Free Verse Death Poems | Free Verse Poems About Death

These Free Verse Death poems are examples of Free Verse poems about Death. These are the best examples of Free Verse Death poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse | |

Don't Come

.

     I don't want warm fingertips touching my name.
     I won't feel those left-to-rust letters,
     not even read them—Don't come

     with lashes under waterproof mascara
     for same-day return flight
     —those wings were mine.

     No need of somber daisies,
     I won't pick petals anymore.
     Naked of all care to unclose my eyes,

     I'll be quieter, simpler, easier
     to understand. Don't knock on the stone,
     I won't be around

     as whisper, as tickling, as shadow,
     nor sudden silence, no crying wolf.
     You won't find me. I'll be gone.

     My every sunset consumed in tundra,
     devoured by questions that tore skin and
     dreams. Forget it—nevermore.

     My best smile, my blessed hands, my better world,
     nothing will be left of them. Don't come,
     it'll be late. You should have come earlier,

     you shouldn't have gone.
     This stolen flower pressed between our lives
     never wilted; yet,  you didn't know.

     Your constant walls, my depth of doubts, our equal loss,
     blow them off into the night.
     But don't come,

     once I'm gone—I swear,
     not even as a tiny blade of grass—
     never, I will never return.



10/8/2010


.

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse | |

To all the heart breakers -a ZOMBIE's valentine

Wouldn't you rather~

Wouldn't you rather be dead?
Maybe shoot yourself in the head?
Over my dead heart, I'd never want to be a zombie like you.
The sight of your limbs are rotten all the time.
All synonyms say of you looks like a 3 legged swine.
Go ahead and do us all a favor, 
hide and stash yourself away from all your neighbor. 
I think I'd rather have my eyes stuck with glue
So I won't have to look at you
When it comes to family friends, you ain't got none.
You're always gonna be called the lonely retarded one.
Who could ever love a face like yours.
not even your mother see's pass your gores 
No need for privacy when you pee
Go ahead and take a leak and drown yourself in the sea.
Don't think for one second you are irresistible 
Love making with a zombie is impossible.

Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head

The time to kill yourself is at hand.
Slicing your wrist is what we recommend.  
Cut your tongue off, don't want to hear you squeal.   
Blood all over, your face is no big deal
A sword or machete will only pick up the pace
I wanna see your guts pop out your mid-waist 
Contaminated objects is a must
Anything to remove your face of disgust.
The easy part is the best
Once you are gone we will all feel blessed,
The flaw of your existence  
Is what keeps us all in distance 

Wouldn't you rather be dead?
maybe shoot yourself in the head

Close your eyes and die
No one wants to hear you cry
You said you wanted to be loved
believe me~ you're better off unloved
I say do yourself off
Anyways you've always had it rough...
Go ahead and scream
This is not a dream
Now see how you make me feel
All I want is for you to end your ugly ordeal.
I will praise this day of course
Knowing soon you'll be a rotting corpse.

happy valentine ~ TO: All My DEADBEAT X-es from Texas.

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

A Solstice

Thoughts of death, one after another, 
mourning a loss. They fall like hailstones 
cracking tiles, waking the night
—its perceived substance—
things not seen but feared. I could care less.

It's the longest night of my years
caught in the toils of doubts, of despair
of the noise of falling ice that reverberates inside                                  
my faith in sudden slices. Impotent to 
kiss resignation's toes
advocated by those who want my obedience

and tithes at all costs. Impotent to 
listen to duty of silken stole 
that pulls creaking faith into its coils. Impotent to 
accept sacred writings chosen by lot. Impotent of 
praying more and thinking less. Impotent 
to breathe, to see 

to walk through wind-blown salt and s  i  l  t 
measuring a time dark and lost. A ruptured soul
over versions of interpretations of 
oral traditions already translated into lies: Greeks, Romans, 
monarchs, despots, rulers, reformists, stoics...  
Thoughts of death like tears of ice

Where will be the lice that sucks my sins and tics
that coughs and gags and vomits my unfulfilled temptations into a cist? 
Thoughts of death tickling upon my bare soles.
It's tonight, at its farthest point from my Sun—still so close. 
I need to believe it—God—you need to believe it:
You'll die as soon as my faith is lost 





.

Copyright © Ruben O. | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

It is Quiet Tonight

It is quiet tonight.
The only sound is coming from
the soft murmur of the television set.
I don't know why I don't just put it on mute.
I don't want to hear what they have to say,
but I guess it is better than the sound
           of silence which is deafening. 
It hurts my ears, it hurts my heart.

Yesterday I was happy, but that was before,
before I stepped into the dark abyss.
I think I may have been pulled in 
           by the apathy of death. 
Death has such long arms.
I won't ask why, I know everyone must die.
But you left on a happy day, a day we were
making plans, and I had hope, 
       hope that we still had time,
                    time to share those plans.
You made me laugh until I cried that day,
        and then death swooped in 
                      and took it all away.
It is so quiet tonight.

© Connie Marcum Wong
8-27-16

August 10, 2016 Poem of the Day

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

You Caught The Wind

I remember you, from when there was a spring When the seasons were ripe, with verdant green Our nimble feet danced in the wind and on the brink of everything Not a furrow in the brow of youth We borrowed life for just awhile and tapped our shoes on childhood's stage where carefree laughter was the rage that filled each age with promised smiles We danced and twirled a twin ballet just you and me on summer's waves Two pirouettes, in mode of curls of blossoms, frilled, and tender leaves unfurled in winds, we found a way to soar our wings, above the world We knew not yet of death or dying or of regret, or cause for crying But, something frowned upon the season You caught the wind, and without reason A colder wind that kept you flying far beyond my eyes could see And to the other side you disappeared beyond my words beyond my tears Now here alone I touch the day and taste the night remembering I will walk alone, in autumn sun And lay myself on dying leaves I think of you and think of then I feel the wind against my face that sweeps me to a distant place where I recall what time erased I'm closer now... to hear the sound The whisper of the seasons calling Above the trees, the sky is blue I think of you, and feel the breeze And all the while, the leaves must fall
9/4/13 ....................................................................................................... Sponsor: Laura Loo Contest: BEST SAD POEM EVER II

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

March 19 Memories

Mama….it’s today
The chalendar shouts it
Today
15 years ago..you breathed your last
and I still see you in dreams
and I still miss you, Mama

I’m sitting here
in front of the screen 
wondering….what it would be like
to see your smile again
wondering if you’d be proud of my work
I write, Mama
I write poetry
But you knew that
I wrote you many poems
and you loved my lines

You always believed in me
and you believed that one day
I’d make it as a writer
and you made me promise
to always sign my maiden name
after everything I write
so that the world would know
where the talent came from
you were so proud of me

I’m crying, Mama
I’m crying
I miss you so much
You made me who I am
I’m just another reflection of you
the woman
in love with words
in love with life
in love with people
in love with passion
the teacher
the well respected Bible scholar
the one with a caring heart whom
everyone adored...
the one with the ready smile

But MS had a hold on you
even before I came to be
and I had to witness
you succumbing to its power
It changed my happy dreams
into nightmares of losing you
Blood
Stiches
Broken bones
Burns
I saw it all, Mama
As I was growing up…
I saw it all
And I died a million deaths
Waiting for the time that you would go
And you left, Mama
You left me

You prayed to go
to be free from your wheelchair
He heard…
He answered…
and you are asleep in Him now
waiting for the trumpet call
when you will be awaked from your slumber
Free….
your smile no longer crooked
your body no longer bent
your voice beautiful again...
how you mourned the loss of your voice, Mama
you will sing again…
you will run and dance
and pick flowers

I will be there, Mama
When you awake up..
I will be there to hold you and kiss you
and thank you for giving me life
and making me who I am
But for now…Mama,
I need to cry
I miss you…

March 19 is always a reminder
of what I’ve missed all these years
a mother beside me
to guide me and love me
and to tell me that everything 
everything is going to be Ok in the end
but I carry you in my heart
now and forever…

You are with me, Mama
I love you!
I'll see you on the other side!
where there will be no more death
no more crying or sickness or pain
no more MS!
only joy...
March 19 will be no more
Only eternity!!!!

Eileen Manassian Ghali

Isaiah 57: 1 & 2- The righteous perish,
    and no one takes it to heart;
the devout are taken away,
    and no one understands
that the righteous are taken away
    to be spared from evil.
2 Those who walk uprightly
    enter into peace;
    they find rest as they lie in death. 


Copyright © Eileen Manassian | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

On the Death of My Wife Lilian

From the brow of the hill
I could see clearly the panorama
Beneath me.  Worried I saw from afar a farmer
Scythe in hand reaping the crops
In far off fields full of tall grass.
It was not the farmer who interested me.
It was my wife, a marriage of forty seven years.
I saw her hobbling down an uneven path,
Her body bloated with disease.
She never looked back.
Strange I thought,
There were no birds around.
Only profound silence.
Arriving at a crossroad, 
Without hesitation
She took the right narrow trail.

My heart thundered in pain.
I knew what was in her mind.
Incautiously she arrived at a bridge.
Thick fog covered the other side 
An extension that led to unknown worlds.
Head straight but body limping
She dragged herself over.

Helpless I looked on till she disappeared.
Disconsolate I sat down on a stone.
She had suffered enough. She will now rest forever.
But I?  Will I find some salutary rest?
I felt the pain of separation.
From afar a bell chimed an Ave Maria.



POTD 26 February 2017

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse | |

Worst Love Poem Ever Written

I suck at dying poems
Chemo poems, Metastatic Cancer poems,
Hair falling out in the shower poems
 
And I told a half truth
When I told you I could write you one
In less than six months (It's been eight)
I apologize for being so late

I wanted your poem to be pink and graceful
Like those ribbons
I see all over the internet
Filled with cheesy generic rhymes
That could get me hired by Hallmark

 I just know my metaphors will start melting
And that my similes will get all soft
 I guarantee you the rhyme meter will be off

I went to Google
And the typed in the word 'happy'
Three billion things came up
Not a single inference to
Breast cancer, hair loss
No redirects to mastectomies

The only thing research could teach me
Is that a good day on chemo
Is when your stool doesn't come out tar Black
And has no blood in it
Or when your urine
Smells better on Wednesday
Than it did on Tuesday
Sleeping less than 12 hours
When 24 would be better

Still I refuse to finish this poem
Without something bright and hopeful
And I know I'm doing a horrible job

America has more poets
Than it does alcoholics
   And Pot smokers combined
And you chose me to be
Your Breast Cancer
Poet Laureate
Trusting me to write a poem
About the biggest battle in your life

And don't think
I didn't notice your Facebook activity
Had decreased by 88%
In the last three months

And you aren't really
Coming to any more of my poetry shows
Ever again. Are you??
But we still have January, February

And how do you write
A Breast Cancer poem
With no references to breast
(I get embarrassed)
 That would be some kind of Oxymoron
I guess

But even if you had one breast
Or no breast
or if you had less hair than I do
I promise to look only in your eyes
And never ever even notice
Or even think about it
And never for a moment
Would I feel sorry for you
Yes I suck at lying too...

But I don't suck at loving you
Or at hoping you wake up tomorrow morning
 With no Cancer at all
And that The Eiffel Tower will be right outside
Your bedroom window...
And I would be right there with you
Holding your hand while we look down on Paris
And you can impress me with your French again

And if I ever make it
To the Pulitzer Poetry board
I might lose a thousand points
Just for this poem alone
And my hopes for the prize will be smitten
And some old person with white hair will say
That this was the worst love poem ever written

Copyright © Poet M.e. | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Christmas Charity

He watched her all day,
From behind his window,
fascinated by her persistence,
renouncing a wholesome dinner,
the warmth and comfort of a home.
She stood, instead, in the telephone box
calling no one, receiving no one.
Surely if she did not phone anyone
One could assume she was waiting for one.
But no one rang.  All Christmas Eve.
 
The wind blew icy cold and it was clear
she was not adequately clothed.
She must have been suffering a lot.
He wanted to shout to her:
Call it a truce, forget the caller,
come to my humble abode
and rest a while.  Here's plenty to eat,
turkey, vegetables, mince pies and cakes
and a warmed red sangria
to pump some blood into your face.
 
She stayed put until midnight
as winter's blizzard opened its doors,
to herald in the birth of Christ.
Her ghost cared not for this, 
and tired out she fell
crumbled dead on the floor
of  an abandoned telephone box.
 
Next day they took her away.
He remained at the window,
angry, wondering the why of it all.
It was days later that he remembered.
Then he felt the terrible shame. 
He had not prayed for her at all.
 
POTW  12/17/2016

Copyright © Victor Buhagiar | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

GRANDPA

*GRANDMA WAITS IN THE GARDEN*

Hi, grandpa, it's me again!
Your dentures sit in an open glass above the nightstand
Remember the tears grandma sang before she passed?
The way she looked into your eyes, 
Moments before she said her goodbyes
Grandpa, I found a note from grandma, 
She waits for you.

Hi grandpa, it’s me again!
The rocking chair is old and dusty
Remember the way grandma sat me on her lap?
Read many stories before I took a nap
How she enjoyed stroking my hair with her hands
I miss the way she rocked me to sleep every night 

Hello, grandpa!
I stored your hearing aid away
Remember that special musical box in grandma's drawer? 
I opened it last night, to watch the ballerina soar
I wish you could hear the tiny chimes grandma loved
I hope you don’t mind, I’m keeping grandma's favorite scarf

Hello, Grandpa!
I'm caressing grandma’s picture frame
Remember the way she looked in the yellow pretty sundress?
Grandpa, I miss the things grandmother did for you
Like the walking cane, she handcrafted before she left

Hello, grandpa, it's me again! 
Here I sit holding your hand
I have no more tears
Soon you will see her again
She will no longer be alone
Say hi to her, give her a kiss
Tell her I miss her so much
Bye, grandpa

~*~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

FORBIDDEN

~ZOMBIE NIGHT~ 

WHINING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Bones slowly desert distorted resting homes
Ascension of the dead -Longing to live again 

Sands of desert flip the hour glass back
WHIMPERING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair
Bones slowly desert distorted resting homes 

Taking light from where evil stays 
Feeding away leaving behind a death valley zone
WONDERING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Moonlight vanishes to complete despair

Dead souls forsake the common land
Shadowing like Equinox light 
Walking corpse covered in rotten barren sand
WINDY WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND 
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
Echoes of the dead roam the air

Upright, forward broken taboo 
Searching for the perfect breath of fresh air
Sounds of symbols march the ground
Searching to find their missing heartbeat
WHISKING WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night


Ascension of the dead  -Long to live again 
Bones slowly desert distorted resting home
Moonlight vanishing in complete despair
Echoes of the dead roam the air
Rugged ruins crumble silent through the night
WHEN WHISPERS MOVE ACROSS FORBIDDEN LAND

by;PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

STILL WINTER

Dead Winter Stray~ By: Poet Destroyer

Nearby paces, Combatants lost under the cemetery walls,
“Blessed Men and Heavenly Remedy Women of Ages,”
Feelings of dance at the beginning of nightfall,
Scenery of fire, sadness passing this history page,
In that distant curve, somewhere nears the sundown stream.
Far away from the vision of mortal eyes,
A child plays as beautiful and pale like the sunrise.
She plays on the coast this beautiful but pale, sun raised child.
Pursuing nature, in a hushed angelic lucidity,
“In hushed angelic lucidity!”
Fragile fastened, to those adequate bones.
Profound deepness beneath the snow winder dust,
Below the memoirs of her floating vessel,
Reminisces of water drowning down rivers and streams,
A shattered female kneels in salvation.
An anvil so heavy it troubles the mind.
Lost in profoundness, in what might have been.
What was, for a moment in this period?
The grimness of her weak vessel dwells.
A lifeless winter strays around. 
An album so old and dusty,
A christening gown not ever embraced.
Infinite, the woman and pale child of sunrise,
Soften footfalls beating out the torments.
Countless nights seeing the day of unspoken headstones,
Feelings of dance will never rest this heartache.
Eternity, in a dance of unconditional need,
Their hearts unite as one...
A closing of mother and child…     
~BY: PD~

Dead Winter~ By: Catie Lindsey 

There walks Warriors in that graveyard,
Holy Men and Medicine Women of ages;
at night you can see their Spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner, up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snow drifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her body afloat
down rivers and streams of Remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight on a burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was, for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers,
in a dead winter of the unborn,
on page forty-nine in the family album,
in a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance,the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance, The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one...
the woman and the child.
~By: Catie Lindsey~

(for Catie's: Re-write contest..) 

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse | |

Things That Seemed Poetic

Things that seemed poetic were always sad,
though I yearned for sparkle
and my dad's guffaw, which never came.
Familiar things were always drear --
repeated motions in the same old game.
There were only distant glimpses
of budding spring, fleeting views
of daffodils. The strongest
poems dealt me death and dying.
Yet I always hoped, never went under
to gray despair, always dreaming
of a garden of love that we could share.
But those forbidden delights faded
quickly away; the only reality
I understand is the ever-looming
and final one. Nothing's changed.
The strongest poems deal death and dying.

Copyright © Leo Larry Amadore | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Mohammed Ali

Mohammed Ali

Cassius Clay

The Legend

He was not a humble man
Everything he did, was big and grand
He taunted and barbed with poetic flair
His opponents he angered
Entertainment in the air

He was a legend, bigger than man
A champion in the ring
He often took a heroic stand
Breaking barriers of narrow minds
He defined his style in his own time

His greatest feats were not title wins
Nor his taunts and bragging sins
Inside there was a more humble man
Who stood for the downtrodden in troubled lands
Full of humility he still could sting like a bee

In the end he floats away
A softer man, of a fighter’s heart
So shed a tear, for this complex legend
Whose humble beginnings’
The butterfly brought home to his roots

God brought him back to his beginning
Cassius Clay he was… and now lives in eternity
Freed not by name
But by convictions... of his
Good deeds

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

A Night At The Desolate Harbor

The ship in the habor on silvery seas Lay vacant outspread 'neath the glassy moon Drifting in cold whispers of the night Like a drunk man shriveled on clasping knees In the loud echoes of the crawling winds The brave ship nods its old head Restless on the empty stage of the bay When lonely stars bleed their light On what was once earthly sublimity Now silence and haunt lingers there A graveyard of bones and sadness Beside the desolate harbor Rustling in the cold distance Laboring with a haunting melody That invades me in shivers of night. Sadness defeats The happy spaces of my mind Then your sweet kiss would descend Oh... your sweet kiss would descend As a fragrant memory Thawing the pain In the frost of my heart. My soul beckons your presence But silence became my loyal friend And Emptiness - The sorrowing of my hours That slithers through the night As the brave ship nods its old head Crackling and desolate In silvered breaking waters 'Neath moon's limpid eyes My hands descend With crimson buds of April's flowers To rest upon your tomb Of eternal silence.
''Death leaves a heartache no one can heal, love leaves a memory no one can steal.''

Copyright © Mustapha Mohammed | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

Why oh Why Seren Roberts and Tim Smith

Why oh Why

A Collaboration between Seren Roberts, Tim Smith and Arthur Vaso

Poem inspired by Seren Roberts

Each poem written from a different view
The Murderer
The Murdered
The Mannequins who witnesses the crime


Why of Why
Lovers Die
Mannequins Cry


Sat, with his head in his hands
Remembering how love had once been,
Now, because of his stupidity 
He was on his own, solitary again

Remembering, how love had been,
Behind the bars he now calls home
He was on his own as before and again,
Realizing, he was such a petty bitter fool

Behind the bars he now calls home
His mind, aflame with tears of regret
Realizing he was an utter fool,
To have stabbed her to death in a bloody pool

 His mind aflame, with deep regret
 Why... did he buy a knife that day...why?
 To have stabbed her to death
 Cause she had given love another try.

Oh how he wishes, its he that had died


Lovers Die

I linger with the scent of flowers
cascading over what was once spring showers

Your red hands drip   passion
long since cooled
darkness surrounding you has lifted
and only I can see the light

Why couldn't you leave
a girl clamoring to be free
dressed in a burnt orange skirt
driven to the stake with your hurt

Words were written on the wall
but all you did was erase it all
Twisted   as the knife turns
in a cell    your hell burns


Mannequins Cry

We have no faces
We have no voices
You think we have no feelings
You see us as objects in commercial spaces

We saw the hidden knife unfold
We saw the young ones stabbed so bold
Pain is the emotion that frightens us all
Mannequins crying, tears running as we see her crawl
 
When the blood flowed
When the redness of hate showed
We with no faces
Shed tears at the human disgraces

Such young love so brutally robbed
By the jealous and lonely one, made us all sob
He regrets I am sure the hate that overflowed
Life's so torn it can't be sown

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Butterflies

BUTTERFLIES

Clouds passing by swiftly.
Like the desert sands,
tiny grains rest in my hand.
Here I lay peaceful on the ground.
My life finally reached its final strand.
Breathing faintly with no sound.
My life slowly slips back into Gods hands.
Counting each beat from my heart.
Leaving behind this shallow land.
Taking a long glimpse of this magical world.
Something came to carry me away.
Without giving me a chance to say goodbye.
This wind gave me a sensation in not wanting to stay.
Gliding away into the blue sky. 
Finally I feel this heavy load removed.
I look back and see where my body still lays.
An empty temple, no longer full of grace.
My life in front of me revealed.
Blessed for all those days I would pray.
God protecting me with his shield.
Kept his promise to take me back one day.
Now I am back where I belong.
Pass the horizon of the ocean sky.
Living among the butterflies.
Reunited with my love ones.
Angles flutter into the sky.
When your life on earth is done.
For you I will wait beyond the sun.
Somewhere deep beyond the skies. 
Your day soon will come with butterflies.

~SKAT~   *re-post*

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

winter's afterglow

stars twinkled brilliantly
against majestic snow-capped mountains,
delicate pure white flakes danced;
swirling, twirling, rhythmically.

she stood, nose pressed tightly
against the window pane; gazing in awe
at the magic the snowflakes created;
as tears spill from her emerald green eyes.

the cabin is warm, radiating a comforting glow
a fresh pine scent lightly sweetens the air;
she fights the memories, as she begins to shake.

fingers entwined, she tries desperately to hang on
be present in the moment;
"stop, stop, stop" she says, stomping her feet;
she falls to her knees; quivering. 

she holds tightly her arms and begins to rock,
feeling his presence in his favourite black sweater;
she cannot bring herself to take off.

giggling sounds permeate her thoughts
cocooned in his aura, his essence, his scent;
she feels his lips kiss the nape of her neck,
his strong hands caressing her hair.

she rocks and rocks, time ceases to stop,
as she falls deep into a rich
moulton pool; his smouldering brown eyes.

her lips part; barely into a smile at
his joy when he surprised her with the cabin; 
their oasis away from home.

she wipes away a tear, beams from within
as she recalls the snowball fight, he lost, she won.
he scooped her up, carried her with glee,
over the thresh hold of their cabin; 
their oasis; their heart's retreat.

a decadent white rug bought just for her
lay invitingly in front of the fire,
fiery orange embers crackled and glowed.
he gently laid her down; "my beauty" he said.

they drank champagne, drunk in each other,
wrapped up in his care, she felt peace.
as they lay basking in winter's afterglow,
he whispered "this is my time, i must go".

startled, she sat up, staring deep in his soul,
as snowflakes twirled and danced, 
fresh pine lightly sweetened the air;
he breathed one final breath; then he let go.

her screams were not audible, her body convulsed
as she lay on his chest; her heart; her home.
she cursed the night and winter's afterglow
sobbing "not him, not him, please take me too".

she fights to bring herself back
to the here and the now,
as embers slowly dim, she wobbily stands
clutching tenderly his urn, she must set him free.

the stars twinkled brilliantly
against majestic snow-capped mountains
she opens the window, where dreams breathed of life;

with tears cascading
she releases her love; her life;

to become one 
with the magic of;
winter's afterglow.

Copyright © Lynn Marie | Year Posted 2006

Details | Free verse | |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Copyright © Anna-Marie Docherty | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse | |

A Wish -re-post-

A WISH -- In Memory Of 

"I Wish"

I wish I could blow air into your little lungs, 
The day my daughter brought your stillborn body into this world. 
Hold your little body warm, 
And tell my little girl you have her cute little nose....
Count your little fingers, and kiss your little toes....

I wish, 
I could look into your daring eyes, 
Facing a little boy, who's ready for this world
I wish,
I could tell my daughter you have her beautiful brown eyes...
Sadly, it’s not like that.
How can I tell my daughter everything will be all right?
When a piece of my heart was stolen with her's,
When giving birth to her son, my grandson 
March 25, 2013---- How it Hurts! 
~~~
O’ how I wish, you entered this world crying
Instead, we're the ones left in tears of sorrow
~~~
How I wish you could be, 
And not this feeling you left inside
How I wish, God could explain why o' why o' why?

Mostly, I WISH grandma could fix this and make 
your mommy feel, the joy she was robbed of.

In memory of my grandson: ---Bael Lesley G.
Born March 25, 2013  ---   RIP March 25, 2013

----------
by;PD  :-(

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse | |

In Memory Leonard Cohen

The End of Love

A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools


Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too

Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose

The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame

Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time

Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins

Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah



In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

The Last Call

He left his sneakers by the shore
A backpack too, was laid aside
to pick up when the sun had died

He claimed his other gear, instead
The thrill of rapids filled his head
and sounds of water drew him in
             His sneakers, backpack cast aside
             would wait 'til dusk, upon the grass
             when he returned to don again

They did not hear the roaring tides
They did not hear the shouts of fright
Nor did they hear, at last, the call
That came from voices through the night

Calls from those who searched the dark
While water surged and moonlight fell
And rushed instead,  to grip a life
              His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
              assumed that he would come again

His sneakers wait, .........he kicked them off
In haste his backpack, too, was tossed
The river flows...... and all was lost
The cost was more than words explain

There's someone home who got the call
The words so wild, the last, that came

                 His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
                 assumed that he'd return again
                 It lies not in their province now,
                 to know the cost of human pain


___________________________________________________________
(Based, sadly, on a true event, and someone I once knew)
10/23/15   For the Contest: "Hear The Call" triple prompt
Resubmitted for Skat's Premiere Contest # 11...... 9/16/16

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Marking Time

daylight hours Ozzie and Ben sitting at the picnic table as sunshine danced on the board chess match underway lasted all day, every day till knights and pawns cast long shadows elders’ eyes straining they would bid farewell violet sunsets escorted them home many stories they shared some repeated, but neither cared one brisk fall morning Ben waited for his friend hours on end until the orb began to sink fading light from the spectral sunset an usher of regret Ben sauntered past Ozzie's home black wreath on the door, a herald of loss Ben cast chess pieces on the street no longer wanted to compete after that day Ben’s zest for life faded away sun made its daily journey across the sky but Ben rarely rose from his bed twilight hours found him there still recounting the past tales he and Ozzie had told in his mind never grew old Ben realized the sun would continue on although he could not do the same memories locked within his heart shadowed recollections of a fallen chess king

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

Bastille 2016

Bastille


Many years ago
They stormed the Bastille
Two hundred and one lost their lives
The tennis court oath however survived

Jacques had his heart with the masses
Necker could not be dismissed so easily
The storming of the Bastille was to be
The birth of a nation for all men free

And free men they were
Running naked through the streets
What they lacked in cake
The made up with in red wine

The Republique was born
A democracy in infancy
Would grow through trials and tribulations
To become a multicultural great nation

Lone angry men filled with such hate
I welcome you to Bastilles’ gate
Of medieval prisons long ago
It is there, you I shall throw

You kill in the name of a God
A God you do not know
Love has escaped from your very soul
Only hate tarnishes your bitter heart

The ghosts of Bastille are mocking
The coward who is filled with such animosity
There never shall be an escape
The soul of the dead shall eternally taunt you

A criminal with no compassion
You have only given us our determination
To battle for the peace of this great nation
You bring us tears; alas we shall turn them to wine

Naked through the streets we shall always dance!

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

The Crosses of Night

Rising before me, are the graves,.. like the stars Embracing the light, while reflecting the moon The fields, vast and silent, ... never ending, the valiant Of those who had fallen, never knowing how far Some names forgotten, and some never known Crosses that grow from the wet grass below me I have lost count, as my eyes seek horizons Reflecting on lives of the soldiers, unknown Deeply I'm falling without knowing how far Into the depths of the fields that have drawn me Into reflection and into the questions Tossed into the sky, without answers to why My eyes can't believe all the sadness before me I have lost count and my heart seeks horizons Reflecting the reason, seeking answers, unknown
_________________________________________ 7/15/15

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Death Tolls

The atmosphere rings with the bell like calls
of the plover flock, long before they are spotted.
The flight herringbones a grey fedora sky.
Markings of white and coal black weave,
wing-stitched, a blanket maker’s dream.

Sigh makers 	they close on the beach 
at high tide, the horizon shivers      the
sand blanches. These ravishing scavengers
light on the tattered edge of wet to dry,
dawdling with the dead.

Plovers are diminutive scroungers, one-legged
dancers, hopping to the pull of tide, dining on
crab-eggs in black-tie and feathered tails, their
gray skull caps lined with a black brow. 
Sparrow-small birds dress to the nines. 
 
A feast for the birds, fall crisps, crab moltings,
go on for endless miles. September is beginning
and soon winged ones will fly to sunny shores.
The cold Atlantic will moan for the loss of music,
the unstitched sky will part. The avian choir is off 
to the mud flats of Carolina. 


First Published Eunoia Review January 2015

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

Under the Willow Trees

A path strewn thick with ruddy-faced leaves
led to nowhere and everywhere in fantasies, 
our near-death rescue from boredom 
        come afternoon chores and homework pages 
                                                                 wrinkled in time.

I try to recall all I tried to forget. 

Back home, under the willow trees, I weep
for childhood, friendship, 
                         for innocence surrendered,
all I thought I could keep, fuzzy lines
           between love and loss,
 practical days that come with age.
I close my eyes to see through tears -
          you,  a dance in rain showers, oval-spheres
of costume jewelry, tea parties and dragons slain 
rays of sunlight climbed, 
imagination uncaged,
             carefree hours,
                 diamonds in darkness,
restless dreams fell like leaves
                       on the wrong side of the tracks.

Two kids set free in skies shaded gray -
we said forever, a pinky swear I remember,
naïve in make-believe worlds. How many years
passed by, miles kept between you and I?
A phone call once-in-a-while reminded 
of our   bitter, listless eyes, 
        our disappointment in distant words.
I hope you always knew the truth,
                    I loved you, dear friend.
It was myself, I hated.

Time cradled our laughter,
held it on the breeze, 
                         childhood secrets
shared with ease on our path, 
thick with               summer's dead leaves.  

We, too young to notice, 
                          fell into brittle leaves 
                                          trodden bare 
before first snow.

Our laughter now echoes in dreams, 
chaffing our willow trees 
                                       still sulking low, 
moss brushes away tears in timeless beauty, 
         and waits for you to come home.



An old poem, revised 3/15/17
249 words total

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse | |

The Task

The old screen door still welcomes me
as if recalling days before...
But after this...who'll pass this way?….
Will they use the rug and wipe their feet?
Erase away the grime and sleet?
 .....Or will they even care?
I feel my pulse and lungs collide
then, take a breath...and step inside

She had lived alone, the last to go
one somber dawn, in the old brownstone
No other sign her time was near
Then silently, without fanfare....
death tiptoed in on hard wood floors
and took more than a glimpse of her

I've been asked to come, to clear the house
to organize, and set it right…
This all seems wrong…. 
to trespass on the throne of  life
that was softly lived, behind the gate
where thirsty roses bloom, and wait…

I hesitate….
to disturb the lace on drop leaf tables…
Disgrace the quiet of the gloom
open drawers, snoop and sort, ….a pruning, 
of the good, the used, from worn and torn
My hands are able, but my heart declines..
what isn’t mine, to toss, to find, to mark, and label…

Echoes of her old straw broom
still follow me through every room, 
While dust motes in the window light
are like glitter in the afternoon…

Where is the charm that used to be
where cozy logs had offered light
keeping the long nights warm?

Whirling sounds are in the air 
like whispered breaths of weaving looms
Treadled sounds from sewing hems.
are mimicked by the whistling wind
that rattle windows, shaking blooms
on this somber winter afternoon

There are questions I want to ask
tho’ I can’t recall just what they were
No matter now….with no one here
I must be focused….on my task…
I must keep sorting until I'm done…

And now, …as doors of dark close in
I see, somehow, that fate has planned….
I am glad that I, with my two hands…
have witnessed with a smile within,
this cherished life, until the end

Within four walls, I hold it all
and now I know, what mattered most
Her life is held in loving hands

I stand here in the halls of night
content, I'll leave without regret
companioned by a day well spent…

                    I've been within …her company
     


....................................................................................................................

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2011

Details | Free verse | |

The Cemetery Was

The cemetery was
Before my very eyes, stillness
Autumn leaves a blanket on the dead

The cemetery was
There, as it always was there
From childhood till now

The cemetery was
For me, my escape, comfort and refuge
Among the strangers and the dead

The cemetery was
My pathway to the heavens
The gateway to my dreams

The cemetery was
Until that one fateful day
My sanctuary

The bullet wasn’t even meant for you my love
You are dead none the less, beneath me
I, who weeps at your grave, lifeless too

Now the cemetery is my hell
Tormented by what ifs
I breathe the autumn frost only

That one day
Our daughter will become
You

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse | |

Lament of my life

Time is no longer a casual acquaintance,
death is not gracious, just an unfaithful companion.
Sorrowful, sombre soul is bound to uncharted waters,
as loyal morning birds chant mournful melodies.

Mishmash medley of images reverberate repeatedly,
regretful reminders of what has been left behind.
Bitter, remorseful realisation of words unspoken,
what could have been, should have been; but was not.

My loved ones stare upon my grave in anguish and grief,
yet I am paralysed to wipe away their tears and fears.
How I crave to have one more chance to make amends,
to express my emotions, to show greater devotion.

Precious daughters of mine, daddy is sorry he let go,
nothing is immortal, except for the love we share.
Please don't cry for me, smile that I existed,
live your life, love with all you have; you are in my heart.

A life of misunderstanding led to impassive pretending,
building walls, many failed to overcome and conquer.
Loved by many, yet only a few touched my heart,
the legacy I leave behind will only be revealed in time.

Words written were never surreptitious or controversial,
nor were they of great importance for remembrance.
They die with me;
maybe I will share them with the grim reaper.

Lament Of Your Life - Poetry Contest by Casarah Nance
16 March 2016







Copyright © Silent One | Year Posted 2016