Bereavement Write Poems

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Details | Free verse |
The poem must begin with .. And the cemetery was then continue with your poem

And the cemetery was shrouded in a veil of early morning mist which rose eerily from the grey granite and marble graves. Desperately searching I crept silently from gravestone to gravestone. My breath came out in tiny white clouds as soft white snowflakes performed pirouettes, falling like a downy blanket over the cold marble. Eventually I came across your final resting place I recognised the two golden cherubs, carved on either side of your headstone Gently I brushed away the snow and traced your names with my fingertip It had only been a few weeks since you had fallen asleep forever How I longed to hold you and sing you both a lullaby But it was too late and you lay together in the arms of Jesus I placed two red roses on the snowy pillow Then lay down and waited for the sleeping pills to take effect So we could be reunited in death Submitted to Laura Loo's Best sad poem ever contest. Fictional write for ‘And the Cemetery Was’ contest sponsored by Broken Wings 05~17~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016




Details | Free verse |
They say a picture is worth a thousand words,
but let me tell you what a word is worth

Worth it all      All of you
Eulogies of bygone days
Teleported feelings from here      To there      Here
from neurons to fingers
ligaments to pen

You look outside your moonlit window thinking      When?
A nagging doubt
      at what came out
Only to realize      It was you      All along
Paradoxically on the page
Drips of you on display      Your mirror says      Hello      How do you do?
As you realize      There is two
one in (brackets)      one in
Exclamation!!!

!!!

... trailing behind     Thoughts of varied choices      Whispers of
(by the way)
and      Let me think about this
Leading too      What if I did      This      This or that
This is not how it's supposed to be
Me writing about me      Writing about      Me
The words come in six and twenty
Combinations of anxiety of pErPlExItY of
i nd  e   fina  b i lit  y

Divinity

That's all it is      Not me      Not you
Just echoes of God's creativity

FADING      FADing      fading      ...      bliss

An epiphany wrapped in      How did I      Did I?
No      Of course not

You find the beauty in between dead
      s   p   a   c   e   s      of life      A word      Just a word

That's what it's worth



Inspired by the Writings of Joseph Granda-Padron

Copyright © Timothy Hicks | Year Posted 2016

Details | Quatern |
Placing a red rose on her grave; tears welled up in his huge brown eyes. Daddy told him he must be brave - mummy is watching from the skies. He hopes his mummy can see him placing a red rose on her grave. Losing his mummy was so grim, her comforting arms he does crave. He tries his hardest to behave, but the anger he feels is raw. Placing a red rose on her grave, he’d love to see her face once more. He’s so thankful he still has dad; smiling, he gives heaven a wave. Though his heart is heavy and sad placing a red rose on her grave. Contest: Show me Quatern Poetry Sponsor: Andrea Dietrich Entered into Any Poem Writen on your Birtdday Contest Sponsored By Laura Loo My birthday is on 25th January 01~25~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016




Details | Free verse |
As the sun sets
and the twilight comes out,
as the birds and squrriels are no where in sight.

As the whores and pimps sit on street corners,
waiting for street lights to turn from green to red.
As cadillacs stop and roll their windows down.

I can her the faint cry deep in the darkness,
of dirty gutters and dark, dead end alleyways,
I hear the faint tears fall and hit concrete pavement.

I feel the faint cries of whores,
I hear the sound of backhand hitting face
and brused tissue and broken noses are everywhere.

And the somber tears fall onto pillow cases,
and white motel bedsheets run red with blood
and cheap Italian wine.

And you can her the poet over the radio,
reading his own work for the one millionth time
and you can hear his soul slowly wanting to die.

He drowns himself in smoke and alcohol
the whore takes her pay, or spends a night in a jail cell,
the pimp nowhere to be found,
with a shiny blade stuck deep in his gut.

And the somber tears fall gently on the concrete pavement,
the floors of a jail cell,
tears on the pillow case and tears on a lonesome stage.

Tears never present, but are seen by many,
pain aches and pain takes away,
and I pour one more drink for the whore.

She takes me away,
and I caught her salty, somber tear,
and she crawled into my warm embrace.

I was the one who stuck the blade in the gut of that pimp,
who broke her nose and made her bleed,
with a cowardess and souless backhand.

I walk into the moonlight,
hearing the somber tears all around me,
crash violently to the concrete pavement.

The Earth rumbles and erupts with these tears,
that are shead for fellow Men, and Women and Children,
but we all look at ourselves and smile.

Happy we don't pay rent,
happy we don't have cancer,
happy we aren't six feet under;

But we still all cry,
Why?
Somber tears all fall in one big wave

crashing violently on the concrete pavement.
Now the red light turns green,
and the traffic moves along,
the whore is still at her corner,
the pimp still with the blade in his gut.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
check out the daily news.

Henchmen rob bank,
two officers killed,
change channel.

Reality T.V.
a celebraity stumbling out of a club,
drunk as hell.

Change channel,
a gay couple buying a house,
in a white collar neighborhood.

They're watching you,
they're always watching you,
even when you don't know it.

Someone is always watching you.
Take out the trash,
wash the dishes.

Watching,
survalling,
like a camera.

Terrorists,
they're always watching you,
Politians always watching you.

School teachers,
police,
FBI and CIA
Always watching you.

Smile for the camera
they're watching
so just wave and smile.

Bullies on playground jungle-gyms
looking out for the ugly nerd,
found him.

Hiding under the woodchips,
get him, beat him up,
I told you, they're always watching you.

Look at me,
look what I can do,
can you see me?

I'll drink to that,
cheers,
for they're always watching.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Born to live,
Never wanting to die,
fearing death to its every limit,
as blue eyed death grabs my shoulders
and laughs with grim
and I fear death even more.
Car crashes, murders, greed and envy
takes me to a place where I can't find hope.
Laughs grow and brings tears to my eyes,
I hope off trains and dodge cars driving down freeways
taking time to sit down and look at my ways,
that push me left nor right.
Up nor down can I see the time tick away
I can't wait till I walk Jacob's ladder,
till a black demon tears me down,
and sins rip me open,
like a surgeon to a patient on a table,
Me, myself and I take time to see the wrongs in life.

Do I dare shake the vines from the dark green jungles
that tangle deep in my mind, body and soul?
I shake with vengence when time turns its face from me.
Time has no time for me
and she takes me by the hand and wastes my life away
with endless heartbreak and drunken whores and buffoons,
who care only about themselves.
The evil souls burn away,
and their blind eyes do not see what they do to others' hearts and souls.

I believe the strangeness of me is that I love too much,
and care too much to actually open my eyes and see what burns away
infront of my very eyes.
I only see what my heart wants to see
my romantic side kills me away,
while my physical being is falling apart with heartbreak and sorrow.
The strange part is,
love was never there to be found,
and the strangeness of me,
is that I love too much to see blue eyed death coming to get me.

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Acrostic |
I write what I want
I-I found myself in love

W- writing this words 
R-relating with my soul
I-inspired by nature
T-to meditate through love
E-earns me no harm 

W-what is the use of life
H-here with out love
A-allowing my mind
T-to wonder  

I-I did not make that come

W-why I love writing poems
A-as she is my love 
N-never I can stop writing
T-till she let me be 

Copyright © richard nnoli | Year Posted 2015

Details | I do not know? |
Since I’ve spoke to you
Shattered dreams of mine
Could I your discuss
Leaving pain behind
Knowing that fate broke the plan
Long ago

What were once your plans?
And where do they hide
Did you at some point?
Dream of Medaille?
Studying Lit
At you college
Of Heav’n

Have you ever wished
Still at Medaille
Fiction to compose?
And Creatively Write
So the
Pulitzer Prize
Could be Yours?

And have you once?
Instead of Medaille?
Had aspired to study?
Voice at Buffalo SUNY?
So you
Could rise
At the opera?

Have you ever aimed?
To study bass?
And play in public?
With a noble grace?
To receive
Praise
At the orchestra?

Have you ever?
Wanted to attend?
An amazing Graduate school?
In or out of state?
To the
Academic greatness
Established?

Has teaching College?
Ever been a hope of yours?
Did you cater to it?
All those years?
Or did it?
Come in?
Sudden spurts?

Oh those tender dreams!
Those ideal schemes!
Being so Frail!
They always fail!
With the consequences
Lasting long

Did they leave you all?
With a scarred heart?
And a deep regret?
You had to discard?
Inspiration yours?
Deep and noble?

Copyright © Euginia Liapich | Year Posted 2013

Details | Couplet |
Terry Wanted Me To Write a Poem

Was talking with my friend Terry
from England via an internet
message. He wanted me to
write a poem about my wife's
accident so here it is.

Guess what, my wife got caught
Speeding in a small parking lot
Oh my and for goodness sakes
She forgot to put on her brakes.

Somewhere has to be a catch
On his car hardly saw a scratch;
So sins confessed to the Pope
See scratch must use a microscope.

Tiny scratch sure seemed so small
No one could hardly see it at all
Worst thing that a person hates
Sharp increase in insurance rates.

James Thomas Horn
Retired Veteran and Poet
River Sea Plantation
Bolivia, NC

Biggest joke of it all is my wife
and I have been driving for fifty
years and never received a ticket
or traffic citation in our whole lives.
Can you beat that or anyone else's
prices for that matter.

Copyright © James Horn | Year Posted 2016