Grave Imagination Poems

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Details | Epic |
~ATLANTIS~   Featuring:) Kelly Deschler

Can't be re-written by the Gods
The land and sands of time'
Destroyed by the fire of Poseidon's curse 
Atlantis swallowed by: Earth

In one day and one night
Peaceful existence met its end
Built on a volcano, now surrounded by ancient rippled tears
Lava stripped apart the rich and glorious empire
Enriched by Engineers and Architects whom loved power more than the Gods 
Forgotten souls, sheltered by a watery grave
History withheld from shallow sunken memories,
Western sky's hide the truth, a vision from the Pillars of Hercules
"An island situated in front of The Strait of Gibraltar"
Ghostly ruins wait to rise above the Mediterranean and Atlantic Waves
A magical island held down by the hands of death, 
Atlantis lost city walls ---a secret hidden by mermaids
Partially buried, beneath the ocean floor it lies
The largest sunken treasure never to be found
Magnificent pillars of an imperial palace still stand
Somewhere hidden under ancient sand
Some are leaning against turrets, that toppled after the impact
Nothing human will ever inhabit these walls
No feet will ever touch these staircases, again
Only an eerie silence now resides here, with the blue-green waters   
Seaweed grows along it's outer walls, like ivy on a trellis.
Obscuring it even further from the human eye.
Other ocean tides will never compare
Tantalizing blend of fantasy and mystery
Stone walls covered with precious gems
 -Listen to PLATO'S voice-
"Look close, Look close, into the sea!"
Through the light and Pillars of Hercules
Some where out there buried in the vast 

~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013

Details | List |
Bodies in
a bag.
Wires in
ghostly white
Souls wearing 
hearts of
Knives edged
purposely against
your skull.
A gratitude feel
to end this life
but stay.
Hold the flower
in your breath
and fear lonely tears.

I believe in you
a shell in the
sand left with nothing
but the sun blinding you.

Scorn white snow in
December have desire.
Another wants you.
Alone I wait on a bed
of nails desperately
wanting to surrender
this night instead
your heavens kept you
locked under this world
of the dying.

I can't keep your thorns
Beyond this life seeking
your truth.
Knives carved in
the shape of your
Blood on the whiskey
black moon grave.

Copyright © Misty Lackey | Year Posted 2006

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 | Free verse |
The innocence is transfusing
and overturning 
the goat skin drums
children of the mills,
children of the junkyard,
and savaging
and we keep filling them with
mercury, nitrate, espestice, baby bombs
blasted out of their shaved heads
and foraging

Copyright © Blake Holland | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
                 It was the Southern French window blowing open 
                    he came in the night no word spoken 
                The eyes so sensual and piercing me as if nothing matters
                     he is all I think of now as each day I grow weaker

               I will soon die unsure of my fate 
                  my life I will give to him a offering I ask him to take
               This man so desirable with dark eyes and hair
                  even if he is not a man but a beast 
                I no longer care I submit to the last drop of blood

                 As I lay with a cotton white gown in a locked room 
                   I throw my rope of Garlic far to be seen 
                 Nothing can stop this now longing and lustful 
                      feeling like I'm in a forever dream  

                    I wait for him too enter 
                       I wait for him
                                  willing to die 
                               I wait losing my Religion
                                   The Vampires offering am I              

                 " For That Archaic Poets contest " Shanity Rain 

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Cold and dark, the eyes of the depths
glaring at the stars above.
Few dare descend the steps
which reach down to oblivion’s cove.
Heavy, the desire for truth,
like the chains dragging my body further down
unto fate unknown.

Beyond recompense, lies the ruin
sunken to forbidden ground,
now home only to the strangest of creations
and catacomb to the drowned slaves of history.
Will all memories be as this one day?
Ghosts that haunt the corpses of humanity’s ambition?

Black are the bells that once chimed to announce omen.
Buried are the thoughts that walked my mind.
Broken are the tables where ideas once feasted.
Bound are the hopes, eaten by preying sharks of doubt.

Weighing down, the garments choke the breath of life.
There, where insanity was sane, beneath facade’s streams
lies truth, in the sea of forgotten dreams.

Copyright © Robyn Thomas | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
twas a cold and cloudy day
nippy in nature with trees in sway
that time in winter when days were short
the kind of day when a grave digger 
would take a snort
to warm the bones, so to speak
a few more snorts to make it neat
but dig the grave ready for the next day
and the grave digger would earn his pay
it never bothered him that he made a living 
digging graves
sometimes he wondered why people were afraid
it's just a place where dead bodies are laid
as long as people are dying 
there's money to be made
on his way home singing a song
living in a world where nothing was wrong
or so it seemed
but while he was walking'
one of the thorny briers latched
on to one of his shoe latches
and in one step the bow was gone
unknowingly the grave digger
kept moving along, singing his song
like nothing was wrong
unaware that he could slip
never minding that he could trip
the old grave digger singing his song
without a thought that something was wrong
he reached in his pocket
for a pipe that was'nt there
and was sure  that he had droped it
somewhere back there
his search was so intense 
it took him all the way back to the grave
but just before he got there
he steped on his shoe string
there was nothing he could do
falling head long into the grave
where a broken neck was waiting
and also his pipe laid
so we'll end this story like Esop ends his
there is a moral to the story
for all the growing kids
smoking is bad for you

Copyright © The Situation | Year Posted 2012

Details | Prose Poetry |
OVERCOMING FLAWS I heard laughter in a distance and wondered why this annoyed me. Then I realized that what they laughed about was what did not define humor. Therefore, who laughed twisted their senses. This morning, as each, I awoke with a mood swing. Things were going as they should from what had previously occurred. Let me explain. I go through this twilight form. I am zone via income. You may go ridiculous but this is done via the government. Quite an annoyance... What annoy are mediums that are formed from corruption. In a storyteller form, I developed the imagination. To implement, I tell a tall tale through the lens of non-fiction. However, true accounts are hidden within the excitement. The tale goes, once upon a time, in the world of expression, lived a woman who was quite annoyed. If you spoke to her, she became annoyed. When you smile at her, you found that she was annoyed. This would annoy you; therefore, I begin to not speak to Maxine or smile at Maxine. Maxine had Graves’ disease, which caused bulging eyes. She was a refined woman but wanted you to see her otherwise. What annoys is that she made it seem as if you caused this negativity in her life. Aggravation makes an annoying situation. When your life is not as you want, whom do you blame? What annoys me the most when you blame me and I do not have any means to cause you any pessimism. Provocation of such states you have not done what you should. You are liable to you own self-identity, self-worth, and self-esteem. Do not accuse me. Inasmuch, this is what annoys me!

Copyright © Verlena S. Walker | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
Entombed behind isolation walled
A haunting malice trapped me within.
Crouching beneath shadows shroud,
 Leering eyes pierce.
Through darkness’s pitch black,
Pacing beast intercepting motions,
 Movements, mocking my,
Feeble attempts to evade frenzy's,
Deceptions deceiver, silver tongued, 
Weaver, spewing lies deceit.
Intricately aligning it's widow,
 Makers webbing,
Feasting on innocence betrayal.
Heckling, laughter echoes, against,
 Dead reckoning.
A chilling appetizing, as if pleased,
 At malice’s intent.
Fiendishly, delighting in torturing,
It’s human pet.
A vacant mumbling feeling over,
 Comes reasoning,
A deeper anger begins to rage,
Rebelling against hatred’s,
Horrifying entity.
Motivated to survive beyond spectral,
Hear my disgust, creature,
 I shall destroy thee.
Leave me alone, screaming aloud,
 Sanity's domain gives way.
In musty halls empty hollows,
 An odorous stench.
Fills mine senses,
Cease mortal miscreant,
 None leave here alive,
Shudders blood runs cold down raw
 Veins nerve endings,
A deepening realizations rushes,
 The conscious mind,
I'm deaths play thing.
To be pounced upon, a toy mouse,
 Caught between claws,
Extracting, retracting at whims invoking.
Invisible hands grasp choking life's,
 Breath away.
Feeling every heartbeat slowing,
 Quietly ceasing.
Stinging painfully ringing at ear, 
Shots quivering,
Oblivion's mute murmurs never part,
Lips tightly closed.
Let mercy's fallen be forgiven,
 Released from,
Beyond hells hidden regions,
A place devoid of spiritual salvation.
Foul demonic spirit haunting,
 A madman's kingdom,
It whispers to me in sweet melodies,
Now we begin, and you truly belong to me,
With satisfactions grimace, it smiles.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |
Devouring, destroying, decaying. For your eyes only.
Inside, interiors, innermost. Then reflects on the outside.
Eaten, eager, eroding. Tap it, let it pour.
Disdain, disease, departure. 'Twas been driving you.

...reconciliation, with what is left.

...acceptance, what it offers.

...accord, to what you have become.

Peace, in the soft embrace of oblivion brought through demise.

Copyright © The First Born The First Forgotten | Year Posted 2014

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

 When I die,
You experience some grief.
 That is why I will leave you 
My poems,
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,
You will say "who cares."
 In a corner of your room,
 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,
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 | 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 | Epic |
The stones slipped through the great fingertips of God
Each ligure staked its existence on the four corners of the universe
The quadrivial region began to spin and pull into a sphere
And pathways revealed their footholds 

The fourth ligure bravely landed in the midst of history
So that one day the future settlement of the second 
Would be moved by the last—by the past
Suffering much it stayed
Manifesting in incandescent words
Thrusting evanescence upon the weak
Selfless, it's sorrow would move the merriest
Would move the unmovable

The third lies in the profound valley of mystical guardians
Star-recruited, they are the very light above the canvas of gray
They embrace the stone—are inspired by the stone  
The very reflection of their creator was evident
Upon their unremitting glimmers
Unafraid to stare the others down
Motivated and construed by the glower of death
Eyes move fixedly beyond the simple vast

The second ligure rested upon the shoulders of invisible martyrs 
The hopeful power it planted on the sufferers was unbelievable
For spectators used their disbelief to cover their ever-placed envy
They never were part of the battle—they merely watched
Always seeing truth
But they never quite absorbed
Like a rock hitting the water
The inevitable fate was to fly and sink

The first of the ligures settled in the very reservoir of Satan himself
Even the very heart of the devil is marked
Though rebellion embarked  
The cold stone landed upon his naked bosom
He despaired not to the pericopal truth the gods had bestowed upon him
He merely despised it
But wished not to lose it
For such a stone to fall upon that dark corner—he felt pride for the gracious wound

In truth, there are twelve ligures of stone 
And four were dispersed, dropped into the universe
The last eight the great Eternal wears upon his breastplate 
And only He can re-move these ligures

-July 20, 2013-
-For Shadow Himilton's Any Subject Contest-
-Thanks for the inspiration-

Copyright © Laura Breidenthal | Year Posted 2013

Details | Narrative |
The moon is low, so
I smile(d) at the
dark sky and the
stars that shine. I
speak to ones below.
I let my feet grab
the ground around
the rotten metal
pines. I move slow.
My drowning thoughts
catch wind of a fine
breeze, and are
brought to the
surface just in
time. Met by a dull
glow. And yet led
away to a spot
between two tall
trees. What was dark
is getting darker. 
The cloud overhead
is a monstrosity, I
hope it don't
swallow me whole. My
hands, in fear, grab
whatever's near. And
the time begins to
tick quicker than I
thought was
possible. It was a
fallen stick of
pine, it was
something I could
yield if foes broke
(my) fence.
Something i could
use in a panicked
defense. But
feelings I felt soon
pass(ed) fast. So I
broke that pine
stick, and choose it
for shovel, not
sword.  And I dig
myself a hole,
somewhere to sit my
(tired) spine. I
take a glance.  The
moon pulls my inside
tides. Makes me
question what's
real, and even
what's not. So I
crawl(ed) inside my
head, 'cuz it's all
I got.

Copyright © Kris Lund | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |
I've allowed that burning boat to float off without me
Rarely ever thinking about dissipating the flames, 
As it is hardly worth the time and effort. 
In Truth, 
There wasn't much of a future with that situation.
No matter the attempts
No matter the appeal
It was all for naught
The only thing I worry about now
Is looking back at the Flames
And hoping I am not entranced
By their Dancing Light

Copyright © Epi C. A Phoenix Writer | Year Posted 2013

Details | Imagism |
Father, grandfather, great-grandfather

I’ve heard your cry

Far from the dungeon 
Inviting me to the tearless
Where my plights would be addressed  

But you know father,

I can’t come now!

I’m just a mundane street roamer

Roaming aimlessly

On this desolate street of Ai-Igado

In quest of my lost turtle dove 

To forfeit to Ichekpa

Which you left unappeased

I can’t lodge in a shattered home
So says the Akpandede*

*Akpandede is swift (a bird) in Idoma language in Nigeria 

Copyright © Ameh Comrade Godwin | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
Eight hours of toiling in the sun
With pick and axe digging for rum
Captive to the sentence yet
Prisoner to none

Hard labour, and this sure ain’t fun
Sweating in the heat, shoveling the dun
Digging and digging this work never done
Callused hands and a back carrying tons

The sun is setting, yet escape seems far
After all the digging is the gravel and tar
I am dead, dead dead!
Dead tired and wish I was in bed

So fair warning I am leaving here soon
Leaving this torture, to sing another tune
Leaving, I am to fetch me some brew
Some Tim Horton’s coffee and maybe some stew


ummmm a coffee shop, lets see what trouble I can get into there!!!!! :)

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017

Details | Lyric |

I am in love with a stranger
I can't believe my feelings
But I can't deny either
I bumped into her toward the coast
I was just a visitor  to the breeze
She sacrificed to be the host
She welcomed me with a hug
Her snowy breath could freeze
But I  didn't want to nag
We both cried,
As we said bye to each other
 I am afraid she may be a ghost
Her voice is one I have heard before

Copyright © CHRISDAD KOJO ARTHUR | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
This is a story to be told
About a man of old
He said that he would 
Never rise

In the ground would he reside
Never would he face God
His remains would rot and make sod
So he a plan devised

This plan totally made by man
On his grave he would have placed
Ten inches cement fully ingraved
Never would he come out of that ground

He would have a ton of dirt all around
No way would his body come out
No way would he rise and shout
Just rot and rot and decay

Then one day a squirrel would play
Right on his grave he did stay
Chewing a nut to get to meat
He just wanted a treat to eat

Something frightened the squirrel away
Then it rained right away on that day
Leaving the acorn exposed to sprout
Then the angels all did shout

That acorn sent down a shoot
That shoot began to take root
From that a mighty oak
Large enough for hundreds of post

Sent its tendrils of roots around
Coming up from the ground
Forcing open that slab of cement
His body rose with a lament

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
It stands, the stone, a cold gray, a grave
Marker, etched, engraved, branded by date
And name.
Alone tree, a dark elm, covered in yellow
Leaves of fall, a blanket of sunshine.
A contrasting of irony, death and life,
Side by side.
Beneath no life, once alive,  remnants
Refuge, buried under ground.
A silken lined chamber, of white
Elegance, a coffin death's santurary.
 Holding nothing, but
Skeletal bones, of the forgotten.
Do angels weep for the dead,
Do the dead weep for themselves,
Within their shallow, earthen prisons?
Warmth or chill,  remorse's for-get-me-knots,
Regrets petals falling, from the reddest
Rose, lain against an inscriptions crept. 
Within each depth of layered soil, 
Is colors light brown unto darkest black. 
Here light fades by the inch, until nine
Feet equals the leveling point, of no return.
One mourner, one priest, saying a spiritual
Farewell, to the diciest.
In reverences pondering, with a quiet
Moments pausing, for respect, 
Two heads are bowed
In prayer.
In humanities photo albums, you'll
Find know mention, or mark that this soul
Has made.
Say but one a stone brick, etched, with
A date and a name.
As the Autumn leaves, are blown across
An unvacant neglected site,
A spirit lingers in the chambers, of
Heaven, awaiting for the lone mourner,
To embrace him with a thanks, to be
Remembered at least by one.


Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
Come here, I say, come closer
Let me tell you 'bout a tale
You're young, you can learn from this
So be sure to listen well
A gathered clan of kinsmen
I'd say the number equaled twelve
Each one found a higher calling
Forged by the Good Shepherd Himself
He brought these men together
They broke bread, then shared a pact
Nothing happens to the Master
Or one of us must spring to act
That day came as expected
He was charged with several crimes
The least brave of the twelve
Knocked on the door, knocked several times
They took Him, Roman soldiers
What do we do? I am afraid
By the time someone took action
He was deep within the grave

Copyright © Amy Bohack | Year Posted 2012

Details | Free verse |
How can I draw your picture
For you appear 
On my heart’s screen
Creating variety of scene
Sometimes you look like
A pretty singing bird
Sweetening the senses
With your musical
Rhythmical prances
Often you appear 
Like a shining star
Showing path to my stray soul

Often in the orchard 
Of my heart
You blossom like flower
Colorful, and smelling
Beautiful and smiling
Sometimes you make me start
With your cheering dart
Now tell me 
Which picture I should paint
So your real recognition
I can clearly mention
To get your loving attention

Copyright © V P Mahur | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |
*blackout poem*

Time...without change
          As you go.
Avaliable balance...depleted...
   Partial minutes. 
          No redemption...not responsible 
Lost...terms and conditions.
   No value until activated. 
Pay as you go...
   Then visit...gray box.

Copyright © Charles Pullen | Year Posted 2017

Details | I do not know? |
Have I lived so long in Eden’s grave
and never felt the ocean's wave
or touched the silken butterfly
who dances for the children’s eye

Colors more than sight allows
have I embraced those burning clouds
ending days in appetite
for stars in heaven's pride of night

did I live so long and never taste
snow - so shyly kissing the face
aimless, white melodies
clothes for barren naked trees

do I listen what the rivers say
they’re wisdom of a thousand days
winding from a mountains height
against the stone's endless fight

A scissor tail,  robin's nest
did I hear the song so curious
Have I lived at all - have I lived a day
Have I lived so long in Eden’s grave

Copyright © Ezra Vancil | Year Posted 2005

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 | Quatrain |
Zet-Zime time compressed communication tool:
To: The people of Earth
Date: 2000 -2009
From: The Grand Sovereign of Earth
Date: 2776
Title: Grave worms manifesto
Copy: 11231

No flowers grow in this parcel of time
We have long ago drunk all their waters.
Water it was once but now more it's slime,
Sacrifice flowers for sons and daughters.

This Zet-zime I send through time and place
As our consequence dire and pending.
Our die cast from your greediness waste
Predestined the plight of our human race.
This path you cursed being its ending.

Your primitive thoughts and narrow visions
War schemes ventured to dominate others
Decisions, revisions and constant incisions
Has scared this Earth and killed our mother.

Your technical beam that now burns bright
Will soon be centered by a select few
Whose conscience ream the masses' plight 
Leaving only energy for death's firelight.
And garrote your sky to a repulsive hue

We pray this zime reaches back in time
Before all communication is severed
A warning to common, elite and prime
Grave worms inherit all you endeavored. 

Copyright © Mike Samford | Year Posted 2007

Details | Imagism |

                                       As he stood by the grave and wept

                                         She was lowered into the ground

Copyright © Sara Kendrick | Year Posted 2010

Details | Free verse |
Leaps up 
From her grave,
To kiss
The tender
Lips of war

Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2009

Details | Free verse |
All those years
Born a slave,
Now, those 
Same tears
Flow through
This grave

Copyright © Gregory Golden | Year Posted 2009

Details | Rhyme |
The darkness has overcome me
The light refuses to shine
Forsaken by the air I breathe
I have no concept of time

Frozen in this awful place
Death has made me his slave
Forever trapped in nowhere
A prisoner of the grave

I ponder all the mistakes I've made
While ever reasoning my choices
Blaming all my wrong decisions
On the never ending voices

The darkness now envelopes me
Four walls becomes my tomb
Happiness is a foreign word
My heart is filled with gloom

This place is neither here nor there
A dark and empty cave
No beginning or an end
This place we call the grave

Copyright © Larry Belt | Year Posted 2010