Grave Birthday Poems

These Grave Birthday poems are examples of Grave poems about Birthday. These are the best examples of Grave Birthday poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Narrative |
 *Note:  A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three 
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday 
ended in January 2010.  Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to 
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped.  On many occasions people kept 
vigils  near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw 
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his 
grave.  Poe is considered the father of the American short story and 
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.

Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
     While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
     Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door

Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
     At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
     He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”

Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
     A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
     Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator

Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
     Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
     In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor

And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
     A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave       \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before                         \/ \/ \/
     Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave                     \/ \/ \/ \/

For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word

By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling 
Poet ~

Copyright © Carolyn Devonshire | Year Posted 2011

Details | Rhyme |
Dear brother you were only 22
when the good Lord came calling for you

Water had consumed your last breath
Coroners said was a flashback from heroin and meth

I had always looked up to you
but your verbal abuse made me and the others feel blue

black hair  hazel eyes man you look so like Elvis 
imitating shaking your hips and pelvis

blisters and sores on  your young pale face
oh boy how you had fallen from Gods grace

you had a little girl right after you died
Mom always stood by her and your girlfriend's side

first Grandpa then you Dad  Mom and brother Bob
for my life now feels like I've been robbed

missed over 30 yrs of wishing you  birthday greetings
now at the dinner table there is limited seating

but every year when your birthday comes and passes
I will be there to pick your grave site overgrown grasses

I wonder what you would look like today
or even if your hair would be full of grey

I have forgiven for all you had done to me
for I hold no regrets so your soul can be free

heres wishing you another birthday greeting
as I lay this card and rose at your grave site's seating

Please give Grandpa Dad Mom and brother Bob my love
for someday I will reunited with all of you above

For now I have my own little girl
for she is my own everyday  world

I promise to tell her all about you
and how God will turn you into someone pure and new

Rest in peace my loving dear brother
heres another birthday wish I send in passion smothers 

In Loving Memory Of
My Brother Gary

10/ 18/ 48
 6 / 5 / 71

Copyright © Katherine Stella | Year Posted 2007

Details | Light Poetry |
your up high
in the sky
the clouds above
you are love
for you rose dust
you are one to trust
for you do we all
love you too

Copyright © kurtis scott aka curtis futch jr | Year Posted 2014

Details | Sonnet |

A kindled fire raged mad life inferno,
there's nowhere left to run, hide, or go.

no sleep for weeks jaundiced eyes yellow,
laying in hot sweaty sheets on a Devil's pillow.

Jump in feet first, Hey there look out down below,
funny how your greeting starts with hell...o?

Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do,
no need to understand when you already know.

Copyright © Brian Davey | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
There the young lady had stood looking from across the street
Being from the neighborhood she looked down upon in deceit 
As each she walked by it began to affect her more and more 
She knew it was all just a lie as yet another opens that door

As the light turned green she stood there staring at that place
Quiet the odd scene but this lady she had this certain grace
Instead of going straight she suddenly in turn made a right
Even changing just one fate that would shine one more light

Now standing just outside she felt butterflies in her stomach
This she couldn't hide the unnerving true feelings can inflict
But she didn't just leave but instead staying about an hour
When it decides to grieve the soul can carry so much power

She didn't talk to anyone but she didn't judge them either
Content in what she had done she just needed a breather
Tomorrow was another day doing what she was able to do
That night she began to pray, tomorrow maybe she'd see you

Copyright © Vincent Flannery | Year Posted 2016

Details | Ballad |
November 13th 2017 
Happy 83rd birthday to thy cremated mom

Harriet Harris fought tooth and nail
Mother succumbed 
to terminal illness without fail 
Ovarian/ Uterine Cancer to no avail
hosted by death feasted fancy 
at Oyster Bay metastasized inducing this male
the sol son to grapple as psyche didst ail.
Major organs compromized grim reaper and
carried corpse into dead zone as a keeper brand
donned as one Canarsie flashy dame grand
ball room dancer didst skittered in right hand
side o' me noggin, the idea flit ta left land
of gray matter thru me mined task didst ex panned
foregoing bidding on e-bay, ruminate how trite
online shenanagins, never asking nor knowing spite 
most likely raged within yar being, 
which lack of filial duty haint right 
to be near where psyche flails quite
understandably, but no matter matthew scott

never did ask, how emotions most clear aflame
with anger writhing asper your terminal plight
vis a vis injustice to snatch desire with shroud of night
arising each morning to brilliant light

ye, thy lover of life becoming ashen gray 
with recurring incomplete bucket list that may
already, a dozen plus years ago - neigh
aye methinks, so much deprived of grandchildren ply
their oars thru the time stream, how whiz sigh
to partake whence thee drew final breath thy
avoid seeing thee stiffen with rigor mortis, why...

did unlucky dice throw of fate
rob and steal unattained goals ye strove with grate
fully before out bidden by dead souls, who hate
mortals to complete, thus truncate a lifelong mate
to papa, whom recouped severe loss, though his pate
undoubtedly flits with remembrance 
of thee one he did highly rate
despite occasions, where spats hood did vitiate

this son feels he did not booster morale at all

Copyright © MATTHEW harris | Year Posted 2017