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
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
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
urban leaves turned
Autumn, sniffing around
for a place to settle
no Farmer's Market
in San Francisco today.
Copyright © Jen Franks | Year Posted 2013
Read the Bible and the words that are said.
Times of trouble and tribulation are ahead!
All one has to do is read the book of revelation.
To read about this world and this nation!
Days of wickedness and evil that abounds..
Shall very soon. Come
“crashing to the ground!”
For our sin, there’s a price that has been paid!
Many have become sin’s servant and slave!
Many will not escape God’s judgment and wrath!
They’ve chosen the wrong direction and path!
Right now... There’s a path
and a way to “escape!”
Please do it right now! Before it’s too late!
The right path to take, is through Christ alone!
He must be the lord of your heart and home!
Jesus alone, can bring hope to your soul!
He’ll never leave you!
Is what he wants you to know!
Times of trouble and uncertainty
are well on their way!
Christ can help you to overcome!
He can do it TODAY!
By Jim Pemberton
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
Seeking accompany- Zamreen Zarook
I kick to wonder what made me to cry,
Am really writing as a fry,
Myself launch to be dry,
This ink will be a victim for my cry.
What really went wrong with me all these day,
What made e to forget my last day,
I realized I jumped out of my track yesterday,
So I regret for that, what is called as present today.
Happiness have started to wave hands for this sinner,
Sadness have started to move inner,
The faults that I considered as miner,
So far changed as a miner of a winner.
My face was a comparison to sunlight,
Where as my routine changed it to moon light,
I wish to get that twilight,
As a sinner I started to search for that enlight.
I started to enjoy what is right,
I remade my faults as a kite,
I wished it would fly apart from my sight,
My system said, you are free from your rubbish weight.
It proved that I always should depend on god,
In whatever the variation of my mood,
He is there to clear my victorious road,
So, I started to live according to His code.
Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013
My only litmus test is my brain
My heart stopped when I saw the real nature of the factoid
Can I be seeing you for the first time ?
You are the breath I take
My feeling of expression is not only my wealth but my nature
I am a robot to your love
Your kisses are what my lips crave
Please be real and not a figment of my imagination
The existence of air and water refresh my soul
I can only see your vision if you let me
Please take my hand
The car seems to be falling over the cliff
Life is so fast
This is dying
I love it
Copyright © Christopher Remele | Year Posted 2014
A full moon night
to my delight
what is so wrong
with doing what's right
nothing is right
after so long
no use in complaining
time to move on
The Dream Water one day
might take me away
farther from the comfort
I float on my back
then shut my eyes
my body now sinking
into ocean arms open wide
Now swallow your son
back to his nature
when he is no longer
needed to stay here
the next generation
are dooming themselves
they need my experience
to guide them through hell
Why should I bother
on my own, I strive through
I turn my back on the thought
of bothering to save you
alone in this world
my, is it spacious
I'm finally smiling,
never so gracious.
Copyright © Bj Fard | Year Posted 2013
The wind was blowing when she left the city...
I believe it was twenty below...
Where she was going she already knew...
But... first she had things she had to do...
Get rid of the body that was clear....
There were no options, it had to disappear....
The heater was broken and blowing cold air...
She could feel the ice, building up in her hair..
She had cleaned up the blood as best she could...
As she had hit him hard with that log of wood...
All she had asked him, was to light a fire...
To take off the chill in the house....
Do it yourself if you are cold...he snapped
And while you’re at it get me a cold beer...from the fridge..
It was early morning when she finally arrived at the bridge..
This was his favourite fishing spot...
She pushed his body off the pier...along with his ice cold beer..
And suddenly began to shiver and sneeze.....
Oh well, she said...this too shall pass..
When I get to the Florida Keys..
PS..this is the first in a series..watch for part 2.."gator bait..the dream "
Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013
The same striking man, the same lush, green land,
Cushioned and delighted her heart in sleep.
Her dream of multi-senses was most grand,
Unless the fears began their slow, dark creep.
Drowning and stabbing frights would often expand.
She would then wake and try to understand.
This consistent dream had always just been.
Each night, the familiar reel repeated
With new chapters unfolding now and then.
Six sweet, white roses, never deleted,
But, always reappeared at her dream’s end,
Posed, pure white – patient like a waiting friend.
She touched the new, glossy travel brochure,
Ran her fingers along the pictured tree,
Reminding herself that she was quite sure
It is the same tree her sleeping eyes see.
This tree of certain enchanting allure
Urged on her travel and personal tour.
The guide led her slowly to the charmed tree.
Its presence moved her in every sure way.
When her trance-like eyes finally broke free,
They took in nature’s breathtaking array,
Pausing at a recognized mound of clay
Where six, white roses lay in fresh display.
Visibly shaken, the guide sat her gently down.
Sitting, too, he began sharing an ancient tale.
“Years agone, the prince loved a poor maiden from town.
Family, foes and doctrine bid his love to fail.
They eloped, cloaked by soft darkness draped all around.
He wore armor and his beauty wore her plain gown.”
“They returned after six love-days of bliss.
Only hours back 'fore his true love vanished.
No sign, no clue, the prince sought all amiss
And threatened the guilty would be banished.
The prince, alone, found her in the sea’s mist
With stab wounds he would not ever dismiss.”
“He buried his love and a spell in this clearing.
He left no marker but a white rose for each day
He and his wife, had shared perfect, loving, pairing.
So sure his spell would see her neared, their love revered,
He vowed to watch over her grave using spell's sway
To join her within three moons after she appeared."
The guide asked, “how much longer do you plan to stay?”
She glowed, “I must linger at least three moons and days.”
... CayCay Jennings
February 13, 2016
Copyright © CayCay Jennings | Year Posted 2016
My sad, deplorable glory is a nightmare for another
This knowing is sickening to the bone
The need for anothers' pain is like a virus
Slitting the veins of truth and delirious want of false
Watching the bile flow through
I emptied a full, sorrowful glass for you
Without even a moment’s glance
Your parched lips opened to drink
But like poison the sustainable exhalation surrounded your body
I shrank at the shrieks of your disquietude
Not knowing what to do
Expression died with the loss of flow
I couldn’t flourish in the bleak winters of your loss
I couldn’t grow
All happiness in a flash of susceptibility
Turned to woe
I gave into thinking it was all an unworthy dream
But the answers, the symbolism was never clear
The loss of your very soul is what I fear
I never meant to poison you in what I take as nourishment
And here now you rot
At the expense of these sad, empty tunes
They must mean close to nothing to you
Why do I revolve around the pain?
The empty glass of your spirits remains stained
With the insides of all things true
Smothered in a ghostly, ghastly gore
I couldn’t see you could not take it
The sorrow I meant to erase to fake it
But instead make it
The reason I live is to sing for you
To disintegrate the swelling blue
But instead I crawled into your only space
Leaving only disgrace
The gore splattering in jewels across your face
I’ll tell you what
All my achievements are naught
They are only fakes
I am nothing without God’s grace
I spurt with illegitimate words and tunes
That you can never face!
As if by the heaven I inspired
I am drunken with your bile
Of pride risen above the mile
What is this sadness—
This anger, this madness?
Show me what to do
Show me what to say
I’ll dispose of all vagaries I dared to feel today
And replace it with pain
Replace it with pain
Discordance from another is my nightmare smothered
And this the majority crave
The need—the desire for acknowledgement
We will take it to the grave
I never wanted heartless fame
A poison in a cup
I never wanted anything
Only to fill you up
I poured the glass and there it came
Just sad, tired air
Nothing left to give you
Not even the sentiment of a stare
The truth is I am scared
The truth is I am scared
I guess, at times we are all. . .
Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013
>Someone I know not who walked over my grave today
It started on my local BBC Radio.
It really did you know.
A question was just asked it’s true.
What was the nicest thing ever said to you?
I did not have to think of an answer.
To this question asked on our local BBC radio.
The one that struck me off their Facebook page.
They really did, you know.
I shall not ring them up.
I will not tell them so.
As if I do, I really know.
My voice will sadly go.
I can write it down.
As none can see my tears flow.
I wish I had not heard that question.
I really do you know.
My sister Alma was dying.
She was younger than me.
She was only fifty-four.
Two years younger, you see.
When we were young times are hard.
To a children’s home was sent.
For three years, we were together.
Then to different foster homes were sent.
Of course, no one would tell me.
As separation, at the home was made.
And after a little while playing with her.
I was not allowed to play.
And that made us both afraid.
Then the seed was planted.
We had no related plaids.
It was through my sister’s insistence.
When, finally she was in a loving foster home.
She pestered her foster mother saying.
‘Who was that boy who played with me in the children’s home?’
Her persistence finally paid off.
Her foster mother did find me.
We had many happy years visiting.
At least, that’s what she said to me.
But the nicest thing she ever said.
Was, ‘Stanley, I am so pleased I found you.’
Then Cancer took Alma away you know.
Now I must stop as cannot see, as my tears oh so flow...<
Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016
I wouldn't have loved anyone more than her,
and it is no secret that flowers make any mother smile,
when she takes them from two hands that care;
I honored you, mother with my thoughtfulness and pride.
Either in early adolescence or in late childhood:
did I see a single trace of profound sadness
while you gave me all those caresses and kisses
when I was asleep in my warm and tidy bed.
Beautiful and adorable mother, I was your gorgeous boy,
and in all honesty, you must have loved me a bit more
than the four girls who were lovable and obedient as I;
and in all fairness, they equally shared that incredible love.
Only your portrait can make that memory relive in your child;
I stare at it and suddenly light comes flashing at me:
the happiest and most radiant smile God ever created so lovingly...
to make those tender eyes forever live in this smile of mine.
Sweet and gentle mother, be that comforting angel who will embrace me
when uncertainty and sorrow will make me desperately mourn;
don't dry all these tears, but take them to the merciful Lord:
as my gift of infinite gratitude and immense love that I express so deeply.
Before I brought you crimson roses, the flowers that made any mother smile
to thank you for your sacrifice and devotion: did you see your son's pride?
Today I don't bring those roses, only yellow chrysanthemums to your grave:
to embellish this unadorned tombstone on which I will pray, weep and grieve.
Copyright 2009 by Andrew Crisci
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2009
I do not know?
My best mate went to see a voodoo Dr
he wished upon a voodoo spell
i went to the cemetery to visit his grave
i was searching high and low until
i found my mates head stone
i smoked a joint and blew the frost
off a couple of cold ones.
I dug up my mates grave only to find
it was filled with filthy worms and decaying
I sat back blew a joint i heard my mate say
don't stand over my grave and weep
i am not their.
I looked up and saw my mate looking like a
zombie what a mess
i always knew he had a thing for sweet
But this was over the top my mate had no
life in his eyes i touch his skin it was ice cold.
I believe he sold his soul.
will my mate be walking the earth forever ?
like a vampire or feasting on the bones of the dead?
Beware of voodoo spells
Copyright © Bradley Cox | Year Posted 2013
You regret your foolish disclosure, as you confessed to be a cold hearted lover for she was
lost of hope n’ sacrificed herself from this crest for her love for you consumed her totally,
though her broken heart, in the care of the angels choir, now sings reforged in the fires of
You lived your life in the garments of a scar around your heart, covered in bark, thrombosed
to the love of another, it now cries in virtue n’ chastity from the sentient tree that consumed
your ashes n’ dust in the grave at the top of the crest by the sea…
I give to you Poet my blessing, so you can relinquish your guilt n’ pain of love’s abandoning
from the bed of blame you made of your grave, for your quill is at peace till your
homecoming into this world, my sweet poet come back to me…
For time was your crest from this day you have leapt, you are forgiven my love so rise, let
go your purgatory n’ perhaps one day we will meet once again as your soul escapes the
gravity of captivity, now owlish n’ wise let it fly to our destiny…
Though not a word is spoken in these moments of conjuration from a lover long gone in an
age of castles n’ quests by the sea, it stormed all night n’ I remained by your grave side till
sunrise n’ the flame in your eyes became the Immortal’s fire to reforge a tarnished heart,
for your tortured soul now understands n’ through the flames your mind will follow…
Now I see the picture you have painted in the illusion of the rainbow n’ I sense the birth of
humility n’ grace as the sun breaks through the storm clouds, for your poem of remorse
finally rests n’ you my love are reborn with angel wings to ride mother earth’s breath…
Copyright © Lilt Of Orpheus | Year Posted 2009
It’s because of Jesus, that I’m here today!
I will serve him! All of my days!
It’s because of his mercy,
and love so sweet…
That I can lay all of my worries
at his feet!
It’s because of the times
he’s helped me…
He did this, because
he loves me!
It’s because of his firm and guiding hand…
Everything I go through…
It’s because of all this and so much more…
It’s him that I praise,
worship and adore!
This same Jesus is also here to YOU!
Won’t you receive him?
What will you do?
By Jim Pemberton 07/29/13
Copyright © Jim Pemberton | Year Posted 2013
Everybody was horrified of Paul's scruffy looks
with dirt and mud smeared all over his wrinkled face,
and his long nose with dark spots on its tip;
and a grave digger matched that image,
but he was the nicest person on planet earth:
hard-working, estimable, amicable and honest.
After the day's work was done, Paul stared
at the empty lots and whispered to himself,
" Soon I'll be in one of them...I feel it coming! "
One unlucky afternoon he was standing
on the edge of a newly dug-up grave and accidently
slipped and fell into the twenty-feet excavation;
no screams for help were heard...he was dead!
That same afternoon, there was a burial
and as the corpse's coffin was lowered into the grave,
Father Michael spotted a body lying on the bottom of it,
and it resembled that of Paul....suddenly police
were notified and minutes later a fire truck arrived
to the dreary scene. Then two young firefighters
lowered themselves into the pitch-dark grave by holding
onto sturdy ropes, and without much effort,
they pulled his bruised and broken body:
he was pronounced dead at two-thirty.
Paul had a near-death experience, one of the most
incredible ones: he visited heaven, the place of bliss!
And as he climbed the gold stairway, he heard many voices
of those he knew in the previous life...they chanted glorifying God,
who was seated on an ivory throne surrounded by Archangels,
Saints and the Prophets whom he remembered from his Bible readings.
Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2010
As thoughts poured out
As her feeling came
And reminded her about
The actions that run
And cause severe chaos
As the sun peers
Through her window
As her heart washes itself
Her shadow hangs on the wall
As a towering figure
That stood tall
And drained any sympathy
Inside her pacing memories
As the scenes would fly
Pain turned into tears
With a knife aimed
At her heart with fear
Fear of losing sympathy
From the heavenly provider
Logic drowned in emotion
No comforter there
To end the commotion
And keep her soul here
But fear clogs her veins
Thinking back on yesterday
Feeling the good times
Until this knife took it all
Only seconds away from her heart
What if she dropped it?
Where would she start?
Obscurity hangs in the air
Only she cares
Her and that knife.
Copyright © Morgen Farmer | Year Posted 2014
Sincere Salute To Our Brave, Fallen Heroes
With dear heart and blood given, sometimes torn
gallant fallen heroes faithfully sworn.
From start to finish, so brave one and all
each with fealty to our nation's call
As we mourn, let us remember this way,
Heaven tis their reward on judgement day.
This day, we honor our brave fallen dead
death faced, that we may sleep safe in our beds.
Robert J. Lindley, 5-29-2017
Note-I am still quite sick but I had to write poem to honor our heroes, this morn.. Its brevity I apologize for my friends as they deserve far more words but I can only muster these few....
Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2017
SHE TREADS THE TRODDEN PATH
Laden arms with gardening tools and sweet scented flowers
She wanders into the kirkyard and treads the trodden path
Noticing the subtle differences given with the different hours
Glistening cob-webs in the early morning dew they are cast
The ground bird hunting for its so hungry meal the earth scours
Afternoon flowers sagging under the suns hot burning wrath
Only to perk up again after the so refreshing light rain showers
She Treads The Trodden Path
The tall trees over lapping seem to hold her with their embrace
To her whispering sweet nothings into her forever listening ears
It is as if in their sweeping branches her emotions they encase
Further down the trodden path she walks eyes welled with tears
Empowering her in a sense of security, humanity and with grace
Often they have watched her come to this Kirkyard over the years
To tend her loved ones grave and upon it flowers she would place
She Treads The Trodden Path
Has it not been 10 long years or more - soon to join him she is sure
This grave she has kept nurtured with all her love and all her plight
Death to her emptiness and loneliness will soon to be her only cure
Then together again they will be reunited as their "God" fulfilled right
A grave then to be attended by the children you both went on to spoor
They tread the trodden path morning, afternoon or in early dusk light
Noticing the subtle differences of this Kirkyard so beautiful and pure
She Treads The Trodden Path
Indiana Shaw . . . -_-
Copyright © Indiana Shaw | Year Posted 2017
She sat at the side of the grave. Talking away to who was there.
She got no answer but she lived her day with him.
She cried for awhile,then laugh with joy as she smiled just for a second.
Her visit was long but to her not long enough she had to visit three more graves.
Her days are spent there at the graves. For her family was lost and bring no joy.
As she walked to the other, she stopped to fix the flag on another. Gave a smile.
Then walked on.
Her visit is joy to her only with unhappiness for those she lost.
As he left she closed the gate. And now you all are safe.
Copyright © Harold Hunt sr | Year Posted 2016
I wish you could hear me
Telling you my journeys good and bad
I share them both even though you are gone
I stand here now wishing you could hear me
From the ground.
I wish you could see me holding these photos
Of the people you never got to meet
Since you were taken too soon
Now I stand here wishing you could see
From the ground.
I wish you could smell the rose I hold
The yellow one that still just can’t match your smile
Or the light you brought into the world
I wish you could smell the rose with me
From the ground.
I wish you could taste my tears
That I still cry for you because you are gone
Then I would know you remember that I love you forever
But I know you no longer have pain
From the ground.
Copyright © Jennifer Morgan | Year Posted 2016
Now let the devious Pheme cast her spell,
And let the gods of gossip have their way,
Their judgments realign at break of day,
At such time you and I emerge from hell.
And underworlds will surely do us well,
For there lies some truth in what masses say
When time has passed and in our rest we lay,
Down goes the height of grace from which we fell.
And let us lie in graves without a name,
For what can capture lovely piles of dirt,
And to what god do we owe worldly fame,
Perhaps to one we innocently hurt?
In any case, I’ll gladly take your blame,
And on your silent tomb my name insert.
Copyright © Maddie Squires | Year Posted 2018