Grave Home Poems

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

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Details | Light Poetry |
The Devils Riddle

Dark is the night
Dark is the soul
Dark is the heart that used to glow

Empty are the rainbows falling from the skies
Empty of the spirits when the darkness flies by
Empty is the treasure chest of dreams long gone

Tombs hold secrets of mysteries past
Tombs hold the dark to ensure it will endure
Tombs full of treasures are barren at last

Stones are grey in silence they sit
Stones are markers of the dark run amiss
Stones look up to overcast skies

   death looks down, the final curtain call
   smirks and winks, I will soon have you all
   dark and empty you shall soon be enslaved
   to the mysteries of dark empty ways
   there is no final place that you shall rest

emoH the angel of death has declared
“oN graves the trumpets play as I shall sing”

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Terza Rima |
The wings beat against the cage 
in an urgent frenzy tormented never defeated 
within this half twilight zone of slow crawling time held victim 

The allure of consequences nevertheless feeding the flames 
where conscious thought and lucid emotions die 
slowly singed away remains at the bottom rung 

The wisest transaction is the covenant never made and openly denied
decadence should never be answered once a pulls so strong
becomes injured with pride in alacrity's foretaste for knowledge

Where even the wind no longer breathes urgent 
madness with passions trait as the grand tempest storms 
steamily blows a cloud of smoke 

A haunting being hunts darkness pushing boundaries
towards cold unadorned blue abandoned 
holding the oceans spheres in restless silence 

Restrained darkness meets light but never crosses over 
the divide scratching at a spirit so forlorn
restraint comes naturally to the craggy and torn

Under the echoes of a lion's roar
A thousand tears can never mourn
the destruction and sad beauty that you have borne

Inside this isolation un-embellished 
Under an austere atmosphere
holds the wings of time imprisoned factors 

Destinies commander oh so damaged in this stunted wasteland of emotion's
conception becoming the unconsecrated norm in an un-heeding barrier 
where realisations stammer unknowingly into the humiliating wit of despair 

Which darkens the very soul blindfolded
The overture of the dove dances on as vigilant oracle of peace
the internal struggles of temperament challenges

Memorable moments within the spirit quest
fear and love wrapped up in a sorrowful wanting
yearning which hurts without choice

The pinnacles of reconciliation
and the fragile stirring of wings
wanting to fly is the verdict yet to come

a co written piece by Donna Loughman and Liam McDaid

Copyright © liam mcdaid | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |
Open your eyes to the ever turning skies 
I want to here with me through the night 
My heart yearns into your soul 
Burning as if newly lit coal 
I bravely submerg the embers 
That the time I have can be spent with you 
And I remember each kiss every moment 
I was caught in your love that for just this day I remember 
So what happened was a chance for your love 
A time that I kept in a locket tied with a kiss 
 I wanted you to feel, to love, to slumber 
And to awake in my arms with that times kept bliss 
I lay silient in an umber

Copyright © Courtney Courtney | Year Posted 2013

Details | Elegy |
When fire dies, it remains ash, cover it up
When the day dies, new day shows up
When husband rest, leaves a sowed love
Widow cries, dwells with grieve
And loneliness
"He has slept, he forever sleeps"
A countless times, she vends
And at the buttock, she feels the world
And the need to go with him raises up
Unreturned journey lacks partnership
The sowed love dies not
Abides within loves heart.

Inspired by a book,

Copyright © Afolabi Muideen | Year Posted 2016

Details | Free verse |
Ashes drift
to the ground
like black snow,
and smoke curls
upward from
the rubble like
ghostly figures
emerging from the
A skeleton now looms
in the clearing,
surrounded by heaps
of its charred flesh.

Copyright © Katie Telling | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |
Forced into grumbling stomach and head throb
It is dark cold emptiness all around
first laid off and then dissmissed from the job
It is a blight on all our light and sound

The wrinkled hours on my both cheek sunken
Driven out from two rented rooms, roaming
Hope hearth home health heaven hell all broken
For food morsels with dogs in the trash bin

Fallen crumbled plundered you all despise
One of our two children is now missing
Wreckage breakage drainage in our void eyes
Moans and groans around the serpent hissing

With our pulverised waves and hungry soul 
We are struggling to get back into whole 
Vultures on our head and the end hems in
Of your poem, O life, we’re still dreaming

Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2016

Details | Cowboy |
In the palo verde and black chaparral lies,
A cross by an empty grave where no one cries.
It notes the lonely death of a man named Chance Roam—
Just a proud young cowboy that never rode home.
Far on a sparse hill it cuts the sky like a lance—
That pale, nearly white cross with just the name ‘Chance.’
He used to ride those hills and echo each valley,
Before he rode to war to make us all free.

Yes, his country called, like it had many before,
And he gladly went off to fight in that war.
There were no questions asked, no concern for the cost—
If none volunteered, our country would be lost.

Then one day the dreaded letter came, edged in black—
And we knew then, that he would never come back.
Be it rancher or mere clerk – all went off to war—
And while most returned – some would be seen no more.  

And long before there was a Memorial Day—
Our young men died for our American way—
From wars of revolution to wars of the world—
All of our soldiers fought with our flag unfurled. 

There are bright jade prairies of gray and white crosses,
That recount endless wars and many losses—
Now in meadows bloom reminders on each plain,
Marking names of those who have not died in vain.

In the palo verde and black chaparral lies,
A cross by an empty grave where no one cries.
It notes the lonely death of a man named Chance Roam—
Just a proud young cowboy that never rode home.

Copyright © Glen Enloe | Year Posted 2006

Details | Quatrain |
Many people have houses that are filled up with ghosts
And the problem they cause is the huge shortage of hosts
For there aren't many willing to tolerate that
Which is where I ride in with my ghost buster's hat.

It was long, long ago when I started to read
All those books about demons and statues that bleed
I became fascinated with all of that stuff
As I learned they were more than just hoaxes and guff.

But I slaved through the years learning everyday skills
While contenting myself with vicarious thrills
Till the time has arrived when I don't need to work
And I'm doing the job fearful owners will shirk.

For a modest retainer I bed myself down
In suburban locations, or sometimes in town
Which the families fled to preserve their own lives
When the husbands at last were convinced by their wives.

And I'll care for the place while concocting a plan
To evict all the 'tenants' just as soon as I can.
All my methods are those that have worked in the past,
From kind words to hard music that's of course set to blast.

In response to your unspoken question I'll say
That the ghosties occasionally come back to stay.
Which is how come "retainer" is the word that was used
And of gouging my clients I won't be accused.

Copyright © Roderick Molasar | Year Posted 2015