Grave History Poems

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

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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

Details | Haiku |
The wound       (Haiku)  2014

A deep gaping hole
newly covered with scar flesh
a cemetery

the reflective pond
the bright thirteen year old trees
the lost souls still there

the money-men charge
fees to visit our worst time
Ah, America!

check out my blog for more Haiku and 9.11

Copyright © Trisha Sugarek | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |
When it hits my chest
It would not lay me to rest
It cannot bring about my end
So long I refuse to bend
Death on my chest
Is but a test
On my will to live up
To see if I would give up
The Giver would allow the pain
After seeing my faith on life
He would restore me again.
Death test is but in the while
Of a second
After which we can go on.

Copyright © Divine Friday Idiong | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Through Their Eyes

The Poetry Murders Part 3 in the series

Murder She Wrote

It was a dark night with a full moon
The alley narrow, my hopes high
My footsteps echoed in the ears of the invisible
I quicken my pace
I had an eerie feeling, fate waiting
At the next gate
I rounded the corner
Mist from the sewer drifting
The ambient mood that of sinister
Is that the wind I hear?
Before I could gaze up
A thousand heavy books
Rained down upon me head
I was struck dead
Surrounded by books and words
A hundred yards away
Behind the walls of the church graveyard
There was laughter in the night
Murder she wrote
The final perfect one
As I lay dead
On the street of forgotten poets

Through Their Eyes part 2
Sleeping Beauty

She gazed into my haunted eyes
Knowing my devotion was absolute and complete
She fulfilled my nefarious dreams
Ever so peaceful in her green eyed slumber
She struggled with the rope and tape
I whispered in her ear
Relax, your destiny is clear
You shall sail to the sweetest of places
I shall allow you your escape
Slowly, smothered with my pillowed love
She lies lifeless
In peace
With my poems upon her chest
She has found paradise at last
As the light fades from the far away sea
Old roads become watery graves
North she sails with my words upon her very soul

Through Their Eyes  part 1

The Poetry Murders

She is hiding
I know it
She knows it
She’s next
The vast expanse of Ontarian forest
Is no protection at all
I am the butcher of all slithering poets
After all they slaughtered the words
Fair is bloodthirsty fair!

Everyone suspects the butler
Or maybe the Gardner
All the usual suspects
No one guesses the millionaire
Money isn’t everything you know
Murder is the thing keeps me on the go

Florida was pleasant trip
A lot of writers around the lakes
A lot of poets down there are really fakes
I’ll be serving tacos on sticks
Nothing like having strangers eat the evidence
The alligators will get the scraps
I wrapped them up in such poems of utter crap

I so loved the Bible belt
They are seekers of redemption and find only fools
Now there is a writer with a huge welt
The axe you see split his head in three
Breathless he sleeps like the holy trinity
Rotting away, the same stink was there
As In life his rotten disposition
Filled ones nostrils the same as deaths kitchen

Now I fancy a trip back in time
Way way back, way back were I hear roman chimes
Caesars second is chasing killers
I shall turn the tables of destiny and time
Slitting his throat a thousand times
Brutus was a pussy cat compared to me!
I drinkith the cup of blood, I am thirsty as can be

Oh this spree has just begun
Killing poets is just so much fun
They can hide behind their masks
Shivering in silence I stalk their fear
Tickling their soulless spines
I have a gift wrapped in blood
Let me make you divine
I pronounce you Silent One till the end of time
Headless you sit in your chair
Hideous and hiding
In death you shall have more class and flair

Cyanide is slow and fun
You see them shrivel, blank stares
Death dancing all over their hairs
Your next drink, I do say beware
It flows with poetic dreams
Taking you away from this earth
The sad news is this
You will not be going upstairs!

Agatha Christie could not spell
The fact of the matter some do dwell
If she was alive to see me now
I’d be facing the garrote for murdering her cow
Alas she is gone, dead and buried
I smirk; they never caught me for her or the cow

Now if you think I am a psychotic nut
For murdering poets, hey I was in a rut
They all deserved their painful butchered demise
Even they have locked me up
Not for murder, I was really too good at that
They think I am mental and hey lets play along
I have one last murder you see, so delicious
This crime soon to be
I ate my ear to be locked up here
Inside of the institute called J Ward

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Why all this Destructions? – Zamreen Zarook

God created this whole universe for the mankind,
He gave everything lavishly, thinking that we might be kind,
Even though people are able, they seems to be blind,
Whereas people failed to mind.

The sky which was created for the man started to scream and cry,
Since good morals and ethics were decry,
The fire started to do the mimicry,
As the water lands cannot bear, it came to man with a battle cry.

Land couldn't hold and it started to gorge,
Fresh air merged with chemicals and started to urge,
Whatever created for the man have started to over charged,
Stop evil and let the merits be enlarged.

Copyright © Zamreen Zarook | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
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

Details | Sonnet |
    CIL MAOLCHEADAIR   (Kilmalkedar)
On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn,
she wandered through the graveyard, looking for
the Celtic dream from which her past was born,
and every sight brought her to wanting more;

she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone
as if she understood each chip as real,
passed down to only her, and her alone,
from pagan worship she could almost feel;

and she could bundle them within her mind
to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin,
perhaps the magic, if still there to find,
would be an understanding where they've been;

and she will burn her candles every night,
hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right.
© ron wilson arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
France gave America the Statue of Liberty,
In 1865, from Edouard de Laboulaya, his act;
It begot Joan of Arc who insisted that,
Nationality bet religion as a matter of fact.

The Free French were renown in WW II, 
For an innate determination which alit,
The will of those sinking around them,
For the democratic heart that was split.

It produced Thomas Piketty with his book Capital,
Which called for a global tax of all richer states,
To redistribute income for egalitarianism,
For freedom and for the poverty liberation straits.
The death of Jihadi John set it all off,
As he was the symbol of the Islamic State,
Most definitely and without reservations,
He was the one with the credal slate. 

But France today has an interventionist policy,
In Syria, and is the most vocal nation of all,
Insisting that President Assad needs to go,
To enable free democracy to stand tall.

In 2010 Qatar, an Arab state with oil and gas,
Won the bid to host the 2022 FIFA World Cup;
When a UK government employee questioned this,
In November 2014, he caused a very real hiccup.

France was said to have validated Qatar,
To chief Sepp Blatter who was eventually removed;
I can’t dismiss that Qatar would have reciprocated,
With gifts of money for the French to be proved.

With some of Qatar’s money, flowing and free,
France would’ve strengthened its foreign policy,
Doubled its presence in Syria, or even tripled it,
With the USA and others following likewise - oui.

So the French people’s ability to fight ISIS,
Is important to Syrian Islamists who are fully aware,
That the size of an army determines its success,
Thus Qatar’s allegiances are ISILs concern to beware.

Copyright © Rhoda Monihan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

Poem written near a Cemetery  2 of 2
On 13th February 2012

But nowhere in that cemetery I could find,
Flowers smiling on any Stone, Tomb or grave,
Whatever big may have been,
The status of those, who were buried there, 
With or without any pomp and show.

Some of these yester year stars, 
Were laid here with a simple stone, 
Standing as a symbol of their death, 
Without telling their simple stories and 
And without telling much about their lores, 

I came back again after searching a lot,
On the grave of this noble soul, 
The small flowers were still busy in,
Swinging and dancing, 
On the stone of Sophia Rees. 

Those wild little yellow flowers,
Had called me from a distance,
Perhaps to convey the story, 
Of this unknown noble soul.

I counted those tiny yellow flowers 
They were six only all swinging in the air, 
To find on whose stone they were blooming,
I started reading,
The faint and dim stone lines,
Where the engraved letters had lost their ink,
Wiped away by the passing of time.

But the first three lines, 
Made me to stand on my toes, 
I could read very clearly,
In the clear upper lines it was written, 
“Sophia Rees Owen 31 years old 
left this world on 27th November 1834, 
Leaving her husband and six children. 
She was a sincere friend and 
Truly attached wife and Most devoted mother”.

Something told me silently in my mind, 
Why on this grave only,
The Nature had bloomed,
A bunch of smiling and dancing flowers, 
This unknown lady of yester years 
Was perhaps a noble and kind hearted soul.

May be Sophia was a lover of Nature,
May be a Poet, a Philosopher, a Painter or 
May be she was a wonderful Singer,
Who wanted to sing some beautiful songs,
But before she could have tuned her instruments,
Was called by the God in Heaven. 

What a strange thing it was, 
To come and to watch in that graveyard,
Those little flowers and the grave of Sophia Rees, 
Which I had noticed unknowingly,  
From across the boundary,
While I was passing on the road.

These lines are my homage to that noble soul,
Who is  spreading her smiles even to this day,
As if through these flowers, 
She was singing some of her most dear song.
Kanpur India 13& 14th Feb 2012
“Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen”
“In the memory of Sophia Rees Owen 
The beloved wife of H T Owen Esqr. 
Of the H C Civil Service, who died on the 27th 
Nov.1834 aged 31 years 11months and 18days.
Leaving her husband and Six children to lament 
Her loss. She was a sincere friend, a truly 
Attached wife and a devoted Mother...

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |
Poem written near a Cemetery  1 of 2
On 13th February 2012

While moving near the walls of a cemetery, 
I saw the glimpse 
Of a bunch of some tiny wild flowers,
Blooming in the golden Sunlight falling on them, 
They were waving their simile, 
With every gush of wind,
On the monument of a deserted grave.

For me it was a new and exciting experience, 
To enter in that cemetery of eighteenth century,
What had brought me to that spot,
Where those wild flowers were still smiling,
Remains a mystery
Every time, I think and rethink. 

I saw hundreds of monuments and tombs,
After entering in that preserved cemetery, 
Some were telling the story,
Of the grandeurs of its dwellers,
While others were there,
Standing without a crown or a story.

The grave on which, I saw those flowers,
Was not showing an appealing face, 
Age had withered its luster and charms,
And time had left its marks on its face.

Being in the last line of that cemetery 
It was waiting in the long queue,
For some kith and kin of Sophia Ress,
May come some day and  
The face of that noble soul’s grave, 
May once again obtain its lost glory and grace.

There I found those lonely wild tiny flowers,
Still blooming and smiling and dancing,
With every gush of wind,
Telling silently a beautiful story of its dweller,
As if, they were paying their homage,
While remembering her lost songs and images.

In the morning hours of the Autumn,
The tree leaves were falling, 
Everywhere on the ground,
And some were even falling on me,
Either to tell the universal truth, 
Of the inevitable departure of everyone’s one day 
Or perhaps to accompany me, 
In that graveyard of all those,
Who were totally strangers for me.

After watching that grave and 
Appreciating those tiny flowers,
I explored each and every tomb and monuments,
Standing in the memory of those British,
Who had lived a royal life during those days,
When they lived here and ruled my country, 
For a very long time. 

Kanpur India 18th Feb. 2012  concluded in Part 2

Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen

"Text of the Stone on Sophia Rees Owen
In the memory of Sophia Rees Owen 
The beloved wife of H T Owen Esqr. 
Of the H C Civil Service, who died on the 27th 
Nov.1834 aged 31 years 11months and 18days.
Leaving her husband and Six children to lament 
Her loss. She was a sincere friend, a truly 
Attached wife and a devoted Mother.......

Copyright © Ravindra K Kapoor | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
Strolling down the streets of ancient Pompei,
I discovered the tomb of a freed noble man;
unearthed from the volcanic black ashes, 
now it blooms surrounded by fragrant lilies 
as it appeared in its imperial, glorious days! 

Looking closer, I noticed tools itched
on its sides, the trade of a freeman
once enslaved by his wealthy master,
and to prove that he was also of a noble
spirit, he wanted to be remembered 
for his achievements and his intellect!

Not all Romans were cruel as History attests,
but had a good heart helping the lower class;
had the Emperor made aware of such generosity,
they would have been killed or thrown to the beasts!

Our greedy society is similar, workers being underpaid;
its an invisible slavery and yet it gives us shivers
for their unhuman condition and horrible abuse:
Rome's mentality of slavery survives to our day!
The proud sons of immigrants will arise to avenge 
their fathers rage, they will sit with the prominent ones
sharing the same ideals and status that honor freedom!

Build my marble tomb by the shade of cypresses,
plant jasmines and lilacs around it and let them bloom;
the late image of me on the top with a pen on the right
and a notebook on the left...what a lovely display
of my vocational trade! Will someone discover my grave? 
The brief epithet itched in italic letters should read:
" Born a free man and died a free man in a foreign land."

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2016

Details | Sonnet |
    CIL MAOLCHEADAIR   (Kilmalkedar)
On such an Irish spring and drizzle morn,
she wandered through the graveyard, looking for
the Celtic dream from which her past was born,
and every sight brought her to wanting more;

she dreamt her roots from carvings on a stone
as if she understood each chip as real,
passed down to only her, and her alone,
from pagan worship she could almost feel;

and she could bundle them within her mind
to share with Pennsylvania kith and kin,
perhaps the magic, if still there to find,
would be an understanding where they've been;

and she will burn her candles every night,
hoping Kilmalkedar will make it right.
       ©  ron wilson aka vee bdosa the doylestown poet

Copyright © Vee Bdosa | Year Posted 2013

Details | Lyric |
It  was  for you and me,
That Jesus left His throne,
Bore the scourge and agony,
Shivered His flesh and bone,

It was for you and me,
He took the awry tour,
Towards the dreaded Calvary,
Summed His tortured  hours,

It was for you and me,
That Jesus bore the cross,
Paid the greatest penalty,
That death supposed be ours,

It was for you and me,
He wailed the gloomiest cry,
It was for you and me,
Jesus was nailed to die,

Oh, that you and I may see,
Our wickedness beyond measure,
Jesus to set us free,
In our stead bore the torture,

His love mysterious great,
Knocks  the door of all men's heart,
His mighty power recreates,
Renews our lives whole to restart,

It was for you and me,
When on the third-day death sufficed,
The savior left His grave,
Victorious he arised,

He rose back to His throne,
Sitting by His Father's side,
Prepare! He's coming soon,
Today is to decide,

Copyright © joselito asperin | Year Posted 2007

Details | Free verse |
A tombstone stands amongst the rest
Neglected and alone

The name and date chiseled out
On polished marbled stone

It reaches our for someone to care
Is it too late to mourn

I did not know that you existed
You died before I was born

Our blood it connects us
Though we have never met

You are my long lost ancestor
Part of my genetic make up

The spot you filled many years ago
Now residing are the ones who live through you

We are all part of your story
A place etched in history

You will always be remembered and cherished
Because you are a great big part of me

Like branches of a mighty oak
They stretch out in many directions

But the only way they all connect
Is at the root, the heart of the tree

Copyright © Lisa Brannon | Year Posted 2016

Details | Monorhyme |
=============================================== ~*~ crystallized rime of frozen ire - craving to thaw as morning dew dense compact icicle of wrath's revenge emanating - now in subdue when plummeted - no escape death's end grave in BLUE scene of God's hands masterpiece where love and miracle in glue men sculpted and molded the new milieu mourning tears line of truth - skew now, Philippines - tropical country now in woo woe, fear - nestling hearts of unknown innocence ensue? this is just the start of a great "FELL", what must we do? hailstone of hailstorm occupying, subjugating us in crew red ruby blood stained "FLOODED " the nation's land in "debut" new state of grave - thousands died begging for prayers ...IN OURS, PUT YOUR SHOE ~*~ ============================================================== *-* jun-jun villanueva *-* "TELL ME A SECRET" Contest entry

Copyright © jun-jun villanueva | Year Posted 2011

Details | Acrostic |

The truth of the matter is that the “I doubt it” label has always been assigned to me; but in reality, I and all the Apostles doubted.

Hopeless, fear, and doomed were the highly charged emotions that we all felt.

Over and over, he taught us about his resurrection; but we did not understand.

Multitudes were fed; mighty miracles were performed; but no one could help him.

After his death, we were in hiding, because we thought that we would be next.
But absolutely everything changed when at

Sunrise, the world’s greatest surprise arose, and lit up the skies of our frightened hearts!
03252016 cj PS

Copyright © curtis johnson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
The war years, no longer seen.
Their cries of pain, no longer heard,
Verdant fields, no longer red,
Tho still stained, scarred by those who've been.

Soldiers’ shadows---silent echoes now.
Trumpets of victory, silenced in Raven's caw.
Victory vanishing in wasted lives,
Whispered marches seen in young men's eyes.

Seen in seas of land and glen that holds
Hordes of bones and hearts of slaughtered souls,
Drowned in black soil's decay and war's devour.
Sacrifice seen in stars, shining their valour,

Reaping our saviour.

Copyright © Raj Napal | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Many years ago when I was a daring youth,
I lived in a town where old legend held great truth. 
Halloween night friends would gather at west graveyard,
it made no difference that the entrance stayed barred.

We would scale the wall in search for her grave,
to prove to others how foolish and brave.
Rumors transcended she was a monstrous ghost,
only revealing to ones she disliked the most.

Relics were chipped from Sally’s aged headstone,
attesting we were in her shrouded burial zone.
During the night she would come to our room,
retrieve the chip and return to her tomb.

Legend had stated, Sally died a fierce demise,
from a deadly disease that stifled agonizing cries.
Her lover saw her fall from atop steep staircase,
she just turned sixteen; frail body draped in white lace.

When the moon was full and close to midnight,
she'd float above her grave - then fade from sight.
We ran for our lives through a headstone maze,
to satisfy the oddity of a teenager’s craze.

Now her grave and aged tombstone have been moved,
family didn't want visitors they had not approved.
Sally now lies somewhere in a grave undisclosed,
with her legend and memory fully decomposed.

Copyright © 2011 By Caryl S. Muzzey

Copyright © Caryl Muzzey | Year Posted 2010

Details | Ode |
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

Details | I do not know? |
"Someone Been Digging ME A Grave" 

my land lord, her play games 
she play, nick knack ,on  brain 
with a  nick knack pad a whack 
give a tenet a deadly water drinking break
she play at putting me in my fresh dugged out grave

hook::so don't drink the water 
hook::and don't breath the air
hook::because  there's no one who will give a care 
hook::with a gallbladder in the brink
hook::don't you give a drink  !!! 

so this old fear, and this brain 
can't believe how mush this is in sane 
with a shower head, that can leave you as good as dead
this is something so bad it leave white power on your head   

hook::so don't drink the water 
hook::and don't breath the air
hook::because  there's no one who will give a care 
hook::with a gallbladder in the brink
hook::don't you give a drink  !!! 

no old dog, will sniff at me
he start pawing at his nose so very painfully
with a howl, and a pain fill yep 
Now You See This The End of ME!

hook::so don't drink the water 
hook::and don't breath the air
hook::because  there's no one who will give a care 
hook::with a gallbladder in the brink
hook::don't you give a drink  !!! 


Copyright © verlecia fields | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
Pierce The Gloom

Pierce the gloom under purple sails
cold the rain that forever falls
False is the prophet that ever tells
great honor rang true in these halls

Hide ye behind golden false banners
dark spirits dwelling in your band
Deceit lies silkened in false manners
evil the Crown that rules your land

Purple King steals your life's bread
as hope eludes your soul's plight
Blows descend upon your bowed head
you, that forever declines to fight

Royal colors your minds enthrall
as evil lies in your shallow beds
Dark spirits birth wicked flowers
where evil reigns in crying hours


Copyright © Robert Lindley | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rispetto |
My name is Paul, a boy of sixteen years when the Titanic became my icy grave. To the ocean floor, I drowned with dreams and fears, like my dad, a fisherman, lost in the waves. When we boarded the ship, my mother heard cries. A premonition dismissed with hopes and sighs. In a half-empty lifeboat, denied a seat, my destiny to die but not in defeat. Mother begged for my life then returned to die with me. Half empty lifeboats floated as the band played a hymm. Angels descended on mother and son in the cold sea and carried us to my father in Heaven's bosom. By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, April 10, 2012 for My Heart Will Go On and On contest ( Tracie ~*~ Indigo Dreamweaver) Fourth Place *A Rispetto and a Quatrain

Copyright © Rhonda Johnson-Saunders | Year Posted 2012

Details | I do not know? |
Congressman and senators forewent 
   all manner of civility, fidelity and integrity wii
hull ding broadswords, derringers 
   and firearms as all hell broke loose as testimony
to the dire prognostication foretold 
   more than saber rattling and Gatling guns que 
kind from lambastes, fisticuffs 
   and brickbats ratcheted up as agents provocateurs nee
said obedience to semper fidelis credo, coda and cock knee
stance when dire straits called for restraint 
   against excess versus raising cane old hickory
i.e. Andrew Jackson latched onto when opposing with energy
and verve espoused by fellow delegates, and his hologram ghost bloody

from battle scars outside and/or inside 
   the halls of government where blows bashed 
dovetailed elected legislators to officiate 
   as angry birds viz brouhaha clashed
Federalist against their nemesis 
   of the twenty first century 
   during the term of Donald Trump 
   who throve on the cutthroat frenzied 
   internecine lawlessness dashed
to and fro, hither and yon any hope for civilians to escape bloodshed 
   spilled from without vaunted halls of justice, 
   the approach of doomsday 
   writ large as anarchy and mayhem flashed 
with uproarious coup d’etat, 
   when Democrats outliers gnashed
teeth, and nonestablishmentarian outlaws 
   pistol whipped and hashed 
tagged traitors who roared America 
   went bankrupt at sold at fire sale price slashed
when Donald Trump ran the country 
   into the ground evidenced by Molotov Cocktails residue 
   in concert with the sulfuric odor of hand grenades trashed

Copyright © matthew harris | Year Posted 2017

Details | Verse |
A country's lost crusade
Reparations stripped them bare
A nation once so proud
Engulfed with emptiness and despair

Evil's doctrine explained by "My Struggle"
Religious hatred bred belief
"The crucifier of our Lord
Is now a rapist or a thief"

As lies turn into hate
Their souls given absolution
Blame a stranger for all ills
Rationalisation for persecution

A number etched on an arm
An inked lasting identification
"A devil needs no name"
Was a mad man's vindication

A solution was made final
Vapours released by the Black skull's fist
Joy Division's melodies played on
For innocence concluding tryst

Copyright © Neil Andrew Hornby | Year Posted 2016

Details | Verse |
Re : Old Poems

Bells of triumph clang, Fortresses fain to hail thee Men of valiant swords. Glories thence fell, crowns crumbled To dust, no wailings were heard. ,, The wind about thy sceptre howl and cry, Loft precipices trampled; Ruined rich piles of graves. ~ Forms : Tanka / Kimo (3/21/2012)

Copyright © gautami phookan | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
Trapped! We're trapped!  Just as I reached the crest I felt Poker fall from under 
me and go head over heels down the other side of the hill. I scrambled to my feet 
and saw Poker with an arrow in his neck, kicking and screaming in terror. I didn’t 
even think about my own safety. All I could see thru misty eyes was Poker. I 
lunged forward toward the frantic animal automatically drawing my hand weapon. 
The terror in his eyes as an Indian sped past him and drove the lance into the 
heaving belly was all I could take. I fired my gun at the fleeing savage and felt 
satisfaction as he fell from his mount. Turning back to Poker I was taking aim to 
end his misery when I felt a sudden stab of pain in my gut. It burned like fire 
and…and suddenly I found myself so weak I couldn’t do more than stagger 
towards Poker. As I fell across my faithful friend I was relieved to see he was 
dead. Dead! I was gasping for breath and crying with grief. I didn’t want to die. 
Not here! Not now! I was now coughing up blood and the sounds of the battle 
around me were fading away …….. and the soft fluffy clouds were drifting across 
the sky………

My tear drops mingled with the rain,
He’ll not be forgotten , ever again.
He and Poker did not die in vein
There, alone on the lonely plain.
He was there, He told me so,
On that cloudy morning a few years ago,
When a shaft of light from the Montana sky
Fell on his grave and caught my eye.

This is true. I did see the grave in a shaft of light on that rainy morning. And 
curiosity got the best of me. I called the Headquarters building at the Monument 
and they told me the grave I described at the bottom of the hill was Custer’s 
brother’s grave.

Copyright © Marycile Beer | Year Posted 2007

Details | Prose |
                                                All in
Deserted beaches. Beautiful. Quiet. Tides stood. Faded by their allotted rounds.  History has an appointment to keep. Gold. Utah. Juno. Omaha. Sword. Normandy, France. Overlord. To keep not hold. 

Forward, lethal, deadly pitch. Channel arrears irrelevant. All in, no return, 
the damned on top.
All in. Quiet, Beautiful. None to dispute or disturb. Not so. Dawn.
1944 day of reckoning. Smoke and noise. Noise and smoke.
All in. At Normandy.

Arising here. End of evil. Drawn in, those who wished and them whom not. 
They were there, men of honor. Valiant, sworn by sacred oaths, less known today the price they paid. With life’s blood and sweat. Their callings, Advanced at Normandy.

Normandy Beaches once quiet. Sixty miles agreed by five. knowing full well their sacrifice. Fated, this age of men and boys, fought for the all. Damned or not. Once gulls floated as they do again. Man’s best being done. Spirits
soar. Overlord. 

The dead are reposed, now assured we make, the taking of life and land.
By force, where necessary, backed by must, the living, with sacred obligation. Stand poised. Ready, to be called again. Stand and deliver. Bargained again with blood’s swift sword.  

Copyright © Dave Moon | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
nostradamus predicted two grave robbers
who would drink blood from his skull
in hopes to recieve his gift

he knew the souls would be reborn
and be drawn to eachother
destined to meet again

with time on his side
foreseeing those driven crazy by prophecy
he began working on the remedy
for the antichrist would be involved at the recieving end
of the souls conspiring to bring him to the right place and time

This would blow his mind

The life lesson here is
don't steal from god

Copyright © Troy Jeremy Nelson | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
From the farthest distance of the land
Many soldiers fought in armies 
In wars cruel demands. 

A governing hand that didn't care
The brutal bastards
Committed unjustly crimes so unfair. 
Upon the lands of country's over the world Far & wide. 
As the dirty deeds of war were battled 
As in parliament they safely hide. 

Why should our soldiers ride into a battle
Just because the dirty bastards want to rule. 
Why do so many men want to become the targets
& become the governments deadly fool. 

If I could make one wish for all the worldly people
I'd wish them to look after the loved families of their own. 
Then I'm sure the world would be a better existwnce. 
As To the one that we are currently cruelly prone.

Copyright © Anna Sabrina Tate | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Author: Runping Chen

Such a grave 
Has buried more victories;
In the pervading beacon-fires 
An “Iron Army” rushed out
And set up a monument their bodies
Which cut across storm of shots and shells.

Here is the solemn and quiet;
Could people have heard the intense musical note
And still have seen the heroes
Wiping out the national darkness with their blood,
Pushing their hot hearts to the bore of guns.
Bloody battles deserved the news of a triumphant return. 

Heroes, peace to their ashes.
For them the evening glow
Pulled open the red satin quilt.
The survived country fellow 
Beside you crowded
And around the Tingsi Bridge gathered.

How couldn’t they be grieved and crying?
How couldn’t they be excited and proud of?
The seven-hundred-year stone bridge was staring 
At the historical battlefield, and listening to the bugle snarling;
It was with knitted brows
On its forehead, painfully and unceasingly grieved.

The rivers and mountains were all moaning
And chanting the earth-shaking fight.
The monument holds up the heroic undertaking,
The chaos caused by war entered the past at the meanwhile.
You heroes have composed the mountain range,
Blended with the earth as a whole.

Copyright © Runping Chen | Year Posted 2017