
The October winds are lonely,
They can no longer caress your face.
They grope and moan across the prairie,
Yearning…your warm embrace.
When you left us that August,
Your departure was too stout.
You used to flood us with presence,
But now there is a drought.
As the sky keeps on turning,
I miss you more each day.
As my heart keeps on beating,
I dedicate to you…my everyday.
You will always be the neighbor,
That never turned an eye.
And I will never forget the day,
You entered that Autumn sky.
And when I dream of you,
My soul seems to turn and toss.
For in my heart…will always play,
The ballad of your loss.
Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2010
The peaceful gushing of those waves closing in
Was once enough to aid my sleep.
But since you left, it reminds me so
And the sound now makes me weep.
More than oceans apart, but forever joined
By those summer nights by the sea.
On the island of Emeralds I lay in your arms
You kissed and whispered to me:
‘All of my life, I want it with you,
you make everything so much lighter.
I’ve not much to give except for my love
and a promise to make your world brighter.’
Can you still keep that promise now that you’ve gone?
It sure doesn’t seem that way.
I care not about what I’m feeling inside
But how the world lost a good soul that day.
You gave so much more than was asked of you
And not once did you wince from your pain.
The worst day of my life started my strife
You were there and you weren’t; you were lain.
And now all I have are memories
How I wish that they were enough.
They’re stark reminders of your absence
And without you life will be tough.
To live or not to live;
That is now my every question.
And if I’m lost will you seek me out
And take me with you to heaven?
Copyright © Nicola Byrne | Year Posted 2016
They said you needed surgery.
You said 'There's business I must do.'
I drove you to the funeral home.
The arrangements were for you.
I had to wait outside that day.
I couldn't go in there.
I don't know how you made those plans.
You showed how much you cared.
You knew you wouldn't make it.
You feared the end was near.
I hate what your life did to you.
I wish you were still here.
How do you plan your funeral?
Were you as scared as I?
What were your thoughts heading to the docs?
Did you know that you would die?
If I could turn back time and say
the things I'd like to say,
I'd say 'I love you' and 'I'll miss you.'
'I wish that you could stay! '
Copyright © Mary Nagy | Year Posted 2005
My friend once got into a crematorium.
As I promised him, on a certain gloomy date,
I brought him to the sea, with grief and sorry.
What for? Of course, on the sea to dissipate!
Copyright © Alex Klugman | Year Posted 2017
They say that time heals all
Yet there never seems enough
To say the words, to give your love
A mother always dies too soon
You try to make it linger
As her age increases yearly
You pray that God will spare her
Because you love her dearly
But when the days get tedious
She’s sick, alone and weary
You pray that God may take her
Because you love her dearly
Mother, we will miss you,
Your love, your care and support
You have given us your all
And triumphantly defied life’s challenges
You were so busy caring for others
That you forgot about yourself
In honour and in gratefulness, we say
Sweet mother, dearest oma*, may you rest in peace
Rest peacefully now your time has come
May angels guide your way
The time has come...yet 'tis oh so hard
To see you on your way
*Oma is dutch for Grandmother
Copyright © Huberta van Akkeren | Year Posted 2014
When that day comes that I will die
Dress me in the finest clothes
Patterned from ecru silken threads
In contrast with my hazel eyes
As the sun sets west and reflects
upon the sea so warm and blue
Place me in a sailing craft
Hand carved from exquisite teak
Surround me with my memories
My keepsakes and my written words
When the tide goes out to join the sea
please set my sails all pointed east
Aim and shoot a flaming shaft
To pierce the boat set it aflame
And consume me on my final quest
to delve into my watery nest
When the last flame is extinguished,
Retrieve my ashes from the craft
And place them in an marble jar
And toss them in the ocean deep
My life has always been mundane
I never lived to seize the day
My luck and judgements never meshed
My essence nor my core refreshed
To take a trip in such a way
To be remembered on that day
Will seal the memory of my death
When I have breathed my final breath
*Revised Poem from years ago 4/3/2017
Copyright © Ralph Sergi | Year Posted 2017
Stepping on shuttered dreams
Feet bleeding wishes of travel
Disable soul mails postcards
To a corner called " Empty Apartment"
Still nature on the thirteenth floor
Mom's glasses left behind and a cup full of tears
A phone ringing obsessively
The door permanently unlocked…
Jetlag freezes childhood memories
Dirt squishes mortality between my toes
Ravens on cracked limbs distract me
A shovel full releases a white cloud
I jump on ready made steps in snow
Hungry children of the graves follow me
I stop, they stop, I feel, they feel - so lonely
Playing the game of “Orphaned Roulette”...
for Matt's Contest "Empty Apartment"
Copyright © iolanda Scripca | Year Posted 2010
I'm nearing a store.
Has it something for me?
No; I'm nearing the next.
Hoping there's something to see.
I'm nearing a store.
For something that's new.
Fearing the worst.
Hoping for few.
I'm nearing a store
for something I need.
Only to eat.
Hoping to feed.
I'm nearing a store.
Have I been here before?
Bored again and again.
Hoping that time will soar.
I'm nearing a store.
long after I'm dead.
Placed in a coffin my size.
Hoping I'm free and fled.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2013
Not dark here nor bright, feel so light
No body, no mass I feel infinite
I wonder aloud ‘Is this what they call Death’
Search around, can’t find a glimpse of Earth
No worries, no scares, find myself in bliss
What next, where next, find something amiss
Where is God, where am I, can’t see any
Recall my pains and joys, how can I think!
Feel my fingers, I blink, I find myself in bed
People around with wreaths, I am declared dead
Moments ago, the world wrote my Epitaph
Kicking alive, I rise, its my time to laugh
Copyright © Suresh Iyer | Year Posted 2010
Don't you think that this title is darkly divine?
But, of course, there will have to be weirdness that’s funny,
Though my nightmares are many and have complex arcs
There’s some risk here I might have to work for my money!
Nightmare 1. To Wake Up Black
Can there be a fate worse than the skin of a black?
Can you show me a white man who seeks this advantage?
“Well, my guess is they wash their hands?” sycophants say,
For the “Mark of Cain” (1) stains them as racists teach adage.
Is it possible Donald is jealous of blacks?
Can’t you feel Donald’s pain as white Pillsbury “Dough” Boy?(2)
His clear “victim” persona when “tough guy” is sought?
The abused (3) cannot love when not losing is soul’s joy.
Poet’s Notes on Nightmare 1.
(1) White racists who call themselves Christians have long taught their children that since Cain killed his brother, all blacks are the children of mankind’s first murderer. Blacks have been cursed by God and are therefore to be considered subhuman.
Christ says that if you even think about murdering someone, you are already guilty of the crime in God’s eyes. Might the Mark of Cain, perhaps, be that you were born on this planet? God knows the “blackness” of your heart and still sent Christ to die for your sins.
(2) A reference to a monster in the movie "Ghost Busters."
(3) It’s said Donald Trump’s father had to rescue him several times from total bankruptcy, poor dad! Given Donald’s apparent contempt for the poor and needy, it is easy to imagine that his father also held him in contempt, poor kid! The lesson he learned: “If I don’t need anyone I have nothing to lose! (No one can hurt me!)” The reality seems to be, however, that there are few people in the world more thin skinned than Donald Trump!
Nightmare 2. To Wake Up Poor
The idea the wealthy wake up destitute
Seems improbable nightmare. Why should the rich worry?
The “real” wealth more in habits and friendship than gold,
Who can steal worth of practice or force trust to hurry?
But the ones never taught keys to wealth haunt my dreams,
For all poverty tends to endanger soul’s passage,
To delay satisfaction and set aside gain
That might bridge future need, is prosperity’s message.
Nightmare 3. To Wake Up a Woman
After three wives, my sister and mom, (I feel faint),
There is so much about me that nobody knows yet,
With no kids of my own, my best insights suspect...
Though I fear inner voice, something less is no sonnet.
I would have to turn off burning need to be right,
And perhaps open heart to adopting a daughter,
There’s no way that I think I would want to give birth,
Why give birth to a child, men and Trump will just slaughter.
Nightmare 4. To Wake Up a Republican
OMG! Can it be I’m home safe in my bed?
This bad boy was “togetherness” way past my limit!
Always game, Donald Trump staked his claim! (“It’s my fame!”)
But he wisely picked hall with a “locker room” climate!
Young and old, tall and short, no dissent to report,
Queers (NOT GAY!), making hay, toes lined up, how they play! While
Trumps homogenized, GMO geese took the stage...
“Heil!” “Big Boy!” razzmatazz, “Yes!” “Big Hands!” razzmatazz, “Heil!”
Nightmare 5. To Wake Up Tone Deaf
You may laugh but to me this one’s scary as Hell!
It’s a dark deprivation, akin to not seeing!
You can hear, but the rainbows of color in sound
Are all missing, all tones are just grey shades of being.
As a child I could hear “Middle C” in my head
(Some name notes the way you call Rose red, pink, or yellow),
All men gifted with “Relative Pitch” carry tunes,
As can “Absolute Pitch” man, incredible fellow.
How could music be treasured if all tones were grey,
Could the beauty that’s poetry dance with flame absent?
Lord, I weep for the folk who can’t see with their ears,
Let me die if You must, but please spare me that torment.
To my heart each new note has the face of a child,
And these kids make the world quite enormously brighter,
Please you Lord, let me be, always your “Middle C!”
Never lost in a crowd, may I always be fighter.
Nightmare 6. To Wake Up With a “Big Head!”
Not much worse in the world than a man with “big head,”
To be one that’s so dumb he thinks his poop’s important,
No slight ever so small his foot can’t find his mouth,
Get too close and you’ll feel like you need disinfectant.
Late night comedy writers can lay down their pens,
Here’s a man who thinks he makes the sun rise each morning,
Feckless bully who can’t keep his pants or lips zipped,
Even Statue of Liberty bows head in mourning.
Nightmare 7. To Not Be A Christian
It’s not even your choice when the rubber meets road,
Many claim to be Christian while secretly seething,
They confuse “faith” with saying that “Christ is my Lord.”
Although words can be empty, changed hearts show re-birthing.
Rather let me be “Queer” one the “pious” reject!
It is Grace and not choice that leads all to the Father
The flock’s weeping is useless unless they repent,
Any vote cast for Trump just mob living in anger.
Help me lift up my brother and hate just his sin,
Won’t You free me to doubt Lord but teach me to question,
“Living faith” simply dead in those certain they know,
And let Grace and not judgement feed my reinvention.
Copyright © Brian Johnston | Year Posted 2017
Emerging from the downtown hardware store
I saw a strange funeral procession
Two black limo hearses were at the front
Then walked a man without expression
The man had a shaggy dog on a leash
A long string of people followed him
All of these people were in single file
That’s why I addressed the man on a whim
“Forgive me for asking; I’m curious”
“What type funeral procession is this”?
My wife’s in the lead hearse; my dog killed her
When she Bi*ched at me, he just went amiss
But I see there are two hearses up front
Alas, my mother-in-law was killed too
When she tried to help my wife, he killed her
Once my dog got mad, I knew they were through
I thought for a minute; then spoke real low
“I have a strange request, if you don’t mind”
“Is there a chance I could borrow your dog”?
Well sure, but you have to go get in line
Copyright © Charles Sides | Year Posted 2012
Trying to make sense of senseless murders...
among the flock there seem to be
a few without remorse
they want their name for all to see
no matter what the course
so silently they await the day
they've planned down to the minute
misfortune soon has it's way
with the poor souls caught up in it
and families left to grieve alone
while a killer still remains
with empty eyes and face of stone
he most certainly is insane
but deep within his twisted mind
lies coherence with evil purpose
psychopaths aren't well-defined
yet another will surely surface
Copyright © James Nichols | Year Posted 2012
His funeral was today;
That elder man of mans;
He had done everything
The world demands.
There was a mixed crowd
Of ages and worth;
The preacher spoke long;
With anecdotes and mirth.
Lifeless he lay, taking it all in,
Strains of Amazing Grace;
Never wore many formal suits;
Is that a grin on his face?
After all was said and done;
His kudos listed ad infinitem;
Tears were dropped along the pews,
But folks pretty well forgot em.
He was president of this;
On the board of that;
Loved his grandchildren;
But after all of that,
This beloved soul had written;
His own epitaph;
His tombstone would read;
“He knew how to laugh!”
Copyright © Sunlite Wanter | Year Posted 2016
He couldn't win for losing
He couldn't take anymore
Life was not amusing
It was only a chore
His mind was a mess
He only felt pain
Dull at it's best
He was going insane
He reached into his drawer and took out his gun
With no hesitation held it to his head
He pulled the trigger and it was done
You wonder what you could have said
Copyright © Nikki Reynolds | Year Posted 2016
If you've come to my funeral
I'm probably dead.
If you've come to it early
then it's you here instead.
All the times that we shared
such as joy and a laugh.
Was it just that you knew me
or a moment of gaffe.
How I loved you in friendship
with your wit and remarks.
When you spoke and were sure
of your mind and your larks.
You were honorably acting
in touch with yourself.
Your integrity towering
in spite of itself.
What a day to be with you
as alive or as dead.
in a time come together
saying all has been said.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2015
Glistening tears roll down pale cheeks
Not wanting to look but scared not to peek
Another coffin, another life gone
Another funeral, but not the last one.
Eyes looking down, holding each others hands
Swaying together, shoulder to shoulder we stand
A waste of young life what’s it all for
Another one afraid to answer the door.
Life is so precious, so short, yet so good
The ground hits the oak it splatters with mud
Another friend gone, more hearts are broke
We swallow it back, on misery we choke.
Blank faces and eyes covered with a mask
A pat on the back an arduous task
To say goodbye to another loved one
So precious to all, another mothers son.
© ~GG~ 23/12/2012
Copyright © Mandy Tams The Golden Girl | Year Posted 2012
I see you've come to pay respect.
I wondered if you'd come.
Your bright blue hat looks vibrant on.
All glowing, if not some.
The pastor puts a funeral on
as busy as it gets.
It's just like you to listen on
as any girl frets.
I watched you by the coffin some
and spread a lovely scent.
I wondered what you thought of death
and how your days were spent.
The organ played a charming tune
to calm you down a bit.
It couldn't be a better choice
than have my nerves as fit.
You prayed upon your knees I saw,
for what was rather long.
You always knew just what to say
to keep the going strong.
I'd hoped we'd meet again someday.
Perhaps a place less drab.
I've always held a place for you
for just this little gab.
I've waited for this time to come.
My manners all but shoddy.
I'd hoped that we'd again be one
despite my deathly body.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2015
and all the words congregated somber,
passing observations and glasses around,
and smoked 'em if they had 'em,
and looked woefully at the ground
mentioned how he was so good to them
that he never played any, for favorites
always a mensch, and very gentle too
they all agreed he was very literate
some words got together in lines
with handkerchiefs and glistening eyes
slowly passing the paged remains
wished his epilogue another reprise
one said, how once he'd looked it up
after a very long absence of use
and prominently displayed its meaning,
written decisively, never misused
another of the first-person singular,
well-known, of worldly feminine gender
said he'd given her existence a purpose
and was someone she'd always remember
but now he's written his last retort
they've signed themselves into his book
to be given tearfully to the next-of-kin
and tucked WAY back in some closet or nook
'cause nobody much reads them anymore
no one wants to be made to recall
that words live longer than their writers
after the author is done with his scrawl
© Goode Guy 2013-08-09
elegy: a mournful poem; a lament for the dead
eulogy: a formal expression of praise
Copyright © Goode Guy | Year Posted 2013
I'd been living for years with dysfunctional peeps
It was when, and not if, I would murder the creeps
They completely deserved it, you'd better believe
And their deaths were not hardly an item to grieve.
I decided to kill them in different ways
And I proved to myself, see, that crime really pays
I was never found out, as the years rolled on by
It was luck, and rehearsing a heartbreaking cry.
I took special delight in the irony there
That so many were fooled by emotions laid bare
It became habit-forming, and made me so proud
Turning cretins to corpses, then mourning out loud.
The dumb cops were so clueless that I felt their shame
They admitted they hadn't a culprit to blame.
But this isn't a novel in which a gumshoe
Puts the pieces together in fingering you.
So I'll bid you Adieu, Adios, and all that
And return to my Soaps as I slowly grow fat
On the funds which I pilfered by changing their wills
(Yes, I sleep well at night, I just take a few pills.)
Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015
There no longer staggers "The Broken Man",
A higher power called upon his number,
On June Twelfth, fate rendered him a found man;
Long last a tired body found its slumber.
Copyright © Anthony O. Mitchell Jr. | Year Posted 2012
Sasquatch; please don't follow me.
Turn away; and go.
Take your shaggy hair away.
You frighten me: you know.
Please don't growl about me,
stalking me so far.
Try to keep your distance.
I have no wish to spar.
Where have you come from?
Far; from in the bush?
Hiding from us humans:
eating swamp-like mush.
What has brought you out here
circling me from far?
Have I ticked you off,
or where your nestings are?
Here I come to shoot you.
I'll fill you full of lead.
And if it means I kill you
you'll be the proof as dead.
Wake-up sleepy Sasquatch.
I didn't mean to shoot.
I'm sorry that I shot you
and filled you full of soot.
Only now; we know you're real.
Your body final proof.
And when they stuff and mount you
we'll growl at you and woof!
Wake-up sleepy Sasquatch.
Why won't you speak as proof?
Don't make us tease and taunt you.
It's not the same to spoof.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2014
I buried my wife that I loved just yesterday,
I thought she loved me the very same way,
After the funeral I stumbled upon a love note,
She loved another man and sailed upon his boat.
Copyright © mourning mist | Year Posted 2011
The Final Home Coming
From where the sky meets the high seas
Talking drums rolled out endless eulogies
As we waited, with the shore’s mud up to our knees
Some even did dance to the rhythm - no apologies
The mangrove flanked aquatic expanse
Its inhabitants in rapturous excitation
Announced the regattas' glorious advance
Even monkeys from trees did swing, in celebration
The colorful seven made haste to the shore
Their paddling, sequenced and synchronised
Each propelled by the muscles of twenty and four
The music, all but the drummers hypnotised
The wailing and drumming crescendos
As the casket is hoisted by each pall bearer
Threnodies and praise songs devoid of innuendos
Rent the air, from those to whose hearts he was dearer
Each relative, the other did strive to outdo
And to this illustrious son, give for at least once
With one good deed, all transgressions undo
Impressing the dead - the mind of a dunce
Priests did read Christian verses and made recitations
His soul, confused and standing with arms akimbo
As witch doctors also did chant incantations
Knew not which way led to Heaven, Hell or Limbo
In this carnival of his final journey home
He’d also sailed the metaphysical realm
Maybe, on tranquil seas that do not rage and foam
His first and last without control of the helm
Copyright © Sandison Jumbo | Year Posted 2017
The Binger streets are empty,
The Mayor’s mansion sits alone.
When God remembered Thy son,
He summoned Big H home.
His giving heart stopped beating,
Within an April day.
His memories continue on,
For hmmm...is what he’d say.
For the spirit of his giving,
Was the community’s best ally.
Then God requested his council,
For the meetings in the sky.
The golden life he lived,
Was eulogized by the reverend.
God promoted his giving soul,
To be the Mayor of Heaven.
In memory of Howard 'Big H' Taylor
for his giving heart and warm friendship
to the community of Binger Ok.
Copyright © Raul Moreno | Year Posted 2009
For those of you who hope to die.
Those who would be dead.
Those who seek the afterlife
yet scoff at daily bread.
I understand explicitly;
that you should live for worse.
That you know lifes uncertainties
and life's to be a curse.
In hopes of having everything
to pray and pray for death.
I wish you only happiness
to stop and take your breath.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2016
There is a place of perfect peace;
a place of joy and full release,
where wars and prejudice shall cease..
Where peace and purity increase.
There is a place of righteous rest...
A river free from life's tempest.
A fruitful field without a pest;
A place where sin cannot molest.
There is a place of great relief,
where Jesus is the King and Chief...
A kingdom safe, there's not a thief;
where love and light are never brief.
There is a place of comfort sweet;
the home where we will Jesus meet...
Angels and mortal throng the street;
we shall all meet at Jesus' feet.
There is a place beyond the sky;
where we shall live and never die.
No pain, no strain; we will not cry.
All saints shall rejoice by and by...
Will I find you there my dear friend?
Let not this world cause you to bend.
When mortal glories shall fade and end,
will you to this great place ascend?
Copyright © Adeleke Adeite | Year Posted 2017
A thousand vents for blowing grease
the burger bleeds and trickles.
The stove tops way of frying meat
to sell their grease and pickles.
A greasy slab to clot your blood.
The hamburger's inflection.
A special sauce to fatten up
the liver from protection.
A heart attack to fear aloud
you come to feel the hurt.
Your senses blind to feeling pain
your swearing has to blurt.
A paramedic standing by
with paddles out to shock.
The ventilator turned on low
in case you start to gawk.
A hospital for calculating
service for your wealth.
but don't forget the morgue is there
and that could mean your health.
Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2016
WHATEVER YOU WANT THIS TO BE ENTITLED
Golden curls are found where diamonds sleep
Glittering golden curls be the lady’s crown
She knows the seraphim and the secrets they keep
And now she can create a smile from a frown
A twinkle follows wherever she may tread
And yes, her hair will forever glow
Because of her everything in the world should be painted red
And she requires no rainbow ribbons nor bow
She should have been born of royalty or a queen
I cannot find the loom on which her locks were spun
Helping humanity is her baby she coddles with care
Protecting all from rain, heat and a blazing sun
This is a princess with flesh so fair
And as to competitors the lady has none
No god could replicate the exact color of her hair
And she’s lucky to have it, but her husband is the truly lucky one!
(C) 2011 ~free cee!~ Phreepoetry
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2011
A BAND AND A DANCER SO GRAND
“Shall we dance,” the lady asked ever so politely
And oh how the lady danced ever so lightly
It was as if she hovered an inch above the floor
And I never enjoyed dancing with a lady more
I begged the band to belabor the point
For it was the music the woman would anoint
She baptized the band like sanctified oil
And to the lady all of us became forever loyal
She took to the tile, a temptress, my muse
And when she asked for more no man could refuse
The brass played with class while the flute wasn’t mute
And her elegance was a fact God Himself couldn’t refute
My eyes beheld the majestic majesty of grace
And simply holding the lovely lady made my heart race
She danced me into a dream of loveliness and lace
While the band grew jealous of what was in my embrace
Her gracefulness begot beauty and grandeur so bright
While the vocalist sang something about undying delight
But then I heard four words that dimmed every light
When the M.C. announced 'this is the final dance of the night”
© 2012…..PHREEPOETREE ~free cee!~
Copyright © jeffry cohan | Year Posted 2012