Grave Death Poems

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

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Details | Rhyme |
I think about you, every single day,
Since from me, you were taken away,
Your absence has left my world cold,
Now I am alone, with no hand to hold.

I wish that I could bring you home,
So that your soul, shall need not roam,
I hope that you were given white wings,
To fly amongst, where the angel sings.

Within my heart, your eternal breath,
Shall now linger on, even after death,
My love for you shall never cease,
So, may you always rest in peace.







Written by: Kelly Deschler  

Gautami Phookan's contest - The Poet III

_______________________________________
For Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Eternal Breath"

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013




Details | Elegy |

I came across an old cemetery today while exploring,
     Full of broken, toppled headstones and tangled weeds;
There was a deep hush, a whisper and a sigh, I felt tears,
          My tears were falling for long dead souls forgotten.

A tree's roots are entwined around an old, tilted stone,
     In loving memory of my husband George, born Feb, 1882;
Oh, George you were loved very much once upon a time,
           God took him, but he will not be forgotten, engraved.

And I am of the age of Aquarius too, just like you,
    I love violets and everything purple, and I am so mellow;
Oh, George were you a deep thinker, sensitive, creative,
           I get hurt easily and I always want to help people.
            
Be at peace George in your decay and ravaged grave,
     Listen to the twittering of birds this bright sunny day;
Promise, promise, I will be back to lay some purple violets,
          Forever now, dear soul, you will dwell in my heart.

Now, be still George, I heard your whisper  . . . 

____________________________
April 28, 2016

Elegy

Submitted to the contest, Any Poem Written in April 2016
sponsor, Laura Loo

First Place
_____________________________________________

Written for the contest,  Universal Acrostic Collaboration
sponsor, Steven Henderson 


First Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haibun |
FICTIONAL EMOTIVE WRITE
Since I was a tiny baby I was brought up by my grandparents and had a very happy childhood. I knew that they were not my real parents but they gave me such love that I didn’t ask any questions for fear of upsetting them. Grandma’s eyes would mist over any time anyone mentioned my parents so I knew something bad had happened to them Whispers in the hall The child is too young to know They passed so quickly I left home at 20, married and moved to a small town about 50 miles from where I grew up. I was always in touch with my grandparents, but over time old age crept upon them and I recently cleared the family home when grandma passed away. I discovered yellowing newspaper cuttings, which told of how my parents had been killed in a horrific car crash, it also detailed their final resting place in the local cemetery. Family secrets Scrapbook of old photographs My parents smiling Dawn is breaking and dappled sunlight streams through the trees. A veil of grey swirling mist shrouds the cemetery. I pull my shawl closely around my shoulders and begin my search. Strands of ivy hang down from the towering yew trees, its dark green tendrils wrapped around the grey granite graves clinging so tightly as if it was trying to hold up the graves like a puppet on a string. The fallen gravestones remind me of decaying teeth with many gaps where stones had crumbled with age and neglect. I walk slowly, reading the names of those who now had eternal rest. Eventually I found their grave at plot 142, where a marble angel watches over them sleeping. I scrape off the thick lichen, which obscures their names. Tears fall and I hug the gravestone wishing I could embrace my parents for real. I greet my parents Stone cold grave gives me closure Heartbroken child cries 09~26~16 Contest Overgrown With Vines Sponsored by Broken Wings

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016




Details | Free verse |
Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone This was the first time I’d laid eyes on your final resting place In front of me stood a grey granite slab covered in emerald moss Green ivy clung to the stone and snaked round the nearby yew tree It was evident your grave had not been visited for many many years In fact, until ten days ago I didn’t know you existed … A family secret kept hidden from me by my elderly ‘mother’ It wasn’t until her recent death I discovered the real truth At the will reading the lawyer presented me with an envelope Spidery handwriting revealed that my real mother died in childbirth I discovered that I’d been adopted; my real name was Sara James Seeing my original birth certificate for the first time was a huge shock Now I know the reason I felt that I never belonged With my raven hair and pale skin I looked very different from my sister Beth I’d been told I looked like my great aunt and I’d never queried this Now I stand in front of the plot where my real mother is buried I spend an hour weeding, tidying and cleaning the gravestone Rivers of tears run down my face when I finally reveal the inscription Carved in the decaying stone I read Ellen James - died 17th April 1953 aged 33 Fell asleep with her tiny angel Susan James - died 17th April 1953 born sleeping Family secrets kept hidden in the graveyard Sobbing bitter tears I kneel down and leave a red rose For my mother and my twin sister that until today I never knew existed Fictional write for Camouflage me a Poem Contest Sponsored by Broken Wings Theme 1 chosen - Mossy vines served as camouflage for a decaying headstone 08~04~16

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Alone,
slicked with sweat,
and hearing the locusts’ cries deep in my neck,
I stood over the remains of Sal Paradise.
 
The spotty grass around the tombstone
was browned and littered
with trodden Camel filters
and corroded bottle caps.
 
I reached into my inspired rucksack
and discovered a Deutchmark,
forgotten like a sleepy drunk at a tavern.
I ceremonially placed it on the granite-
amid the years
and a crusty half-empty whiskey bottle
a different friend had left.
 
I hunched over the grave,
my head bowed,
but not really praying or thinking
about him.
 
And now I sit across the street,
seated by the window
in a little Italian restaurant.
I am the lone customer,
ensconced by piped-in light FM muzak.

Copyright © Matt Kindelmann | Year Posted 2006

Details | Epitaph |
No Loitering, Skating, Skateboarding or Cycling.

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2012

Details | ABC |
We were both so young full of spirit and fun
She's the Indian I'm the Cowgirl as we move along the ground just fooling around
Running through the house attacking each other with laughter and joy trying to be coy

We see the rifle with no knowledge of great threat
Just giving us a peak with nothing to regret
My sister grabs it first and play shoots me but I'm quick and hold a might sway
I'm a strong cowgirl aiming to attack
I snatch the rifle from the Indian as she starts to retract
                  I AIM-- I SHOOT--
                        BANG!

My breathing has stopped but I'm not aware
My ears are ringing 
Do I run and hide do I start screaming?
For death I do not know and everything is now so slow
Is she just sleeping or can I hear her weeping?

Mama where are you? You were just ten steps below but you do not show

My sister must be sleeping a blanket will help her weeping
Gently I cover her but she doesn't seem to know
Her long brown hair now has an odd red glow

I'm only a child but my mind is going wild
My tears of fear blind me as I fall to the ground

Many days have passed me as I have grow old
but I can still remember her grave with the Angel stone.

T Reams             10th Place     for my Sister Amber I Miss You

Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
A hole in the head shooting pain trembles
nightshades coldly down the spine
a soul lost in the land of the living
carried away in darkness
flying inside dark clouds holding just a dream

Distant thunder roars lightening splitting cracks
sure as the crow flies crawling opens hells gates
dark jewels of the night
charred remains churning in a cauldron
boiling goodness tears of thoughts

Piercing screams spawning nightmares
holding a promise once made
walking in a valley amongst the dead
shadows now smile hearing animals scream
as the moon plays silver dancing light

Dreams snatched away from reality
the crow calls echoes in silence
victims of this world howling over and back
tragedy cries in their pain and suffering
eyes seeking light
whispers through the branches
a heather bleat creature of the night calls

Haunted by humans chained to the earth
awaiting shadows and sunsets 
a cursed banshee wails supernatural screams 
from everywhere and nowhere

Mind numbing winds passing through
a white silhouette shredded shroud
around a heart entombed
in agonies' twilight shades clouds darken
storms brewed stirring specters chase the wind

Cold rains become lost tears
the willow weeps in eternal sorrows
a lament for the dead
as the silver crescent moon smiles goodbye

Blends in clear as day after sunrise
forgotten in a valley of unrest
death bell's toll out from the past
onyx feathered crows call painful cries

Forever seeking heaven's gate now sealed
that promised choice was lost ages ago
only burning hellfires
or cold earthworms await




Written by: Liam McDaid & Kelly Deschler



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Pal
Bob had been a lonely man ever since
His wife of fifty years had passed.
“Lord, let me join her.” he would pray.
“Let this day be my last.”

Each day, he went to the cemetery,
Just a short walk down the street.
After their talk, he would water her flowers
And hear passers-by whisper, “How sweet.”

One gray and misty morning,
He had hoped for sunnier skies
To plant fall bloomers at her graveside;
But there, to his surprise…

Stood an old dog beside her stone;
Thin and dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as Bob approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as Bob planted flowers,
Carefully sniffing each one Bob put in place.
After the last one was planted, he sniffed it;
Then turned and licked Bob’s face.

Bob smiled. “I had a dog when I was young…
Pal…he was a mighty good one too.
So, if you don’t mind old fella,
That’s what I’ll call you.”

Pal may have been an old dog,
But he was smart and handsome in his way;
So they made a deal, Bob would give him a meal
And a bath, if he decided to stay.

Pal loved his bath, then rolled in the grass.
He slept on a blanket in the den.
In the night, he dragged it next to Bob’s bed. 
He intended to be Bob’s best friend.

Pal was such a good dog, housebroken too;
Never made a mess or got in trouble.
He knew about newspapers, slippers and Frisbees;
And when Bob called, he‘d come on the double.

Yes, Pal gave Bob’s life new purpose.
A special bond of friendship was cast.
And never again did Bob pray, 
“Lord, let this day be my last.”

For twelve years, the very best of friends,
Together night and day;
And so it was, until one evening,
Pal quietly passed away.

Bob held Pal in his arms and wept.
“Oh, Pal…my best friend…you saved my life.” 
He caressed Pal as he reminisced;
Then, sometime in the night, Bob joined his wife.

The next morning, an old woman,
Tears welling in her sad and lonely eyes,
Brought fresh flowers to her husband’s grave;
But there, to her surprise….

Stood an old dog beside the stone, 
Thin an dirty, but he struck a handsome pose.
He whined as she approached, as if to say,
“I could use a friend, you know.”

He sat calmly as she took old flowers
And put fresh ones in their place. 
He carefully sniffed the fresh ones,
Then, turned and licked her face.

She smiled through her tears.  
“I had a dog when I was young...
A good one too.  His name was Pal.”

Copyright © Robert Candler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
Scatter my ashes at Pemaquid Point,
Let the wind sail them home to the sea.
Cradle of life, be my cradle in death,
And set my spirit free.

Sun will warm the daylight hours;
The lighthouse illume the night;
Waves provide rhythm and gulls give voice---
Music to ease my flight.

Eternal rocks will form my tomb,
Sand my quilt shall be,
Protecting from shipwreck and raging storms,
And I’ll become one with the sea.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Passage to Beyond

Our loved ones leave this world
 softly fading
 a secret smile playing 
upon their lips
What do they see beyond the mist?
Is someone there? Waiting?

Others volunteer to disappear from this place
thinking it is the only solution 
to their heart shattering
from events old and new
Seeking relief at any cost
no thought beyond this selfish act.

Others, beloved forever,
leave this plane in a rush of fire,
fear, fury and bravado
so careless of the ones left behind
to mourn, to miss, to try to 
fit the pieces together again.

…..and if we watch...listen...very carefully
we will see....hear...our dead creeping back
to collect their footsteps.

Trisha Sugarek
Moths and Machettes

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014

Details | Dramatic Verse |
My France, My France
How I weep for you
these tears are not of joy,
for you have let the enemy in,
they brought disaster to your shores.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
The pain you must endure.
For all those dead have,
come to you under burdening
skies.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
Who has put you through this Hell?
It has no face,
I cannot tell,
It's here in space,
the Dawning was its place.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
Your skies have turn to Black
The Peace and Security you seek,
has now suddenly turned its back.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
My tears are not of joy
I pray for you,
my heart opens too.
You may find Peace within.
When your dead are buried and
your revenge has its reward
Come together
Powers of Faith
Come together
Almighty hand and rest upon us
from this mighty land.

Give us your Peace.
We ask thee now
Give us your Peace
We ask how?

My France, My France
How I weep for you
In time of trouble,
what is it can you do?
Your borders closed
turmoil enclosed
The sadness fills the air.

For Peace is fleeting,
The enemy has come there.
Your golden arch is dim.
Your Eiffel black with sin
The City of  Lights 
are in the shadows for his mighty 
hand has struck.

Peace you may ask,
Revenge your reward.

My France, My France
How I weep for you
For can we say, no more, no more.

Copyright © Marilyn Williams | Year Posted 2015

Details | Sonnet |
Down on row and pit and mortal flower
  the undertaker's men stood grave and bier,
and brave stoic death fills the living hour
  for ever more a day, a week, a year...
where bathed in shafts of exalted light toll
  the bells of Mass and vigil in Greenhithe,
when in bound clay an immovable dole
  grimly hung the shadows in hood and scythe.
Yet I upon this ploughed earth sullen gaze
  and hearken in the blooms the winds of death!
What sting its pierce to a full end of days
  that dares to breathe on me its cankered breath.
Withered is the bud and brief flower shed,
yet for a time its beauty shone outspread.

                   

                     July 1995

Copyright © Keith Trestrail | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Angel of Death,
Cloaked in black.
With black scaled wings,
Upon her back.
Angel of Death,
Coming for me.
As soon as I sleep
Then dead I will be.
Taken by the night
It swallows and consumes me.
Now I am the angel
And death becomes me.

2003-2004
7th Grade

Copyright © Andrea Rose | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
Moon Walk on Your Grave

A life begun in stardom,
now, ending up in shame.
Relentless media, cruel world,
who then is there to blame.

A sadness inside,
no tears on your face.
The pain all but over,
mass confusion erase.

In wonder we watch,
can a life be explained?
Can't surface your agony,
under facade you remained.

Let's focus on the talent,
musical joy that you gave.
In peace now I pray,
moon walk on your grave.

© Rene' Brady 2009

Copyright © Rene' Brady | Year Posted 2009

Details | Pantoum |

Shades of Gray Grief Man of melancholy memories, ashen and shadow gray, heart harrowed, solicits solace from her psychic energy. An offering, his woebegone weeping wildflower bouquet, teardrops titian, sorrow scintillant, reflects rueful reverie. Heart harrowed solicits solace from her psychic energy, free falling through forlorn filigree, he mourns at her gravestone. Teardrops, titian sorrow scintillant reflects rueful reverie of his Earth angel, soul-lifted too soon, spiritually sown. Free falling through forlorn filigree he mourns, at her gravestone fragrance haunting, flowers flaring heartsick hallucinations of his Earth angel soul lifted too soon, spiritually sown blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations! Fragrance haunting flowers flaring, heartsick hallucinations of inamorata, flame extinguished expectant with their child. Blue scented efflorescence of suffering lamentations bedevil his mind.., happiness-hope exiled, ego beguiled. Of inamorata flame extinguished expectant with their child, an offering; his woebegone weeping. Wildflower bouquet bedevils his mind, happiness, hope. Exiled ego beguiled, man of melancholy memories ashen and shadow gray. Susan Ashley September 16, 2017 ------------------------------ ~ First Place ~ Poems That Paint a Picture 2 Sponsor: Silent One *Based on pencil portrait by Mike Theuer provided by Silent One on contest page*

Copyright © Susan Ashley | Year Posted 2017

Details | Prose Poetry |
(In a churchyard in Northern Ireland)


Through the broken and barren trees
Winter exhales its coldest breeze
From the wintry breath of northern seas
That can chill the warmest soul.

Thus in the churchyard by the sea
Nigh one broken and barren tree
Lies cold a soul once warm to me
Beneath the winter’s rime.

As the heart of winter doth unfold
I feel its touch, so dark and cold,
For I yearn at night to yet behold
That soul once warm to me.

But in earthen depths doth she lie
E’er below the moon and starlit sky
As yet unto her grave I wander by
And despair the winter’s rime.

O’ the winter wails upon the still
With its bleak and bitter chill
That conjures from the nightly nil
A soul once warm to me!

Copyright © Robert Liam McCallum | Year Posted 2015

Details | Quintain (English) |
Just as Jesus watches over you from Heaven, we will watch from here.
You kept us safe and gave your life, a debt we cannot repay.
Go bravely into the afterlife, this you need not fear.
Know that we are so proud of you and for your soul we pray.
God has placed a sentry at your grave, his flight will show the way.




for Carolyn's  "Bald Eagle in the Cemetary" contest
Francine Roberts 08/08/2011

Copyright © Francine Roberts | Year Posted 2011

Details | Verse |
Clear blue sky came to witness my funeral , decided to not throw any tears or any stones
Came to say goodbye to me before earth analyze my bones
Down in the river they are drowning my sins , my demons , my guilts

 Sea shattered down his waves , asking them to give me some peace
Asking angels not to trap my soul , no ...but to get it release
In the God heavens I'll regrow my soul

I'm not dieing nor alive
And no killing disease to fight so I can survive
Just killing thoughts which is controlling my fate and my path

Copyright © Dalia Shahein | Year Posted 2016

Details | Dramatic monologue |
Chalk is the magic of blackboards, sports fields and
little girl's sidewalk games of Hop-Scotch.
How many equations and statements, measured lines, and boxes
do you imagine have been drawn upon those waiting surfaces?
Dare one imagine -into infinity?

On this day, however, looking down at this particular sidewalk,
one is immediately taken aback by the sarcasm of adaptation.
There, in heavy-caked blueish and ominously thick chalk, a line
is drawn in the shape of what looks like a curled up fetus; only larger.
It is expanded voluminously to accommodate the size of an adult -
a dead adult.
There is no magic to the outskirt of this irregular curvature, 
only an unambiguous stakrness.

Moments ago the now empty space within the blue outlined
enclosed a living person.
That occupant is quickly designated as "the body," "the cadaver," or
"the deceased," and so, is hastily carted off to a morgue.
One instant this was someone- alive and breathing- and the next,-
a stone-cold corpse who no longer owns their humanity.

Having lost their life at the hands of another, this nameless person
is identified forever after simply as, "the victim." And while the
perpetrator shouts and demands their rights, the only thing left for
the victim is the silence of lost life sanctified in the ritual of "last rites."

No ACLU representative would or could advocate for the victim. This
casualty would not have the life a perpetrator does to secure a lawyer.
Instead, the State will represent the fallen "in perpetuity." There 
would be no plea bargain, no court date would be assigned, and 
no judge or jury selected, no Court of Appeals. 
There are no years; not one, not twelve, not twenty, not even
a second to fight for the right not to be a victim.
There might be stays of execution for the killer, while there are
no stays before the victim's execution. Certainly, there was no
clemancy.

The dead will file no frivolous jailhouse law suits costing the tax
payer's untold dollars' worth of nonsense. They will make no
silly demands that jelly accompany their jailhouse peanut-butter
sandwiches. 
The dead make no demands for there is no one to protest.
The dead's jail is forever the grave.

Oh yes, there will always be a mass of 'do-gooders' lining up to
grumble about the state's taking of a life. Indeed! There will
be more people protesting the death of the murderer on the
night of execution than showed up at the victim's funeral.
The victim didn't want a funeral, much less last rites, but got them.
The only thing the victim really ever wanted was the right not to 
die, not then; not the way they died.

And -already, that chalk line, once so pronouned and repugnant,
has been worn away by passing footsteps and time.

There is sadness, both to the senseless loss of lives and the
indignity of task that chalk too often is required to perform.

For chalk and the marks it makes, after all; were intended for
the magic of black boards, sports fields, and little girls sidwalk 
games of hop-scotch.

Copyright © Margaret Wade | Year Posted 2017

Details | Haiku |
Society's dead
Digression came with costs
We are digging graves

M. Lyn Church 
August 2, 2013

Copyright © Lyn Church | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
I can't forget my beloved one
Whose fate now lies in a grave,
I remember him at every moment
Of his company I crave;
But the grave says nothing.

Day after day I stare -
At the grave with wistful eyes,
Hoping that Lord would answer my pleas
And my beloved would rise;
But the grave says nothing.

Many tears I shed
That fall on my feet,
Each day I come to my beloved
To plead;
But the grave says nothing.

I wish from my heart
That he would rise,
And I fix on the grave
My patient, eager eyes;
But the grave says nothing.

Finally, I forget him
I go on my way -
But, ever silent, my beloved
And the grave lay;
The grave ... says nothing.

Copyright © SOHOM GUPTA | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Silence: All I hear when I call out your name. Snow envelops me and snuffs out my flame. Gone is the light with which your name can be read, I think I hear you, but it's all in my head. I'm deep in the woods where no songs can be heard. I am the only one here, and I speak but four words.

Copyright © Danny Stinson | Year Posted 2011

Details | Quatrain |
The Celtics called it "Samhain",
The day the Dead are seen.
The phases change their faces,
Like the moon on Halloween.

10/9/15

Copyright © Jessica Highstreet | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
The name no longer legible,
Eroded, lichen covered slate,
Dead flowers in a broken pot:
Who rests in this neglected state?

For Susan’s Forgotten contest

Copyright © jack horne | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
1

I stood by your graveside this cold winters day.

A heart broken with sorrow that won’t go away.

I called out your name and shed many a tear.

And hoped in my heart that you would appear.

2

God took you from us that fine sunny morning.

Our lives now shattered without any warning.

Your work here on earth has finished this year.

Your books and teachings you spread  far and near.

3

It was a pleasure to know you for sixty odd years.

And when my time comes I will have no fears.

You will be waiting to greet me as oft times before.

When I call to your house and knock on the door.

4

Each night when I lay my head down to sleep.

I will ask the lord your soul to keep.

And if you find any time away from your books.

Look kindly on me as I walk in those woods.

Copyright © Patrick Ronan | Year Posted 2007

Details | Elegy |

Lavish me not with any parting gifts
when I die
Give me no long goodbye speeches
with flowery words
I demand an eulogy of silence
Extol not my memory,
for I am just a mere mortal with feet of clay
now turning to dust
Bury me with no honors,
raise not the banner of celebration
To joyously lift up my life
on the day I'm to be lowered into the ground
is such cruel irony
Laugh and give gleeful shouts if you must,
if this brings comfort to your soul
Easing your fears,
as the procession of my casket marches
to the hymnal of the worms
Death is the last reproach,
the breath of life stamped out
Sin in the end wins ...
of this, there can be no doubt
Look away from the mourning tears and baleful cries,
and mark the final abdication of life
with the covering of the eyes

Copyright © Freddie Robinson Jr. | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
As the tears fall down from my face,
I think about that magical place.
You took me there when I was young,
but that was before the pain begun.
You walked me down the road of life,
preparing me to be a mother and a wife.
You would hold my hand and say have no fear,
mommy's not going anywhere, I'll always be here.
But that was wrong and so were you,
you left me mom, what am I to do?
I've been told life goes on,
but it can't be, because you're still gone.
I pray at night to see you in my dreams,
but you're never there, just terror and screams.
How could this happen, how could this be?
The woman I love so dearly up and left me.
I go to the grave every afternoon,
I sang our favorite song, it was a nice little tune.
But since your gone I've changed some things,
about marriage and babies and diamond rings.
Those things are not important to me now,
I ask myself, how did this happen, when and how?
You let yourself go to that place in the sky,
but it happened so sudden mom, please tell me why?
You left me a note by your bed,
you wrote moments before you ended up dead.
Please tell me why you took your own life,
you were a such loving mother and a dear wife.
You didn't write much, just a few lines,
to tell me you love me, and it would be better in time.
But now that your gone, it's not better at all,
I just lay in my bed, I scream and I bawl.
To know what you done, it's too hard to bare,
I stand at your grave with a cold desperate stare.
You were a daughter, a loving mother, and a dear wife,
Why did you do it mom, why did you use that knife?
I wonder everyday, it's all I think about,
There's only one thing it could be, without a doubt.
You went to a dark place, filled with murder and thugs,
I know why I lost you mom, you could no longer fight the drugs.
You could have reached out and told someone before,
now it's too late, death has already knocked and opened your door. 
I'm sorry, so sorry, I could not see,
the reason you are dead is because of me.
I wasn't there to help when you needed me most,
Now I can't see you, not an image or a ghost.
I've answered my question, I just waited too long,
I know my mistake now, but it's too late, your gone.

Copyright © Loretta Adams | Year Posted 2005

Details | Free verse |
Just see
How fearlessly
Sunshine is seated
On the  gravestone

And the caring breeze
Whispering to the loneliness
So absolute
Beneath the tombstone

A paleolithic stone
A meaningless silence
Guarding utterly alone
The desiccating non-existence

Here lies she
Neither sad nor happy
Decaying gingerly
Enriching the earth

Are all doors locked
The moment we breathe our last
Then why the philosophers and scientists say
Energy is neither created nor destroyed

Happy earth
Taking her in with mirth
Smilingly giving birth to
Green pink and yellow

Coz her  face chiselled
Poetry in her dimples
Aggression in her pimples
She made the flowers bloom

Where there was just thorn
Dried hay on broken bricks
Rude words from unwashed mouth
All stared with amazement

Yes when she had her words and breath
Flow of life like a brook
Never dreamt of lying buried
Knew her life in wavelets only

In her looks
A cup of morning tea
A mug of evening coffee
Fountain pen and notebook

One who gave so much
To life and society
Will stop stay put and still
Useless skeletons?

In death too
To herself she is true
Providing nourishment to soil
Making room for red and violets

I look in wonder
You are still writing poetry
In these flowers of skeletons
Colours of desiccation

I am sure next spring
Here in this green cover
A Cypress will grow and spread
A recognition of yours rieker deeds 

Now the afternoon is still here
Moments are tender and pale
Shadows are coming and going
Stillness of accumulated past

Intense is darkness
Beyond death of life
Like when a love
Suddenly ceased to exist

As I remember your face
I earn freedom from this cold ice
Your warm cheek and palm
Are still a vibrant support

In death you lie down here
Stay reassured
In life you are in our thoughts
Whenever a candle goes out

Whenever we run out of candles
We look for you at our centre
You never disappoint us
Ever lighting us a candle

This way death awakes in life
Cypress grows on lonely graveyard
This way shadows of deer and cheetahs
Rise in life to engage our eyes

_____________________________________
September 15 , 2017

Poems that paint a picture 2 Contest
Sponsored by: Silent One












Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |
At peace, of life bereft
in the last grave on the left
where wilting weed and musty bloom
cloud the legend on the tomb.
Words in chiselled grey
bear false witness every day;
acid rain a solemn screen
when every night was Halloween.
Thunderous drums roll near,
lightning jagged, forked and clear;
marching men and daily bread
echo sacrosanct and dead.
In plywood boxes my friends sleep
out of mind and buried deep;
pray for me throughout the fall,
the one who never sleeps at all…

Copyright © Tony Bush | Year Posted 2005