Elegy Son Poems | Elegy Poems About Son

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Details | Elegy |

Your Living Marked My Heart

Do others think of you the way I do,
the embryo that grew beneath my heart?

There is so little proof you lived . . .
a metal marker on a grave,
a lighter, a wallet
that they gave . . .
two certificates, official,
like parentheses -

I sometimes see your friends . . .
on those days,
you seem alive in little ways.

Do others think of you the way I do,
the boy who grew into a man,
unspoken dreams, unfinished plans.

There is so little proof you lived . . .
some childhood books
and art, and yet . . .
how deeply carved
your living marked my heart.

© March 5, 2014, Faye Lanham Gibson

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |

Across Galaxies

I passed beneath the bridge today
close by the place you once called home,
and I sensed your latent footprints
still lingering upon the stone.

I wonder . . . did you pass that way,
mysteriously, in the night,
as guardian angels carried you
across the galaxies toward light?

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, July 24, 2014

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |

Son of War

The snow fell on bloody ground
turning the white to red, eating the silent
flakes till they disappeared into red dust.
The hand lay still...hopelessly bound
in death. Warm red snow was not meant
to melt and cover white life with lust.

No breath melted the blanket of white
dancing playfully on the mother's son
who lay coldly quiet 'neath nature's cover. 
He had wanted to stay...not feel the splice
of war...taking him beyond the red sun
atop the earth where the hawks hover.

Copyright © Patricia Langston-Moran | Year Posted 2008

Details | Elegy |

life after suicide


In our barrenness, mourning reigned in our bosom
Our wait conquered years, filled our bucket with tears.
My wife taught me to give up,
But Chidi’s arrival widened our joy-horizon.
His birth birthed our real lives,
Reflected his mothers image in my likeness,
My pretty-smart son made us a home.
Twelve months later started the civil war,
Dodging bullets, we forgot our greatest asset
In running for our lives, we ran from our life
Risked it back to the battlefield, my boy was gone.
My heart wept from his mother’s eye, another covenant with pain.
His birthday was our only sweet memory,
Hoping to celebrate his heroic return someday, but
It wasn’t enough consolation for our undeserving loss.
Years later, poverty and vengeance introduced us to a life of crime,
We built a mud house by the village entrance,
Entertaining strangers with death to possess their substance.
One day, the lot fell on a certain man in clergy regalia,
He acted like a lost son of the soil tracing his origin
Such patriotism kills my zeal to send souls beyond,
But my wife insisted I do the usual, again I gave up.
Did the usual; he kicked that bucket of tears.
But unusual was, his death interfering with my peace,
Reluctantly I ransacked his luggage, found a photo
An image of a smiling-innocent infant boy,
I remembered snapping Chidi in that pose, just like him.
As I observed and pondered, I heard my wife from behind
‘How much is in the bag’, my confusion responded with silence.
When her curiosity sighted the cause of my dreary mood,
It loosed a scream from her tongue, she ran to the cadaver,
Stripped its panties, the butt birthmark was not faded.
Confirming my suspicion, she fell dead after another scream.
 Still staring at the photo, I saw the image lying lifeless before me,
Only then was I convinced that I killed my reason-for-living.
At that point I didn’t wish for death, I wished I wasn’t born
Wished we remained barren, wished the war ate him up.
My son Chidi was my life, his death was my suicide
That day turned my world to a morgue, I am a walking corpse.

Copyright © Kingson Ahaneku | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

I Dream That I Dream That It Was Only a Dream

“Row-row-row your boat gently down the stream
Merrily-merrily-merrily-merrily life is but a dream” 

Wake up Dad! Wake up!
That nightmare again, huh?
I’m starting to take this personally
You tryin to get rid of me or something?

I just ran over to Jason’s to give his CD back
C’mon outside, I’ll show you
See? Not a scratch or a scar
Don’t you understand? It never happened…

(Oh yeah, can you drop my suit by the cleaners?
BIG occasion…Once in a lifetime ya know
Gotta look sharp and stylish
That girl I like might come
Yeah I know , I’m kinda dreading it too
but He says they can’t start without me)

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |



In the stillness of your own
you taught us
the circadian rhythms of life
and its meandering flow
cascading life's tempestuous realities
year to year gracefully
wrapping pain into neat little packages
to be opened in the still of night
where you lay motionless
while spiritual healing moved
from one solution to another
as your soul communed with God.

How cleverly He disguised you:
a bud in waiting.

When blooming synchronized itself
with your unfolding
you became a radiant sunshine of joy:
then you gracefully slipped away.

a gentle breeze blew baptismal bliss
over my every being
and i felt your sweet soul soaring
in the winds of time
and heard your redemption song
of peace and unity with Jah.


Copyright © millard lowe | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

Single Purple Candle

   Within a flicker your life sailed away like the rushing tide upon a purple sea
   it carrying you along to be placed by God's side setting your soul free

   If only your eyes could tell me of the splendor you now see
   and emit your light of purple brilliance so as to ease my sad heart of agony

   In silence I lite a purple candle for you knowing forever you are near
   my arms reach out to hold your shadow while my eyes are covered and veiled

   Your candle starts to dim the melting wax dripping into the shapes of a thousand
   consuming my heart of the sadness and deprivation that you are not here

   In paradise you now belong as the Angels sing your warrior song
   today is your birthday and I know the greatest gift was God calling you home

   But as your Mother my heart continues to suffer with grief
   as I lay upon my bed with your blanket and savor your lasting scent

   Watching your purple candle flicker and glow as it vibrates my lost heart
   my love for you Son forever ablaze knowing for only a short while we are apart

   Speak softly to me in my dreams while giving me visions of a young child at play
   the purple candle continues to burn my sweet child, 'Happy Birthday'.

   We miss you Caleb. Happy Birthday  
   copyright   2016   From Aunt Tammy Reams- to my Sister 


Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |

Back Door Side Door Front Door : Which door might a Confucian take

                   for René Etiemble  (Jan. 26, 1909 – Jan. 2002)*


 Barely a few speechless moments before your first words

           burned the « Coplas por la muerte de su padre » :


            ‘Nuestras vidas son los ríos       

       que van a dar en la mar,

       que es el morir ;


       y llegados, son iguales

       los que viven por sus manos         

       y los ricos.’


      Is the open back door which emboldens courage

No untarnished name to be remembered by

No selfless mate to lay by your honour

       No issue laying about themselves for your prize


       Decidedly it was a door of stealth

As if choosing it  you let it be known

you were only merely passing by

       and stopped to hang your hat here for a while


Yet you let your kin and callers believe

      your whims were worth putting up with

      your mischievous tantrums and gripes

merely the mental athlete’s unwinding antics


The poïetic birth pangs of imminent glory

      just the mounting stones in the monumental lighthouse

that ages from hence would pick forth

      your works  your unfathomable literary resource


You upheld dozens who did leave behind a name

     a lasting name  not quite torn from solitary pain

Yet who could deny you could have bettered their fame 

     What undisclosed pain you harboured in your brain


Oh so strangely were you endowed with the intelligence

     of the Chun Tzu - that uncanny eagle’s scan

To rout out of the mazes of your students’ past lives

      just that one passqge through their Tierra del Fuego


But then you who completely espoused the rigours

      of that step by step mounting of respectful steps

Were unsparing in your demands of adherence

      to old Master Kung’s hierarchical obedience


An open hand ready to sign any cheque

      to succour the caller’s needs

     was alas ! also the whip hand

To keep the renegades in constant check


You were possessed of a rare brand of anger

      which shook the land about you

At those who bent justice to their unsavoury will        

      such thunder boiled from the guts of the earth


Now you’re gone and empty lecture halls echo your

     uncontainable ire where forged resounding silence

You said at the start of a seminal master-seminar :

     « Nul n’est prophète dans son pays ! »        


With the distaff side hanging on your every word

     wondering if your plans were for something yet undone


No stray notes lie about to record your travail

     No visible correspondence to make it all credible

Only books and books  files magazines and books

     and an overcrowdedly conquered mental pad                                    

jumbled words scratched into shaded inchoate sketches

     ganglia synapses   shot-up neurons


     no clues to a ragingly flailing mind

           none to record the lives you succoured

                   nor even the beneficiaries’ hurriedly scribbled thanks

          nor besides to the beclouding relations with one and all

                 not even a hint at why you may have refused

                        to forge a name beyond the beaten path of fame


Would going by the front door

in a fanfare of tv talkshows conference papers prize-giving ceremonies paper- interviews in ample studied poses and thoughts for future auto-memoirs volume one to seven the rest put-together posthumously in an omnibus

expurgated version with prefaces notes introductions critiques eulogies


          would it have been less like you

                                          to exit by the side-door   

the baywindow leading to reflected glory

     in a cool cloister of loosened leaves

stray poems in the tradition of your schooled masters


or did you burn them all

                                                in a fit of (cou)rage

     tore them to bits   incinerated by your fiery mind 

                     or squashed within yesterday’s leftovers


not caring who thought what

                     the mocking condescension




* The late Professor René Etiemble held the Chair of Comparative Literature at the old, pre-1968 Sorbonne University but retired in 1978 while a professor at the Sorbonne-Nouvelle University. In later life, he even refused nomination to the French Academy of Letters, though he did accept the Academy’s Prize. He was a prolific critic, essayist, and memorialist, having published some poetry and three novels. A renowned linguist and grammarian (a graduate of the prestigious and elite Ecole Normale Supérieure de Paris), he remained until his very last days an inveterate Sinophile. He edited the Gallimard-instituted UNESCO oriental literary classics series, a fitting tribute to his encyclopaedic learning.

© T.Wignesan,  6 novembre 1997, Fresnes-94, France  (from the collection : Poems Omega Minus, Paris, 2002)


Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |



She sits alone in darkened room
Listening as the wind shakes the thatch,
Peat fire reek hangs in the air
As candle glow reflects in her eyes,
In her arms wrapped in a shawl,
Her bairn sleeps innocent with a smile.
She sings to him sweet and  low .
Mmmmmmmmmmm ochone,ochone my little one,
Sleep deep, sleep sound my darling son,
Beneath the stars, dream for me,
Your daddy is lost on some foreign land
So little fingers grasp my hand,
You have his hair, golden brown
With waves and curls hanging down
Features fair and handsome too
Smiles in his sleep just like you.
I loved him so much as i love you
He would have been proud baby boy,
To watch you grow and reach for the sky.
He left to defend his country fair
It was hard to leave, left his heart sair,
To fight in foreign fields and woods
And there he lies, alone in the cold.
When you grow remember him,
Ill tell you all that you should know
Youll plough the ground and seed you,ll sow
And hear his laughter amid the winter snow.
So sleep sound my pretty young son
Don’t let the dark invade your dreams
Rest now and grow strong and tall
Remember your daddie come the fall.

Andrew McIntyre.

Copyright © Andrew McIntyre | Year Posted 2016

Details | Nazm |

NaFarmaan NaKhalf Baitay Ka Noha-- Elegy of a Disobedient and Evil Son

BeAdab gustakh jab aulad ho jaye
Chain sukh maa'n baap ka barbaad ho jaye

Cheen le budbakht jo walid ka sarmaya
Jeete jee kion baap na barbad ho jae

Aasteen ka saamp that beta nhi the woh
Maut ae usko woh barbad ho jae

Baap kee jo he raza Allah kee bhi he
Aashna is qaul se aulad ho jae

Maa'n ke hee pairoan talay jannat ko kar talash
Rah se bhatka jo too barbaad ho jae

Beta boorhay baap ka baazu he kehlata
Beta ye na samjhay toh barbaad ho jae

Nek o taabaydar ho aulad to wallah
Walideen ka dil khushi se shaad ho jae

Kia karein woh waladeen jab nakhalaf beta
Mayel e jaur o situm eejaad ho jae

Qibla o Ka'aba kuch kumtar nhi maa'n baap
Kaash hurmat aashna aulaad ho jae

Deen o dunya chin gaee naKhalf betay se
Baap per jo mayel e bedaad ho jae

Tu ne mera dil dukhaya to he mere lal
Hashr tak tu unsuni faryaad ho jae

Kion na ho jae pidar phir zinda dar-goar
Jab pisar badbakht hee sayyad ho jae

Copyright © mazhar butt | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |

Elegy: for Dear Mother

Dear Mother—I longed for your love:
     so when you passed away I wept;
as your spirit rose up above
     my stinging tears, which were inept,
flowed as we began to remove
     your cold, silent corpse as it slept—.

Days passed—they gathered for your wake,  
     a soothing time that was not sad
or grave as they tried for my sake 
     to pay their respects and seem glad:
as you laid there (to never take
     a breath again), I could’ve gone mad! 

The hour arrived—the funeral 
     took place on a cold, winter morn
as if dream-like, strange and surreal.
     Distraught, I felt bereaved and torn
as the last rites and burial
     made me shrill with grief from Death’s scorn!

Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Elegy |


Sparkie was our collie dog.
With us since Dee was three.
Gentle, obedient, never wild.
Perfect dog for growing child.

Late in life she grew a lump
on one of her many breasts.
Vet said "Best let her have a litter.
Before she pops off, poor critter."

Out popped Mutley, favourite son.
Soon he was out on the run.
Chasing sheep with mum in tow.
Farmer said, "They'll have to go."

Down to our chemist shop father went.
Into our "dark hole".
Appeared back with tablets of old.

Concocted  a delicious doggie treat.
Phenobarbitone mixed in with meat.
Instructed me to give half to Sparkey.
While he hand fed Mutley.

Into the shed they went,
for two days and three nights.
Not dead yet, but paralysed.
Me the only one to sympathise.

Eventually the vet was called.
A quick shot into the heart.
Mutley died without a murmur.
Dad to church, it was November.

Sparkey still breathing shallow.
In the shed all alone.
I nursed her head in my lap.
Tears blinding me as I sat.

Dee returned from college term.
Up to grave when she learned.
Grave too shallow without a doubt.
As she was greeted by two snouts.

Copyright © JEAN MURRAY | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |










Copyright © Gerald Nforche | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |

Our Little Angel

We put you down to sleep in your crib
We awakened to find, you were taken by SIDS
It was Sudden Infant Death Syndrome
That took you away from our home
So early in life, you were taken away
We're left behind with so little to say
The question of "Why?" fresh in our minds
The answers, we may never find
The pain will linger on for many years
We just have to fight, to hold back the tears
For we must go on with the rest of our lives
We must look at this tragedy through God's eyes
Our baby is in Heaven, He's our little Angel
We must look to our memories and be very thankful
We miss you, Our Angel, so very much
In our hearts, you'll always be loved

In Memory Of My Son Joshua

Copyright © 1997   Shari E Davis

Copyright © Shari Davis | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy |

Posthumous Limelight-Any Sad Poem

Posthumous Limelight

My boy, a young lad, died fighting the Iraq war. 
It could be any war, could be my son,
Your son or anyone's son, what does it matter?
All wars are same, all sons are same.
A lot of decorum, a lot many bravery medals
Came posthumously.
His name was in the newspapers-
Photographs everywhere-
Stop! Why can't everyone stop this superfluity?
I didn't ask for it! When did he ask for martyrdom? 
Or for posthumous limelight?
Or a monument in the heart of the city?
Why build it? For your fame? Or his memory?
Nations, why can't your red hot coal hearts 
Promote peace? My boy won't come on holidays-
He is on a perennial holiday!
He lies deep down in the earth to be smothered
By the cruel, cold stone erected above his uniform
And he, my son, in his uniform,
Fought to save some adamant men.
I lost my boy! Do you have memories
Of him laughing with his tilted head?
No one to feel my pain!
No one to see the pillow of my heart
Soaking in bloody tears when his bullet rid body
Was honoured and saluted!
Your war is over and my arms are empty.
I live in this empty house full of his photographs.
My bonnie gave your vengeance peace.
Your ego is fluttering in your triumphant flag.
You have won the war and I have lost the war!

October 25, 2015
Contest: Any Sad Poem
Sponsor: Broken Wings

Third-Promote peace not war

Copyright © Balveen Cheema | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 2)

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 |

Silent Prayer for her Son

Her words had meant a thousand meanings but still i felt no self healing
for i had hurt her, done her wrong, called her a slave and nothing beyond
she was african but i be white, does that make us different
to see through the eyes of life and feel the nature hell bent

So many days had i been white, to insult the african woman who worked so hard
her skin, dry from the planting seasons, her hair so ratted from the water loss outside
but that same night i had called her worthless and slave she bowed her head
and i as well for it was her last wish, and that made it sacred

"Dear Lord" she said as she began her prayer and her eyes filled with tears
her silent stature, blissed with love and pure confinement, shone though
she was african but i be white, does that make us not afraid to die
to fear the darkness of the night and worship all who makes light no questions no why

"May all who recieve thy lord's love, cry to the bloodshed moon
for if man and woman be forgotten the balance of evil and good
will perish and i have seen this for my eyes turned blind by work
but here i sit with the same girl who did so and wish her no harm"

To stand up felt wrong but as she did so i followed out into the pasture
looking about i noticed the cows this african had milked 'um so many
but she was confident and bent down to the dirt that had one blue rose
i bent also not knowing if what i did was because i felt anything that arose

"And dear lord let her memories have soem of my son's 
let the very feet he walked with be hers for i know they were strong
fast and smart he was but none know of he except me
but this girl right here will now know of his eternity"

And with that silent prayer sent to the heavens, i too began to cry
our shoulders shaked and our heads bobbed as the night engulfed us once more
she be african but i be white, does that make us sisters
yes, for we have both suffered and lost, loved and cherished, stood and cowered, worked till 
death with blisters

Copyright © Faire Lucas | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |

In mammary of: Maternal Bosoms

breast cancer runs rampant within me late mother side
whar moost every female diagnosed with emotional ride
into the depths of despair where metastatic cells pried
their way into the appendages whar din o suckling provide
did initial sustenance prior to malignant growth lied 

Innocuously within fleshy tissue til oncologist could not hide
Truth from females that birthed and availed motherly guide
among most ever Harris heiress, whence treatment fried
will power to live (I can only imagine) as rogue growth did elide
as nemesis to body politick where no boxes of tissues dried

the river of tears when such news shell shocked me – I cried
for indiscriminate injustice whence fate snatched me father’s bride
shunting any trivial tit for tat resentments re: grudges aside.
-  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -  -
no other priority but being alive matters when surgeon knife
for malignant curse forces impending mortals to value life
purposeless double mastectomy performed when invisible mass rife
with errant duty to destroy sense and sensibility commanding strife
whether circumstance involved me eldest sister (still alive) or the late wife.

me octogenarian widower father summoned breastworks when last breath
o me long deceased mother – vehemently opposed being sentenced to death

no matter visualization practiced – such as furiously swapping with  broom
who truthfully cursed with ovarian cancer, which spelt her actual doom
an unstoppable toxic brew within her being that coursed as meandering flume
Time elapsed, yet still difficult to espy wedding pictures with handsome groom
that would be my 20 plus year old father unbeknownst ill fate would loom
occupying cellular wall street where awry growth jostled for room 
a harbinger of lifelessness, whereby she chose creation versus burial in a tomb
many fifty odd decades after my youngest sister exited the womb!

by: matthew scott harris

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

In Your Arms

In your arms I held so tight
to feel the warmth of your skin
you made me feel so bright and alive
I yearned for the next day you held me again
there was so much happiness when I saw your face
when I held your hand I never wanted to let go
you gave me so much joy there was nothing to lose
everyday was something special to me and so much more
when that last day came for me god was waiting by my side
he told me that the time had came and I couldn't stay
the life he had helped you make for me is something that was great
he assured me I'd be an angel to look over you and protect you
when I got to heaven I watched the pain you had when I left
I didn't understand because you had something so precious to remember
but when you look at my pictures and hold my blanket tight 
I see that I gave you more than just a memory but a piece of something in your 
but never would I have been there so long if you weren't there for me
as time goes by don't think of the pain of losing me

Copyright © sarah koziol | Year Posted 2008

Details | Elegy |


When the storm clouds gather 
and the thunder rolls, 
when the chips are down and the blood runs cold, 
I hear the click of the walking stick 
and I know I'm not alone. 

Your life with us was long
and now you live
elsewhere but still your calm and strength you give
To us who miss you right down here
for I know I'm not alone.

So as the sea swells high
and the birds take flight,
and the still is gone from the starry night,
I hope that now you can see,
how much you mean to me.

Copyright © William Marks | Year Posted 2017

Details | Elegy |

John John

Don’t let guilt be the drive that takes you away 
from sanity! 
Eventually everything you feel emotionally will be 
set free.
Honestly I never thought I’d care so much that 
you’re gone 
But, I miss you and I know now that I’m wrong…

Why did god have to take you away? 
Couldn’t he see you’re still needed here? 
Mom needs you and so do your kids. 
Dad pretends not to care but inside the feelings 

Why did you leave, you should’ve fought harder to 
stay alive.
We miss you as the days go by.
I see your face every time I close my eyes. 
But it’s not the same without you here today. 
With you gone the days just fade away..

Copyright © sarah moncada | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |

To our dearly beloved son, now dead

for Mahathero Gunasena

In a makeshift vihara in the heart of London
Bikku then disclosed his parents long gone
Might one dare utter after all these years
Was it yesterday he would shed dry tears

Somewhere in the saffron folds of his faith
A lonely boy still lurked wanting his mother
Or brother sister and hope-dislocating father
Of how they could abandon even his wraith

Just a single line in the inner board of a book
Over dried blue ink his fingers caressed words
A life he might’ve had in who knows what worlds
He just wanted to say: ‘See, who so forsook!’

In an unwatched vihara in the heart of London
A forsaken boy dared break out of monkdom
Might one dare utter after all these years
Was it yesterday he would shed dry tears

Too late he had come to own up this truth:
‘If there’s a Supreme Being leave Him well be
He knows best what He’s doing forsooth
Mind your own business leave Him well be!’

Should one gauge the measure of a man’s humanity
From his ability to outgrow imposed attachments:
Such as confines of his community race or country
But most of all withstand the viral encroachments
Of his conditioned beliefs upon his own personality.

© T. Wignesan – Paris – September 8, 1983 (Rev. 2012)

From: T. Wignesan
Copyright ©: T. Wignesan - Paris, 1983 - (from the sequence/collection: "Words for a Lost Sub-Continent", 1999.)

Copyright © T Wignesan | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |

Wet Desert Hope

Sad mother   ...   no son
Went off to war, never come home
No phone call, no letter come
Flowers planted in the garden,
came spring never sprung
Sad, sad mother   ...   misses her only son
	            Navajo mother, 
          raised under the desert sun 
			Peaceful woman, 
	forgave the white man 
for what he done 
When she forsook God in the midst of a long famine,
		   that selfsame day 
	desert rain came pouring down
Now once again, the desert sky has no rain cloud 
To beg God to forgive her sin, 
	     for the life of her son, she ain’ too proud
She adopted the peace of the white man,
then asked her son not to go fight in his war
But true to his name, Running Spirit ran
Now, in the desert of her soul, 
	            it’s raining tears in a downpour
Struggling through her long famine of pain,
she keeps clinging to wet desert hope
	Sad, sad, sad mother   ...   no son
Holding on strong ... 
		       but for how long ... 
				          to her last hope
Sits in a rocking chair at home
with a gun on her lap   ...   and a handwritten note:
“My tears, they could drown the sun,
but I wait for the desert rain to still come
But should the day come when I lose my last hope,
it’s my choice: I choose the gun   ...   not the rope”
		      Sad, sad, sad, sad mother   
	   ...   no son, no son, no son — no sun
Waiting alone, so long, in darkness by the phone,
listening for his voice after each singing ringtone
		         The rope of despair 
keeps trying to choke off all her air 
Still, she’s holding on strong 
                                              trying her best to cope ... 
But each passing day  
gets closer to feeling the final tightening of the rope — 
yet for now, she rests the gun on the lap of her hope
Her tears they drown the sun
with wet desert hope
Written last on the note:
“Forgive me, son ... 
if you come home, and I’m gone”

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

Details | Elegy |

The Last Words

I miss my father everyday,
He is no longer there...
I miss him dearly,
Somedays too hard to bear...

When I envision him at the table,
Or playing his mouth harp,
An instrument on which he was,
Oh so very sharp...

Phantom breezes,
Like memories...
Still flow through cracked windows,
of 100 years ago...
Memories of family gatherings,
No more shall I ever know..
I grow old and frail and wonder,
When will it be my time to go...

Oh, if miracles God could grant,
Based on necessity,
He'd have me No. 1, first on line,
From the need only he and I could see

The last vibrations,
Of his final vocalizations,
Still within my heart,
Will linger until I utter mine,
And at last I, as well, do depart...

One last hurrah,
One last sweet afternoon, 
Having a beer on the porch together,
Listning to Glenn Miller,
Or perhaps one of the Dorseys,
Enjoying just being alive together,
Oh, all the things he taught me,
Family love hard as steel,
Now breaks my heart,
You likely know how I feel

Treasured hours on our porch,
Hearing "American Standards Radio"
Or watching the Yankees, or the Mets,
Just about as sweet as life gets...
The need to converse optional,
We've already shared our own secret beliefs,
Our feelings slowly peeling from our souls,
So there, no words need we share,
Just so glad each is there...
Flying amongst the trade winds,
So pregnant with emotion,
A sense of finality,
Of our love and deep devotion...

People who are no more,
In a place no longer there,
Echoes of time,
And words we did once share...

Something is flying about.....

Copyright © tom bell | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy |



[NB. This poem is the confession made by the biological son of the devil satan,SALAZAR, in
a court session in heaven. This is a confession he made under duress to the ears of
godly humanity]	


At midnight on the twelve of September
1912, when the bells of the elder
Church in town started tolling for the first 
 Time in twelve years, had death's taste.

As far as I can reveal, was twelve years old 
Twelve years old when death, my brother, cold,
Grabbed me in his claws and ended my life.
And so I could not know how man could strive.

 This was in compliance to the terms of my birth
 Which had been drawn up in hell by my Dad as said,
 APPOLYON.i was to come to earth sans fears,
 And be nursed by a human being well dressed.

As I am clear of the earth, I can now unleash
The great secret I had hidden in my dish:
If I can really call my terrible mind likewise.
After all I was hooked to it as if by the aid of a vice.

My secrets are not those you listen to every day;
Those secrets of stupidity with no heat of May.
These secrets of mine are those to stagger a giant,
 And destroy the hook of creation and the tyrant.




You should know that I spent only twelve days on earth,
Before my brother, honorable death,
Took me in his claws. But my deeds outdo those
Of the greatest devils who had sin in over-dose.

Here; let me speak and let you tremble like the feather;
I was born in 1912, on first December
And at midnight. After all let me continue well,
So that in my story you shall kindly dwell.

Christ had failed in his....................

[There were grumbles in the courtroom from the heavenly realm, because what SALAZAR had
said was sacrilegious...]


Christ had failed in his mission on earth
Because he could not conquer in its entity death.
On the cross he cried," Deus, guare me dereliquisti?"
That is what fell from his lips. What a tyranny!  

[There were cries again from the Heavenly realm. God merely sighed and raised a hand for
SALAZAR to continue]

Copyright © Gerald Nforche | Year Posted 2010

Details | Elegy |

Our Son is Gone

i had bought her two hand made crystal glasses
one was red and one was blue
the day our son left home
his old thermos fell
from the top shelf
and broke the red glass
we still have the blue glass
each other

Copyright © Thomas Stanton | Year Posted 2009

Details | Elegy |


Where are you 
You do not come to me 
When I call your name 
How long shall I wait 
I walk alone in the shadows 
Where only the moon shines bright 
Will you be my guide 
I stood there 
In this place 
And knelt 
And wept 
Sweet child 
I wish to drink you in 
I wish to feel your cheek 
Upon my lips 
My arms are vacant 
Where you once lay 
Empty lullabies 
I hear them still 
Sweet memory 
Comes to me at last 
You are near 
We dance and sing 
Precious child 
You are mine forever 
My heart is full of pain 
It weeps child 
Where are you

Copyright © lisa verdon | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy |

Dear Landen

From the moment I knew you were on your way, I dreamt of you every night and 
I dreamt of who you would look like, your daddy or me, we imagined how much 
happiness you would bring.
9 months later there you were "Mamma's smiling baby" and "Daddy's big boy"
Everyone who held you said you brought them so much joy.
You had such a personality, bringing a smile to every face, 
you brought a happiness to everyone that could  never be replaced.
 You are loved by so many and are missed by even more
The urge to hold and kiss you is the greatest I've felt before!
 But I know the angels are holding you know, so strong I will be...
Until the day I see you in Heaven and hold you close to me! 
I love you Landen and we will never be apart, 
because your precious little smile left such a big imprint on my Heart!
 Love Mommy

Copyright © kaci barnes | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy |

Go Join the Rain

An old man sat on his porch
rocking his life away
watching the sun fade in the horizon
each and every day

He wondered of all the days gone by
all the memories he had lived
trying to remember the reasons why
he chose the life he did

The old man who rocked the chair
was burdened by years of pain
but I told him not to close his eyes
for there is beauty in the rain 

The old man said many things that day
and one sounded like goodbye
so I touched his hand asking him to stay
but his head lay silent at his side

I rocked him in the evening wind
silently beginning to cry
knowing I didn’t ease the pain
my father carried inside

Old man you tried to rock away
those many years of pain
but decided to open your eyes
and join the beauty in the rain

Copyright © Xavier Keough | Year Posted 2005

Details | Elegy |

It takes 26 days to get to heaven

My angel came from heaven.. Though I had to give him back,
Too soon for my liking, for it was out of my hands.

Please let me hold him. I want to brush my lips
against his cheek. . But it was not to be,
as he would be gone in a few short weeks.

He would not die in vain I kept telling myself,
He'd not be forgotten on some dusty shelf.

A child so small can he really make 
a difference?.. Oh yes beamed our lord as my 
son made his entrance..
I will always grieve for this small son of mine,
proof of these empty arms by my side.

Yes the years have passed but the shattered
dream is still there, I have proof of this each
time I hold his lock of hair.

I know that he gave so that  others could live,
Whenever I think of him I try to remember this.

So long my dear son, please don't stray too far.
for if you do, it will surely again break my heart...

My son was born 17 weeks premature on 9/11/1988. He should have never made it out of 
the operating room alive let alone survived 26 more days.He weighed 1Lb and was only 
11'' long. By the time he died he weighed under a pound. His skin was so translucent that 
you could see through his tiny hands.I was so desperate for him to live that I enrolled him 
into an experimental study for a drug that would rapidly grow his lung tissue.He ended up 
developing pneumonia in his tiny lungs and within 24 hours we realized that we were 
prolonging his death not his life. So we ended the life support and cradled him as he 
passed. The one and only good thing that came out of this is that the drug was approved, 
and today thousands of premmies are alive because of this life saving drug. Here in 
St.paul, minnesota at the childrens hospital, there is a tree planted in his honor. The part of 
my poem that says he gave so others could live.. well, this is what i meant(the experimental 

Copyright © Christine Wessels | Year Posted 2007