Grave Funeral Poems

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

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Details | Tanka |
weather-beaten sign
driven down in dying weeds
forsaken headstone
oh nameless, forgotten soul
the Savior knows who you are

Copyright © Tim Ryerson | Year Posted 2015




Details | Free verse |
My father’s funeral, a sad occasion but his cruel actions go beyond the grave My sister had organised a display A silver frame contained a picture of his smiling face Many other smaller photographs were scattered on the table One picture in particular caught my eye I’d never seen this photograph before … One stone of cold chiselled grey granite Three generations of names embellished with gold letters a permanent family memorial… But MY name was missing One of the mourners asked me why my name wasn’t there It is a question I still don’t have an answer for Two years have passed since he died … I am still yet to grieve (This has been a very cathartic poem to write. I have since discovered that in 2007 my father organised for his name, my mother’s name and my sister’s name to be added to the family grave in Lithuania. Just the dates of death are missing… along with my name) Two word challenge contest Sponsored by John Lawless 11-05-17

Copyright © JAN ALLISON | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Dance
Between the granite stones
Of the dead
Long ago last breaths do part
Memories seeping in dirt
Black birds and magpies
Lace and knots
Lingering thoughts
Swaying too and fro
Insane

Dancing 
On top of the dead
Lover is all but gone
Butterflies shown
That life flies on
As shadows rest
Upon ones breast

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016




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 |
I flew alone in the white winter night
Cold winds and ice deep within my weary fright
In the night my mind in the darkest of dark
Death was close, close to my lonely heart
The tomb at the ready
Even falling apart
Some would say this is fine art
Or better yet Art at his finest…

Wrapped in winters black roped plaque
All I wanted was to lie down and rest
In peace and upon a widows breast
For then we could know each other
Pains shared, blood expressed
Oh Cassandra 
You are an angel divine
Winters mist and love sublime

Umbrellas to shield us from our earthly fears
Of natures whims and weather so ghastly grim
I turn my head, staring into the past
Your breasts of life make me gaze on back
When I was the raven
Flying noble and high

Now all I see are empty dark skies

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

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 Verse |
Do not stand on my grave and weep 
My adult children: you see 
I was alive for 92 years, 
You never came to visit or act like you care 
I was there, I never move away 
I was the one who put food on the table 
Cloth you, during the rough days 

I shield you from the harsh reality in this world 
The world in which I must now leave 

Loneliness, heartbreak and man-made diseases 
While the wet snow creep in my old brown boot 
I count all seven of you. 
As you sip your bowls of soups 
I was there, I never made a move. 
Do not stand at my grave and weep 

For thirty years my offspring avoid me 
An evening of Psalm and Hymns 
Would never make amends; 
it’s thee end of my journey 

Do not stand at my grave and cry. 
Go shelter from the rain. 
let the cloud weep for me 
while the rivers and ravens shown solidarity. 
Do horses mind the rain/storms? 

Do not stand at my grave and weep 
The fog surround my grave like a white woven drape 
No more prays, no more tears. 



Copyright © Annie Lander | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
Beloved, lovely roses: gift of God and lover’s flower,
Spread your colored petals and cradle tender showers.
While admiring the blossoms with their beauty to behold,
Ought we not to know the Tender of such lovely garden groves?

For He lovingly and thoughtfully wields His pruning shears
To cut away the stems of old for fuller future years.
He cultivates and feeds them. He attends them as a Father
Looking daily to their needs; so faithfully He waters.

From the dawn of morning dew until the setting sun arrays
Caring always for His own until that great appointed day…
When the Gardener comes to claim each one the earth held as its own.
He gently picks it at its peak and for His pleasure takes it home.

As God did one glorious morning, when the Perfect Rose had bloomed.
He rolled away the stone and met with Mary at the tomb.
There the sweetest Rose of Sharon rose that we die not alone.
But be gathered for a garden grove, surrounding heavens throne.

Copyright © Tom Valles | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Gazing out upon dusky barren moor,
Where gray grass grasps the air
Finding no purchase but sad allure
Straight stalks elapse their endless despair.

Teased by tales of golden reach
Tricked by gales, whose song they preach.

Redtail’s velvet wings breach the sky,
Maroon lips who kiss the grass
Stirring the song, its desperate sigh
Catching the words, her beak of crystal glass

Behind her, midnight shadow draws
Fells her beauty with unseen charcoal paws

Scarlet tears dampen the earth below
Nurture the roots held by dusty truth
Finally, the wind, gray grass’ will bestow
The hawk once, now the fountain of youth.

Litany of silence reigns in dusky glare,
Each blade bowed in mournful prayer.

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |
IMPRINTS
(Part 1 of Trilogy for My Father)

His shoes by the front door make me cry,
like his glasses resting atop an
unfinished crossword
and his toothbrush in its holder
the bristles still damp.
And I wonder...

Did he brush his teeth before he
put the gun to his heart?

A cereal bowl waits in the sink;
The laundry basket overflows.
"To Do" lists adorn the refrigerator.
Suicide is not on the list, and I am
almost surprised.
He was a tidy person, neat
organized almost to the point of obsession.
That's how he lived; that's how he died.

But Dad...

I'd have felt better if, for once in your life
you'd left a mess. But no
even in the ultimate act of selfishness, 
you strove to be polite, choosing to lie 
on the shower's cold tiles, no doubt
thinking we could just flush the blood away
   with the turn of a faucet.

Yes, the place is spotless.
A tiny trace of blood, a single gouged tile
are the only signs that a life ended here.

It seems, somehow, that there should be more.


ASTROTURF AND SNOW
(Part 2 of Trilogy for My Father)

We stand on cemetery Astroturf
     strategically placed to spare us the dread hole,
     snow scaling the tops of our shoes
          to compete with the ice in our hearts.

The old priest’s boots peek from beneath
     a cassock that dangles below his parka.
He jokes gamely about the weather,
     reading prayers for my father, a man he never met,
     with shaking hands and chattering teeth.
He is a stranger recruited by the others lest someone
     discover the shame of self-inflicted death.

Numb in every way it’s possible to be numb,
     we await the blows of a grief that suicide denied us
     and summon memories that refuse to respond 
     while, in their place, we have 
Astroturf
and snow.


THERE WILL BE NO FLOWERS TODAY
(Part 3 of  Trilogy for My Father)

I took my children to the cemetery, a rare visit,
But they did not understand
---could not understand---
the reality
the finality 
of lives and dreams turned to dust,
of a childhood lying buried in those graves.
Or is it the childhood I wished for those many years?

"Where's Anddad?" my daughter asked.
"There, beneath that stone. His ashes," I said.
Ashes of a relationship as cold as this frosted grass.

"Anddad all burned up!" chortles my youngest.

"And here is Grandma," I tell him, but it's just a word.
"See the rose on the plaque? She loved roses."

I remember when the dog peed on her prized
yellows until they died. Until she cried.
I thought her tears silly at the time but not now.

"Grandma would have loved you," I inform my
bored offspring. 
Loved you like she never loved me.

I reach for the vase set in the grave marker,
but time has rusted it in place.

There will be no flowers today.

Copyright © Mary Oliver Rotman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Narrative |
My beloved wife

It was the crows calling that gave the final warning on this mid October morning.
Just as the mist began falling upon the hills in a strange manner that was almost unnerving.
This morn shall be my final calling as my soul begins souring high above the clouds on this mid October morning.
Signalled by the single rose placed upon my coffin.
Not a healthy rose but one that's wilting, It's red petals fading and it's leaves browning.
It was placed upon my coffin by a loan woman who stands morning on this bitter October morning.

She turns towards home and begins walking, towards my old manor house that now stands rotting.
She passes the spot in the garden where she hid the knife the other morning, just before the police came calling.
Alerted by the chamber maid screaming upon discovering by body laying bleeding.
Murder was the diagnosis, probably by a burglar was the prognosis.
The window was broken and my jewellery was stolen.
They didn't bother to ask about the missing kitchen knife, it was all falling into place for my dearly beloved wife.

As she approached she questions what she saw, large boards placed upon the entrance door.
Upon the door a sign held by a single rusty nail, it read this property is now for sale.
Due to deceased occupants an auction will now take place, in gods grace she calls out from behind her veil of lace.
This can't be true, I felt the morning dew seep through into my newly bought shoe, she pauses for breath as she begins to think things through.
Now the truth begins dawning that it was her soul and not her body that left the hill this morning.
We are now two souls exploring, one up and one down on this bitter October morning.

Copyright © Damien Biggs | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
Come when you are ready to love me
And come when you realized more of love
The time when flesh mean nothing than dust
Come when you are ready to see me
Not just pain that paint my solace soul
And when darkness no longer breeds sorrow
Come when you really want pure bliss
And call to whom that bestow blessings
Wait for me as I stagger like a foolish pagan
Come when all sores are wide open
Wide enough for a blind eye to see
Call me before dawn fades my dreams
Light the wisdom of the goddess to this valley
A valley I wander through day and night
Find your vanity before winter wrinkle all sweat
I shall wait to the corner of your heart all night
Visit me more often than you thirst for water
Water my dust with your pure tears
Look for signs to those flourishing flowers
And sing my last rhymes of sweet poetry

Copyright © Zakhe Michael Mcunu | Year Posted 2014

Details | Narrative |
His walk into town would prove fateful that day,
As his mind wandered idly while finding his way.
His footsteps were brisk like fall chill in the air,
Past Wellington Gate, south of Denby town square.

He paused for a time as the hearse passed him by.
Its dark, somber outline contrasting the sky.
Stood still as it turned in through Wellington Gate,
Down this last dusty byway of sorrow and fate.

A pair of dark geldings, black plumes on their heads.
Seemed subdued in their manner while carrying the dead.
Their hooves beat dull thuds on the cold, hardened sod:
Alerting the devil, but more hopefully, God.

The box in the hearse lay there stark and austere.
Poor souls final journey, last trek anywhere. 
The small group of mourners now somber and mute
Trailed after the hearse in reluctant pursuit.

His thoughts then turned back to concerns of the day.
The errands in Denby that had brought him this way.
His footsteps trudged on toward the town just ahead.
On past this bleak place with its fields of the dead.

And the day passed by quickly as he made all his rounds,
Attending to business before leaving the town.
Then an overdue visit to a friend from the past,
Would leave his mind reeling, in tumult, aghast!

For Nell Reed had returned from her home far away.
Nell Reed had come back, never more would she stray.
The scene he had witnessed at Wellington Gate,
The pine box, the mourners, lamented Nell's fate.

Then a blow to his middle - sharp twist like a knife.
Twice now he'd lost Nellie the love of his life.
Nellie, oh Nellie sweet child of his youth.
How could he accept this - admit to its truth?

She now lay in her coffin - pale, cold, not a sigh.
No words would she speak, not one single goodbye.
No explanation of the times in their past:
Of unanswered questions, he could now never ask.

He then found himself back at Wellington Gate.
Fall shadows had lengthened and the day had grown late.
Dead leaves of November swirled under his step,
Invited him follow to where Nellie now slept.

The despair that he felt huddled there by her grave,
Made him seem as a man now most surely depraved.
Harsh pleas for the answers to questions long asked,
From someone once cherished, now part of the past.

Where had she gone while he fought in that war?
Why did she leave, did she love him no more?
Upon his return, mind and body all scarred, 
To face life without her - so sad and so hard?

He cried out in frustration, old sorrow and pain,
As he knelt by her grave there on Evermore Lane.
And the day turned toward evening, but he did not see,
Trapped there in his memories with no place to flee.

Then he sensed someone else, just behind, but nearby.
A young man with Nell's look, most especially her eyes.
In his hand was a letter, tinged yellow with time-
Nell's neat, tiny script penned on each faded line.

"She told me about you and what you once shared,
And asked me to find you, to tell you she cared.
She wished you to have this," his voice held a plea.
"Her last thoughts on this earth were of you and of me."

"The letter was written a long time ago,
When I was a child, before I came to know.
The man I called father, in the days of my youth,
Was only her husband; a well hidden truth."

"He raised me and fed me and treated me well,
But he never did love me and I always could tell.
This letter from mother should bring you at last,
Answers to questions that have troubled your past."

And the son placed the letter in his fathers cold hand,
Waited a moment - made a half-hearted stand.
But he turned then and left - back through Wellington Gate:
To the place he had come from and his own earthly fate.

And his father by the morning, lay frozen and dead,
On Nellie's cold grave with the message unread.
He never did view those last words meant for him,
It grew too dark to see as the cold night set in.

He succumbed to that cold and to Nellie's mute call.
And died where she lay on the last day of fall.
And the years passed on by, like the years always will.
They now lie there together, both silent: both still.

And all who'd remember lie near them as well,
No one now survives for this sad tale to tell.
Yet the legend goes on of this man and of fate.
It's still whispered while passing by - Wellington Gate.

Copyright © Diane Lefebvre | Year Posted 2015

Details | Lyric |
I didn't like losing you
And my tears cried the truth
With rain that came
On the cloudiest day
Like heaven was crying too



©2014 Honestly JT

Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
As I stand here in front of my closet , starring in to the space...
I wonder which black dress to choose, and how I am going to face..
All the guests that will be there , at your final resting place...
I look in the mirror and what do I see ?
But cuts and scratches all over me...
Although I don’t feel any physical pain...
Oh, what’s that I hear ?..could it be rain ?
I miss you already...what went wrong ?..
We were driving along just listening to our favorite song...
I remember the curve on that old mountain road...
And then heard the train crash... and then explode...
Time to go called out my Mother...
It was a cold November morning, and very heavy rain...
And I swear I heard the whistle of a train...
As I looked around I could see...
So many friends and family...
Standing in the crowd was Aunt Sarah and Uncle Fred...
OMG ! I thought they were dead...
And there’s dear old Michael...
I had heard he crashed his motorcycle...
All of a sudden I saw YOU stand...
With a bright red rose, you held in your hand...
What are you doing I wanted to shout...
But then I realized what you were about...
You dropped the rose upon MY grave...
It was then I realized You were the one that was saved...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2013

Details | Epic |
<  >when my body retires and my strength is no more
       when you can not talk to me like we used to
        this when i die
        do not visit my grave and cry

        come and celebrate my life
        sing melodious songs 
        wear your best outfits and share them jokes 
        wear them heels ladies
        just do not visit my grave and cry

        i live a happy life that i love so dearly
        through thick and thin i dare not to drop a tear
        my faith overcomes my fear
        i smile more than i sigh
        celebrate my life dear friends
        do not visit my grave and cry

        remember me for my voice
        my love and kindness
        remember me for my love of wine
        my fun personality and my craziness
        this is how i must be remembered
        just dont come to my grave and cry

        your cries will scare my angels
         your mourning will never bring me back
        your witch hunt will cost you money 
        shoot me some pool please
        do not visit my grave and cry

Copyright © odeline chigwedere | Year Posted 2012

Details | Sonnet |
We buried her in a hole in the ground.
It was her final, resting place—poor Mom!
Shaken, I wept but my siblings were calm.
Only I appeared distraught and unsound,
overwhelmed at the sudden loss I found
too great to bear. It was like a huge bomb
had exploded in our lives—like napalm!
There I sat. My grieving tears were profound.
It had been an upsetting funeral.
We buried her on a cold, wintry morn—
all there knew their places on arrival.
Among them I wept, so tearful and torn
during the service and the burial.
In the end, I felt so dead and stillborn.




Copyright © Ngoc Nguyen | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
I watch another setting sun, losing a loved one,
Yet I know this is commonplace.
It's hard to hear that they've gone,
Though death was their saving grace.

We all knew that this time would come,
Not wishing for the hour nor day.
Though life, like before, it carries on,
After they have passed away.





©2013 Honestly JT

Copyright © Honestly J.T. | Year Posted 2013

Details | Prose Poetry |
 As I stand here in front of my closet , starring in to the space...
I wonder which black dress to choose, and how I am going to face..
All the guests that will be there, at your final resting place...
I look in the mirror and what do I see  ?
But cuts and scratches all over me...
Although I don’t feel any physical pain...
Oh, what’s that I hear?... could it be rain ?
I miss you already...just what went wrong ?..
We were driving along just listening to our favorite song...
I remember the curve on that old mountain road...
And then heard the train crash... and then explode...
Time to go called out my Mother...
It was a cold November morning, and very heavy rain...
And I swear I heard the whistle of a train...
As I looked around I could see...
So many friends and family...
Standing in the crowd was Aunt Sarah and Uncle Fred...
OMG  ! I thought they were dead...
And there’s dear old Michael...
I had heard he crashed his motorcycle...
All of a sudden I saw YOU stand...
With a bright red rose, you held in your hand...
What are you doing I wanted to shout...
But then I realized what you were about...
You dropped the rose upon MY grave...
It was then I realized... You  were the one, that was saved...

Copyright © kj force | Year Posted 2014

Details | Senryu |
sun shines bleak, cold winds whip
death's sting floods her tender eyes
daddy is laid to rest

Copyright © JoanMarie Peranteau | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
I stare upon December's moon,
and wonder why some leave so soon.
When news hits us like shattered glass...
Can we believe what's come to pass?
When we aren't meant to understand...
Then who are we to judge God's plan?
As he sifts through the sands of time...
Was this really by design?
Will we get from here to there,
and know it when we do?
Will we greet our flesh and blood,
and those we never knew?
Remember those that mean the most,
and hear their voices ring.
Then shut your eyes...and listen close,
and you'll hear an angel sing...
 
 
Copyright © 2007

 

Copyright © Cole Banner | Year Posted 2013

Details | Haiku |
I Fell Into My Grave While You Watched


To fall down into the endless abyss
Your staying to watch me as I drift away from the world I once knew
What am I doing I losing control I'm going without word
Why do you watch from afar laughing as though my pain is some pleasure?
Is this the end of me? shall I die here ?
Why is it you watch me why is it you do not save me.I see you watching with a smile.
I thought it was love maybe it was greed that made you push me down down into my grave.
You seem happy maybe it because I'm dead?Yes that it
I'm happy again I was feared death but now i see it as pleasure
Why are you crying can't you not see me smile your tears or vain to me
I'm smiling as I see you suffer you killed me and now your paying for it
Here you are now you can stay by my side forever
I'm happy even more since you came now we can float together in this endless void you created
I can see your back to your old none selfish self may we both smile more

Copyright © Marcedies Rhodes | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Waking up five in the morning,
and looking the dawn's sun rise,
to start the day with a yawn and strech.
Smell the morning dew,
as you go and retrive the morning newspaper,
filled with tablots of lives more intresting than yours.

You wave to your hand to your neighbor,
who you don't like, still you say, "hi"
Why?
It's just the nature of the human being.
You turn and go inside,
you feel some pain on your leftside.
All those milkshakes and hamburgers
caught up to you.
What do you do?
Not much, you can do now,
You fall to the ground, clenching your chest;
you call out for help, but no one comes.
You see your neightbor, but he doesn't mind.
See he hated you as well, like you hated him,
and he is glad to see you fall to your
knees and beg for Mercy.

Oh no! here he comes,
Doctor Death, no not Jack Kavorkian,
No! the big cheese,
the Creature that prays on black souls,
just like yours.
Doctor Death come on down! Come and clam your prize!
Good morning Doctor Death! I'm ready,
Are you?

Copyright © Chris Boskovski | Year Posted 2013

Details | Quatrain |
I'm nearing a store.
Has it something for me?
No; I'm nearing the next.
Hoping there's something to see.

I'm nearing a store.
For something that's new.
Fearing the worst.
Hoping for few.

I'm nearing a store
for something I need.
Only to eat.
Hoping to feed.

I'm nearing a store.
Have I been here before?
Bored again and again.
Hoping that time will soar.

I'm nearing a store.
long after I'm dead.
Placed in a coffin my size.
Hoping I'm free and fled.

Copyright © Trevor McLeod | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
' Talitha Cu'mi - - - Rise ! ... '


        (Tal' i-tha cu' mi)
(An Ancient Arabic/Syrian Phrase)



(Mark 5: 41 / John 5: 28, 29 / John 6: 39 /  John 10: 3-15, 27 / John 11: 23-27)



'Talitha Cumi ... Rise!'
Said The One Who Can Save All Lives
Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
Death's Cut Will Not Be Your Knife
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise! --

Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
From Your Bed & Your Good-Byes
Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
Hear My Voice & Recognize
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!

'Rise! From Upon Your Bed
Greet The Brightest Day Instead
Greet The Blessings On Your Head
The Blood of Life For You I Bled
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!' --

'Talitha Cumi ... Rise!'
Said My Beloved Lord Jesus Christ
'I Covered You In My Sacrifice
and You Praised Our GOD For That Price
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!' --

'Little One - Open Your Eyes
Loved Ones - Dry Your Eyes
'Cause Resurrection Ain't No Lie
Wake Up! ... and Walk Eternal Life!'

Tal i-tha cu' mi  ... Rise!


         Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/26/2013 
                  by:  MoonBee Canady


Examples of a Resurrection:  The Spring Season, Butterflies from Cocoons, 
A Buried Seed, A Healed Skin-Cut, A Revived Heart (and) A Human Being
(and the song above is how I felt after my Lumpectomy Surgery) Oh yeah!

MoonBee

Copyright © MoonBee Canady | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
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 of familiarity 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

Details | Limerick |
Unreceived  Parcel

I have sent your parcel Please be patient  
Your curtain hooks have been sent 
It's on its way
Yes sir, I have sent it 
I will make a special deliver 
Through the dark forces of night 
In horse and cart 
Await me at 2 am tonight 
Leave the window slightly ajar 
I will ring three chimes on my arrival 
With your special delivery 
Slide open the window 
Look down You will see me standing there with your parcel 
Slowly on your toes  
Push forward and slide out the window 
Reach for me 
Then you will have your parcel  
I will have delivered the goods 
Your wife will have curtain hooks to hang the curtains  
Then your curtains will be closed forever 
I will place roses on your grave 
Sending you a graceful goodbye 
Delivering, your unreceived goods

Copyright © Tahira Parveen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Coming ashore at the island of Trunyan to its teeth of bone eyes to four directions tongue bloodthirsty - what do you want this late at night? surely to seek help from the moon black chicken sticky-rice flower baskets : baskets a frozen kris at the tip of my shoulders suck the remaining portals of shame at the split of banana leaves I look at her purple sweat. her white kebaya sodden pura gede pancering jagat temple as foreground my name once again my name once again - that pot of authentic China rolls like a cart speeding out of my body like the shameless envious souls of jealous skeletons: “look ma, my soul reawakens, I am no longer dead” two baskets black chicken one o’clock that night the island of Trunyan rolled its tongue in laughter its tickled eyes stripping all bare its hoarse voice splitting the eerie road I want to go home soon – my boat is moored by the lakeside!
Notes : Kris – a dagger with jagged edges. Kebaya – traditional shirt that ladies wear in Indonesia, typically made of see-through cloth or brocade.

Copyright © Violetta Simatupang | Year Posted 2014

Details | Blank verse |
When I die,
 I know 
You will not show up in my funeral.
 But
 Whenever you miss me, 
Please take out my written journal.

 When I die,
 Perhaps 
You experience some grief.
 That is why I will leave you 
My poems,
 Perhaps 
They will give you some relieve.

 After me,
 Please keep your smile,
 Please be the same.
 If you ever forget my love,
 Please remember my name.

 I know 
You will not be in my funeral,
 Perhaps 
You will say "who cares."
 But
 In a corner of your room,
 Perhaps 
Quietly
 You will shed some tears.

 Don't feel guilty,
 For the times You hurt me,
 I have already forgave you.
 Please do the same for me,
 For the times 
I have bothered you. 

Whenever you feel down, 
Thinking the life is so tough.
 Don't forget,
 For you,
 My dead heart is still full of love.

 When I die,
 Please 
Don't cry, please be brave.
 I know you will not come to my funeral,
 But, please visit my grave. 

Copyright © Goran Rahim | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
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