Elegy Art Poems

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Details | Elegy |
To see her blog, adorned with pastel tones
Widens the gap that pervades my bones
For now we eat her passing meal of plain white rice
Leaving us all alone, without much needed fashion advice

The red light district has lost an inductee
For I would have love to be involved in her naked party
Yet for now we must all be content 
With the debauched path she hath went.

Sadness invades a binary world
Where tweeters and bloggers hearts have curled
Bringing back memories of Madonna’s ‘Like A Virgin’
Her fashion advice precise like a mastoplexic surgeon

I remember the fervour when you were followed by Kath Kidston
A similar experience when I had my first Jar of Branston
Yet when you found out the intensity with which I was following you
You wanted to change species and become a Gnu

You learnt to accept my frequent outpourings of love
When you finally spoke to me, I felt as free as a pure white dove
But upon your departure I feel pathetic and hollowed
The best I can hope for is the number of one of the hot bloggers you followed

She was always my muse, my intimate inspiration
No-one can cause such an outpouring of personal perspiration
My heart now yearns to see her type a special tweet
One that would make Mr Sexton act like a dog on heat

Now the world mourns the passing of Lily Fulvio-Mason
I can still see her face reflected in my wash basin
With every heart beat, every full blooded pulse
My sadness streaked blood makes my body convulse

But now it’s time to go, my heart says goodbye
The pain eats my nipples like the Syrphid Fly
I can finally see your body laid in an eternal rest
And now I can now finally uncover your breast.

Copyright © Tom Hyam | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
the rain becomes autumn
and autumn becomes rain
there is a Gold Surviving System
(GSS) around the brain
with unexpected creatures
who lift the modern burden
of being so involved 
in glass rotating hours
curriculum vitae sleep
and we call this LOVE
and we fall in a drop
among yellow leaves.


Copyright © simona dancila | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
Men are gone
Words wounded
Tears outgrown
Babies dis flowered
Strength shaken
We are gone astray 
We are wounded
We are not all well
We bleed, we scream 
Yet no one hears us
Roses turned to brown
I wont go there
I wont go- i wont go
We are lost in the dust
Yesterday was better 
Today it becomes worst 
And we complain not
It seems like we are 
left in the midst of confusion
We are gone- we are gone.   

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

Have you seen the sun smile recently?
I have seen him smiled in the season of my 
Song in the year of the great harvest of yams.
Everyday is a gift, every moment is a blessing,
Every life holds a beauty of its own, but the
Day of our calling we cannot escape it for
Life and death has a common boundary to humans.
Tell every one that I love them very dearly,
To ijeoma; tell her that I won't forget those
Days when we danced naked under the rain. 
The rain kissed her smiles with a holy kiss
Which beamed with a mountainous dreams of love.
Tell Ugonna of my pains, suffer not the enemy to live
Bring back the abducted girls from the forest
Keep singing those songs to mother for peace.
Forsake not the shrine of our forefathers,
There our lives began after the harmatten
Live every stone untouched and every woman in
The family compound should not become widow for long.
I am going not in joy but in tears since I can not
Reject the call of the ancestors.
Lower the hurricane lamp in the village square
And make peace with the gods for I must 
Journey down beyond to tell our forebears the harm
They have done to us.
They abandoned and sold us to the enemy
I will tell them of the falling fence in the compound,
I will tell them the oil that have dried in the mouth of the gods.
No one is able to baptise their mouths with oil
Because we have none to give.
Take care of the mourning sheep in the compound
Treat the children well and give my sister the right
Man forget not the tradition of our people,
I will keep watch from beyond till we meet again.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
(When I Think of David Bowie)

When I think of David Bowie, 
every song he sung was showy.
He was sinewy, not doughy, 
cause the white stuff was so blowy.  

Yet his music was amazing, 
and the concepts were so blazing.
He could sing and act while crazing,
in the phantom vision's mazing.  

Bowie, so alien and odd here,
with the drum beat in his mind's ear.
His words were pointed and austere,  
with a life that pushed away fear.

He was always introspective, 
with one eye on the collective.
He opposed mankind's objective,
that obsessed on one perspective.

He was stone handsome in his face; 
Bowie moved with abstracted grace.
He transformed all the arts in place,
while his mind was off-course in space.

He is the man that fell to earth,
crashed dim, in umbra at his birth. 
He's the Starman in his sole worth, 
pursuing Lazarus's rebirth. 

Bowie's life burned awfully fast,
for lots of roles in which he's cast.
The fluid flame can never last,
when it darts missiles from the past. 

Now he's dead and they are praising, 
his work, once found self abasing,  
in the lyrics of his phrasing, 
they find now, is curtain raising. 

We will miss his mystifying,
that he sang while he was dying. 
Cause he's deft in his defying, 
his Black Star persists in flying.

By Edlynn Nau

Copyright © Edlynn Nau | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |
Sing a song of Taj Mahal
A landmark of lovers
And a lover's edifice
With medieval bowers
Tis a mecca for tourists
Tis sensational, tis exceptional, 
tis truly a touristy place

Watch the shine and shimmer 
of its magnificent marbled 
By the glimmer of moonlight 
or sunlight, it's imperial chrome

So it's ironical then
that though Indian I am
I haven't yet been to this 
touristy place

It is truly as they must say, a 
lover's shrine
A place where hearts tend to 
They find it steamy
I find it dreamy
Oh I've to see for myself this 
touristy place.

Each of the marbled minarets
conceal some romantic secrets
For lovers to silently explore
To admire and to adore
A place few lovers could ignore
Ah, you've got to visit this 
touristy place

Two famed lovers lie in the 
legendary vault below
and the stream too has a 
romantic flow
A lover's haven, a paradise on 
Even dead passions there 
undergo a new rebirth
Ah rekindle my love in this 
touristy place!

Extol I may this awesome 
imposing edifice
A greed for pure love is 
perhaps better than avarice

So sing a song of Taj Mahal
A nice nazm or a great ghazal
So forever we have this 
Ah take me my love to this 
touristy place!

Copyright © S.zaynab Kamoonpuri | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
do not rejoice o’er her tho’ she lieth down 
she still lives on: she still speaks to our clan
as long as moon or star or sun does in an 
untiring journey like an old minstrel drums
along the many hazy river alleys thornfill’d
oh, death, thou shouldst speak unproudly
here beside our lively mother’s grave-stones -
thou art too timid & fearful to take the truth:
thou, death, were dead years back on a pole
where bled her saviour, our saviour – nay! 
death, thou shouldst be shame-fill’d or art 
thou too hasty to strike her down with a bow
that her saviour had broken on the cross?
do not rejoice o’er her tho’ she lieth down 
she still lives on: she still speaks to our clan.

Copyright © Canny Amah | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |
A giant pine, magnificent and old
Stood staunch against a sky of gold, 

Shed beauty, grace and selfless power, 
There was no tree that over-towered

Within its fold birds safely reared young,
Between its leaves, round fruits had hung. 

The velvet ground beneath was gentle,
The cooling shade was instrumental. 

It's towering arms a landmark stood, erect and unafraid,
As if to say, “Fear naught from harm”- as if to offer aid. 

It fell one day.

Where it had dauntless stood, was loneliness and dead. 
But men who passed paid tribute – and most of all had said,

“To know this life was good;
It left it’s mark on me.”

Its work still lasts, 
And so it lives. 


Such life no bonds can hold 
This giant pine, magnificent and old. 

Authors note:

This work is based upon inspiration of 'To My Father', to which a rhyme scheme was established, and a story development was created. 

Copyright © Kurtis Collins | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |
I was asleeped lying on the floor, 
And adorned with lovely flowers; 
Peculiar things were there, 
When with a core heart they bathed me in a blessing showers: 

I don't know what the strange things were going at my house; 
Like an infant, I was upraised on shoulders; 
Each and everyone was there, 
All those who loves me, were with lots of loving rose to bid me Goodbye, mere: 

Indeed each and everyone who loves me was there; .
Still, I was called by their mouth 
with shriek diluted with deep torment fear; 
All of them flowed tears, 
Causes profound calmness instead of fear.

Who never wants to pluck my face, on that day was there; 
With an embellished loving heart; 
How can I be loved and tributed by thy mouths and hearts? 
How can I? This induces in my eyes materialistic fear.

I don't know, why they had stunned by my calm face; 
Why they astonished by seeing me asleeped? ; 
Oh! With a groaning and deep torment, Why were they awaking me from my dreams of peep? : 

Each phase and soul, 
Starts wobbling there, by seeing me; 
Where I was made asleeped forever; 
Those who had a strong love for me, 
From those hands, I was made buried forever and ever!

Copyright © Azitej Anand | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
You told me,
Just to write a poem.

You did not tell me whether
It would be nimble lined,
What meter, what rhyme?

Nor did you tell of the matter --
Of love, fantasy or despair;
Or of friendship, business, or repair. 

Here I write for you
Like some beads on a grass
Just like the dew 

I wrote for you!

Copyright © Sadat Khan | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
Shadow and mirage are thesame;
The former is never a substance
And the latter never an oasis.
But the death of a child is both:
Hope is dashed and respite betrayed
Leaving only behind the pain of rising utility
That often comes from the nostalgia of reality...
I mourn with you Professor.

Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |

Little sister,
When shall I see you again?
When shall the vegetables in 
The compound stop waving their hands to say goodbye to you?
When shall tears in my eyes dry of pains?
I have heard of Odenigbo wide laugh,
Yes, let him laugh at me, the gods made it to be so.
I have seen the stream roared in my presence,
Let them roar and cause, I won't be shaken.
Arusi iyi made it to be so and nothing I could do,
I have journeyed down to the hills and mountains
Of Ugoloma in search of you but I found nothing.
Am I the Only One that will cry heard of you?
Am I the only one that’s blind by love that bind sister and brother together?
The circles that go through my mind is kept for,
The truth that’s never found awaits your return,
The pain that starts again blindfolded what I used to be.
Am I the only one that fails to realise that life is but a mere journey of pains and sufferness which has no value?
Am the one that will see love and not grab it then I  feels so dead inside And You suffered the nails of the bloody enemy whose face is hidden?
I want see you and hold your hands little sister,
I want to tell the story of Uma to the Ohafians!
When are you coming home, little sister?
The vegetable in the compound are waiting for your return, ogbonneya.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

Where birds are two
We ask:where is the eagle?
Where trees are two
We ask: where is iroko?
Where men become two
We ask: where is Okonkwo?

Gut in the forest of Titans
He roared in the jungle and
Frightened those in the streets;
He stood the wrath of a tiger:
Made morsel of his gut
And status-jacket of its skin
Since then he wore not goat's skin
His was tiger's batik.

Because of fight,he rested his head on pestles
Because of fear,he knitted his heart with cables;
In battle, he killed in dozens;at home,
He marched on dozen fowls
If we did not see him in battle field
Did we not see him at home?

When fear was wild
With its tongue of flame and fangs of blood
Only Okonkwo stood,stood akimbo and spat:
Which chick eats beads like beans?
Which puppy eats elephant's scapula?
Which demon stands Chinua Achebe?
When woodpecker pecks trees
Does it also peck plantain tree?

Okonkwo! Okonkwo!!
When thunder strikes,
Its honour is certain:
Songo king of pebbles
Masqurade in war front
He that we could not confront
And lobbied the bully to wrestle
But made the bully's skull his cup
Man of brawn, man of brain.

Where is Okonkwo?
Big Iroko that blunted axes
Where is Okonkwo?
Bellows that spat fire and melted metal;
I say where is Okonkwo?
Sheath that swallowed the sword
And locked out its haft.

For Chinua Achebe ,the author of : Things Fall Apart.

Copyright © KAYOD5 Kayode | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
The Jaguar has
exquisite spotted
He roars,
jet swims,
No wonder
a prestigious
car is
named for
But he
has no

Same old

I hear

Copyright © Jeanne Fiedler | Year Posted 2011

Details | Elegy |
I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze

I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.

Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.

From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.

On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.

Copyright © Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |
???t??e?? ???eta t?? ???? s?µas?a
?e? ß??pe?? p???? t?? d??e? p???? ??s?a

???t?? t?? ???e s???aß? t?? ?????
?a µe ta ???µµata t?? de? µp??e?? ?a pa??e?? 

?ta? pa??e?? µe ????a pa???e?? t?? ap?f?se??
G?a a?t? ?ft?a?e ? ?e?? d??a ????se??

?ta? e?da st? ???? t?? t??e?? a???µ?? µ?? t??a
??pa ?a s'a?ap? p?s? ??s?a

??te ta??de?a se ???asse? µe d??????
?a? ß???a d??  ???s? ?eµ?t??? s????? 

?? a???µ?? ?µ?? ta p??ta afa??????
?f?? p??ta t? a?µa µ?? µa??? p?t?s???

G?a ?a a?t??? ?a a???? t?? ???? s?µas?a
?a µ?? µe ?????e? p???? t?? d??e? p???? ??s?a

Copyright © Michael Hondrokoukis | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |

It comes unannounced
With caloric and musty sour
Calls from far and near
Under unnumerous Canopies

Behold the upper chambers 
Swimming and bleeding
In white wet handkerchiefs 
In saucer-eyed voice, They yell

Grievance of death
The mantle of Loneliness
Thou smeareth silence
Death is smooth and rough
But the grieve is 
But a rancid bitterness

Death lights the woolly candle
She stirs in kleptomaniac toes
Trading upon domestic desert
The grievance of death
Wallows the mind in miry statute

The grievance of death 
Summons ancient easy chairs
With their C headed walking stick
The red-cup headed chieftaincies
Floating in tears in their chieftainship

Death with the axe headed pestle
Trading upon domestic desert
Encroaching like a lion in the jungle
With her mighty sword

We have no choice
No reason but to join
Hence we can't say no
Children journeying in nursery rhymes 
Black wrappers in their veiled heads
Weeping in tepid ogles

Death with thy barrel
To good ones
While the evil lives longer
The grievance of death
Thou shall die
When death shall die

(By Opurum Precious odiboy: Nigeria)
Copyright © odiboy 27/07/2016

Copyright © Precious Opurum | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |
•I am a pen, not an artist nor a Poet,
•We're all slaves like Israelites from Egypt,
•They try to be red like a matured Scarlet,
•Let's all join together like foods on a Plate,
•Why should we Differ like Millet or Separate?
•Let's come back to reality before this is Late.
•The country of Zambia our God gave unto Us,
•And all this misery will all comes to pass,
•We should not point out fingers onto one another,
•Or else we'll be judged on the coming of our Father,
•And during sunset, we share sorts of complaints,
•Crying out loud on top of our Voices,
•Forgetting that our God image the Huge sacrifices,
•We take that simple and count it worthless.
•Take this time to thank the LORD of LORDS,
•Cos It's too painful seeing poor street kids,
•See people being taken by this Animal called AIDs,
•It really hurts a lot I say this sharply like Blades.
•Let's come to job Stuffs,
•Corruption is the only Path,
•Following of the Qualifications doesn't work till Enough,
•But our own money is stolen by members of Staff,
•We must all control this before it turns into a wrath,
•Am not all perfect, but what am saying is the truth.
•Our Dear God must see us through all this misery,
•He can not let go of us and sure about this totally,
•His mercy works upon us and I say this merely,
•There's no need of hiding, or saying this secretly,
•I rest all my case and I stand here firmly,
•If you wanna get this poem come and follow me Properly,
•I set and said what I wanted to, wait for section 2. Finally.

I Need Your Support People.
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Copyright © Mutesha Lemana | Year Posted 2017

Details | Elegy |
Another son is dead, until five he lived.
For his long life at Shah-Hamdan he had threads tied
“Shehij ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale”, his mother cries.
No news can penetrate across the mountains. Satellites work here no more
My Kashmir burns. And no one knows.
An old woman with torn scarf sits besides fire. While feeding her neighbor’s child
She sighs. Is my son dead or alive? She silently cries.
In Madrasa I hear children reciting Quran. A girl’s come out dragging her feet.
I remember her from somewhere. I remember her seeing naked. 
Oh! God she is the one who was raped.

Nights have turned pitch black. My eyes are losing the habit of sight
Midnight soldier’s set another house ablaze. At least there is some sort of light.
Many letters have been written to God. Postcards posted of those raped girl’s 
But its curfew again. No post office deliver’s the message again.
Death comes from everywhere. Close your windows mother
For bullet respects no womb. It turned Gulistans into tombs.
From the plains the visitors come to visit their God’s
They are our only witnesses but hypocrites at heart.
They say paradise is kaasmir. While my Kashmir is ablaze
They testify against us. Is anybody witnessing this? No one at all
Be witness to at least this. Open up your eyes my Lord!

When paradise is painted with colors of hell, certainly divinity loses its grace
In the news the reporter is beaten. Bamboo sticks are hungry for human blood.
Let Kashmir go to hell. A new promise in their portfolio.
Threads have given up at Dastegeer’s place. Even they are horrified at our fate.
In Maisuma boys are dragged by police. They close their dreams, end their screams
In a police gypsy.
Men shape into monsters when they are given right to anarchy.
The gypsy drives them into the dark cantonments. They will remember this day
Interrogation officer comes. After celebrating his son’s birthday.
The winds from the cantonments bring their news
Burned tires around their necks. Burning stoves near their heads.
The knife tearing up their flesh.
And the boys cry, “We haven’t batted yet. Cricket. We know nothing”.

Death wants children to be headlines
Hunger has affected the heavens as well.
Graves are full. No more space left.
We need land of the plains. For our graves.
In the ac car the bureaucrat goes. The mother’s with search full eyes
Ask about their sons they lost. They drink their tears
And he sips champagne.

Copyright © Muzzaffar Ahmad Shah | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |
Another star fades while the sky darkens,
The earth in joy for yet another meal to be
Taken in a relaxed smiling cupped manner;
Yet another feast of hope for the vultures. 
The clouded cloud parted ways in conflict.
A film coated flame covers his eyes home,
And the joy at heart bubbles like troubled water,
There he moves to join his maker in peace.

Words are few, thoughts are deep, memories
Of you will always be kept; prayers not forgotten.
It is hard to say the inevitable to the one lost now,
It is hard to say goodbye to a journey that one would return no more to his people and loved ones but,
I must make my tears fill a bucket to be taken by all.

Thought of you make my eyes wanders for your shadow which always roam here and there in me.
Alas! The farmers are back as the sun sets in fear,
All holding their jaws in pitied sorrowful mouth.
Alas! The market women are back with nothing.
Ring the bell in the field, tell it to all wanderers
That a rare soul is lost to unknown destination.

Who shall I call when the tears are flowing?
Who shall call me those names  for you only?
Are those light litted in my life by you still alive?
Shall we return to the rising of the sun not its sittings?
I can bring back the hand of time when we were 
Younger and promising, maybe I shall see you again.

You fought the fight to be here with us  
To no avail because it has been written this day.
Death is inevitable but not the worst thing to happen.
Through the vacuum of loneliness I dream,
Through the matching hope of forgetfulness I see,
No power was taken without blood and soon
The blood shall redeem you and set you free
And the sun shall rise again and set no more.

(C) John Chizoba Vincent
    Voice Of Vincent 2016

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |
Mood,atmosphere of ideas influx,
in passive pose,elements of fire.
A descending sun,yellow-black-green
and red.This drumbeat of transience,
a dawning morn where seasons blend.
A melancholy of immense brooding
of uncertain enigmatic portraits.

hear me recite from my 4000+ PS Anthology on youtube under my pen name ichthyschiro..

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Copyright © Brian Strand | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |
Father! I can't see mary and her little china doll
Mother! Where is mary, my little pretty angel?
I saw her battled desperately last night with a
Worldly handsome manclothed in white gown
Where is she now? Where has she gone to

Mother, why are you clapping your hands
And tears dropping angrily from your eyes?
Why do you shake your Head and soliloquize
All Alone in the closet When you ought to get
Ready for the morning journey as usual?
Has anything happened To jelwery, tell me i
Can bear the pains not to shout and Cause?

She wasn't in our midst this morning to sing
The high praise to usas usual.
Her bed is in commotion, her room in disarray.
Her slippers haven't spoken to anyone on the staircase.
I could see her clothes weeping in her room
The curtain, window, wardrope, all quiet and sad

When is mary. Coming home father?
Is mary really gone, mother?
An african princess she was,
The flower of my heart whose leaves blosom
With sparklingeyes that radiate With illuminious 
We played along, cracking theair With an ageless
Butterfly heart ready to change our cause among
The unbelievers
My love was young, hers was much younger
We tatooed Our Smiles with a golden jelweries
Made for the prince until the air took her away

Mary come back home my heart seek You
Do not break the ageless treasure Of our Soul
Why is death the Only gift life could Offer? 
The animal called man in battle to conquer
Yet no hope seen by as all perish gradually.

Come home my dear mary
Mother wait you in tears around your room
In your closet is father supplicating to your chi
When are you coming my dear Mary?
My heart beat fervently to see you again
Hope and faith to seek in resurrection day.  

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
Who threw water on the wick?
Who, as restless and trapped
can survive in this necropolis?
Trumpeting down the walls
that are not of Jericho.
Trumpeting down the walls
that besiege a chthonic people.

Tonight I shall return as a black dove
to bring you an oak tree branch from Dodona
And a darkness full of lightning
all the way from the palace of Atropos.
So that you stay up all night 
and knead
a bright sunshine for tomorrow.

"Good morning wind-vane",
to say when morning comes,
"where do the winds blow from today?"
And just like a white horse 
to gallop against the wind.

Copyright © Dimitris Varos | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |
I wish they taught more about
Heartbreak in English class;
That I would see your face
In stormclouds, when
Bronze from the sunset scribbles
Our names in the sky.
It is happening every day.

I am no prize
In my Rossington-Collins band teeshirt
And deliberately torn jeans,
Sitting on the end of the street-
The place where horizon brush strokes
Abruptly end.

Jenna-Nichole Conrad

Copyright © Jenna-Nichole Conrad | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |
I am giving you this bead, 
An unbroken chain of knowledge,
It is your passport to reach the world.
The soul of a man is a far country,
Impossible to explore by anyone with blood.
When the road seems lock on your journey,
Light up the lamp and see the  guiltless smile
On my face; then you can find your way.

(C) John chizoba Vincent

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
Bird, bird, when would mother come back?
The pumpkin leaves is dying and our
Compound is filled by spilled blood.
Would mother ever come back again friend?
Would there be more blood in the compound?
Father has fallen, Nkechi is gone and 
The future of those living is blank.
The shrine has be dismentled and the
Walls of the compound has fallen apart
And I am all alone, alone in tears.

Child, child, mother won't be coming back.
She had gone with the breast milk and smiles.
Leave the pumpkin leaves for her own trouble
Having what matters at the time it matters is
The best child, hold those tears for your beloved country
Until the end of time in death before dishonour.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
His pelvis thrusts
awkward gyrations of a sickly man
Bruised sternum erupts will cream filled pustules
Enema pleasing dissidents fond of enigmatic words
Cursed with knowledge, forsaken with guilt, humbled with life

Copyright © harley quinn | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse |
Prof. Twittie died from an
experiment; like and unlike Socrates, he intentionally
took hemlock, to see how the afterlife looks like

He intended to return
to the physical world after his
observations, which he didn't

For a century now, no one following
Prof. Twittie’s school of thought
has yet dared to take poison,
in order to return with Prof. Twittie
back to the physical world,
and finally conclude their findings
in pen and print

Copyright © Teddy Kimathi | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
Wake me up before you go
I need a little more of your love.
We can learn to live again after we're
gone from this loosed earth' fantasies.
our footprints stand, drawing lines of
perfection of our deeds before the naked sun.
Our tears may dry from its abundant source,
our mouth may become wider than usual,
our eyes moist with forbidden water,
yet, we match on with a bleeding heart,
knowing that we all must come to the end
of this sorrowful line someday, a debt for all
Man to pay before the judgement day.
With the sharpness of this edge of life,
the motion of verseless song shall render
our voices not like professional mourners
looking at your face in an illusion of lost in
radiating face of a coward called death.
We've over worked our sagging mouth already
emptiness of our past is the present of life
In a scampered direction, we shall learn to
live in the space between our fingers.
We can learn to live again with this in focus,
Death is a coward harvesting and running.
Yes, we missed your incredible ink here,
we long to behold your face again in mind eyes,
one minute is not enough to mourn you
but we must direct our fears towards God
not hurrying to the grave to be consumed;
for our tomorrow holds life tightly in the 
hands of a greedy death.

Copyright © john chizoba vincent | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |
It was a clear dark night
When your voice was the only in sight,
The many years of childhood,
The "Hip-Hop Hooker,"
was the choice of many tunes,
So know, that in our genre,
We may never forget
How the regulations of the game was maneuvered,
By just 16 bars,
or how we jammed and sang,
Along in our car,
To the many soulful grooves,
This one, Nate Dogg is for you;

Copyright © shane solomon | Year Posted 2011