Grave Sister Poems

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

If you don't find the poem you want here, try our incredible, super duper, all-knowing, advanced poem search engine.

The poem(s) are below...

Details | ABC |
We were both so young full of spirit and fun
She's the Indian I'm the Cowgirl as we move along the ground just fooling around
Running through the house attacking each other with laughter and joy trying to be coy

We see the rifle with no knowledge of great threat
Just giving us a peak with nothing to regret
My sister grabs it first and play shoots me but I'm quick and hold a might sway
I'm a strong cowgirl aiming to attack
I snatch the rifle from the Indian as she starts to retract
                  I AIM-- I SHOOT--

My breathing has stopped but I'm not aware
My ears are ringing 
Do I run and hide do I start screaming?
For death I do not know and everything is now so slow
Is she just sleeping or can I hear her weeping?

Mama where are you? You were just ten steps below but you do not show

My sister must be sleeping a blanket will help her weeping
Gently I cover her but she doesn't seem to know
Her long brown hair now has an odd red glow

I'm only a child but my mind is going wild
My tears of fear blind me as I fall to the ground

Many days have passed me as I have grow old
but I can still remember her grave with the Angel stone.

T Reams             10th Place     for my Sister Amber I Miss You

Copyright © TAMMY REAMS | Year Posted 2015

Details | Dramatic Verse |
My Dad was Chicagoan.
He would light up a room just like my Mom. 
He loved to fish ! He loved his beer .
He also designed a Octagon home in the 70's 
Built custom by hand . I was very proud of Dad .

Alcohol hit our Family , a curse .
He left my Mom when I was 14 in Illinois.
To renew in California , leaving a trail of tears .
Meeting my step mom , my sisters age .
My 2 sisters they were accepted in her world . 

Not I , I looked too much Like Mom . Told this all my Life . 
She a petite Beauty , RN , real estate Broker .
I did not see why it was wrong to be like mom ?

I moved in with Dad, His new Wife , and 2 sisters 
eventually . All three women were competing for my Father .
I was kicked out at 16 yrs.

Years do pass , you try and accept people places and things .
At the end of Dads life , he was calling me once a week .
I ordered a Engraved Clock for the Fathers day coming.
This was a issue for the Wife and sisters , never invited to his new home , 2 Decades ~My little Brother & I , never wanted .

Dad passed suddenly one sad Spring Day . Not one word from his wife , all 3rd party,  how and when,  Dad Died . being denied the right to his address , even to say goodbye .
Not being able to send my engraved clock . 

 "Dad Passed " received call  from sister whom just stayed a week with me ,  I took her all around the sites here . "1st day I get call , you should come , 2nd Day after , Dad's been cremated already . " It was a lie.

I went anyway , finding the funeral home, the Funeral Director was appalled at the denial displayed.

He insisted I was given 10 minutes alone with Dad , my Birthright to say Goodbye , he was in dismay over the Hostility towards a daughter ~

I get to this room of mean relative's. His sisters , Mine, angry looks , hearing from a Aunt "What is she doing Here ! " I can't give nor reason or rhyme. 

 Shame to you and all that participated that wicked day.
 Are you Glorified with Power?  Denied the right to grieve , 

 Left with no sane answers to give in hatred received by Blood . Some , just Spouses , telling me I had no right to Say Goodbye to my own Father , My DAD .

My Dad wanted me there , I know he did . I love Him and will never forget , his youngest girl whom looked like Mom . I know in my heart and dreams he speaks. 
 We all see when we leave . May God not allow any Son or Daughter to go through such Evil.

Thank-you Poetry Soup for returning my voice .

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Free verse |

In the elliptical nights moonshine of night, a figure of lavender
And aged white lace, roams amongst the rocky sea shore, a 
Glittering phantom of beauty most fair, walking with an essence
Of smoldering evil and the smell of burnt sulfur fumes oozing
Outwardly catching upon the chilling autumn air!
In the bushes hear the rustling, the meowing of the felines,
For this is the velvet witch the care taker of the familiars,
Calls forth unto her four pawed legions, dwelling within
 The depths of the night, as eerie eyes pierce through the
Darkened glows of the shadow realm!
Glazing hypnotic orbs set in memorizing forms, glen in the
Flashing moon lights fine point of the ethereal sheen, small
To the large, they do so come, these creatures of the supernatural
Flame, called by their Mistress the Valet Witch, of Skat County!
Rubbingly, adoring at her shifts skirts of purplish hews,
These cattish guardians of deaths resurrection, and evils
Omens of shattered dimensions, purr with utter devotions
Loyalty, to her their protector!
As the last stroking of mid-night falls, a cloaked ghostly
Image, stalks the hallowed hollows near a rippling lake
Of lost reflections, no floating silhouette is composed
From the maiden whom crosses these waters of discontent,
Against these crystal clear waves of absolute calm!
Hidden beneath this bewitching shroud of ancient mysticism,
Echoes an enchanting voice of incantations speaking in a cat-like
Tongue, casting mystical spells of worships beguiling!
At the foot gates of the pet cemetery the valet Witch thus
So stops in sudden motions stance, than raising her arms
Upwards, she utters in words of a muffled language,
To those spiritually resting within!
All the winds breathe seems to cease for an instant,
As orbital greenish lights raise from their entombs of burial,
Floating within the waiting arms of this their honored
Matriarch, this cat collector dressed in lavender and lace,
The Valet Witch of Skat County!
In the mists of death’s vaporous out lashing, the capped
Figures shroud drops upon the soils consecrated ground, 
And in the night a voice whispering is heard, almost seemingly
As if a soft purring lingering within this darkness fading,
In the twilight of dawn first rays of light!
Two by two glaring emerald eyes flash into the forests wild,
Screeching in reverence respect, for their darkened mistress
Of familiar has left unto the gates of the neither world beyond,
The Valet Witch of Skat County.

BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN-fictitious legend-Dedicated to Skat my youngest soul sister!

Copyright © cherl dunn | Year Posted 2015

Details | Tanka |
Remembering them   
is deep sorrow piercing the  
heart that must weep to release 
what the flesh can't overcome. 

Copyright © Andrew Crisci | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
There was a time as a child when I knew I was different. I felt lost and enjoyed thing other girls may not have. I hated dresses, loved wearing ball caps and watched football at the age of five. I’m sure other little girls loved these things as well, but to me I felt alone. I needed to express myself in ways I couldn’t. Growing up was difficult, yet at the same time I enjoyed my way of thinking. I never knew how freeing it would be to admit I was a lesbian. Back then, it was frowned upon and I felt dirty at times. I remember having boyfriends and I just didn’t feel the connection I should have or could have. I did not feel normal, but as I grew older I realized there is no such thing as normal. I should be proud of who I am and not feel confined to a cell for who I love and why. I struggled with guilt because I was raised in the church. I needed liberation and as soon as I met her I knew she was the one. She turned my world upside down and from that moment on we became the best of soul mates and lovers. Twenty years had passed and my past crept up on me very quickly. I fell into addiction and suffered from bouts of depression. The days were long and the nights were spent weeping. I pushed everyone away including my lover. I did not know myself anymore. I had no idea who I was. My drinking had become out of control and I felt despair and hopeless. I wanted to give up all together. I sought medical council and tried medication. But is that what I actually needed? Or was it just my past catching up with me? Memories of abuse and ridicule from peers. Feeling like an outcast because I went alone to prom. Living in secret from my family for so long. Thankfully, my family gave me full support and loved me no matter who I fell in love with or why. My family never gave up on me and in the end I caused them more pain than I had faced when I was alive. Why did I choose to end my life? What was so hard on earth that I could not muster up enough courage to live one more day? Was death the answer to my problems? I had a deadly disease and in the end it killed me. I tried three times before I actually succeeded. I ran away from life and never looked back. Now I live free, but was the pain I inflicted on my loved ones worth it? I left my lover in such anguish that after six years without me, she still cries herself to sleep every night. She feels responsible and wishes she could’ve saved me one last time. I didn’t deserve all the struggles I faced, but she never deserved the pain I inflicted upon her. I left my sister Laura. She was my best friend and I watched her grieve for me in ways I never thought she could. She is so strong now but deep down she suffers from deep remorse and pain. I caused that pain. She will never be the same again…because of me. She needed me in life, and I deserted her like a swift breeze in the night. She showed me such compassion, love and support during my final days and as I watched her read my farewell letter, I wept until my wings broke. She misses me dearly... Dear Bird, I am sorry. Please forgive me. lu Love, -K September 28, 2016

Copyright © Laura Loo | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric |


                                         Long love day's has past.
                                 My mind felt with howling storms,
                                 grasping to hold on to vanishing love.
                                 Rape and abandon my weary soul
                                 transpires, poring with instant fires.
                                 Oh this dark secret love does thy life
                                 Like amorous birds of pray,
                                 Once ways, and known devoured
                                 Your beauty no more to befound
                                 nor shall the sound of your voice.
                                 Love to dust, love to ashes.
                                 Our love has now gone to a private place.
                                        The grave yard of love.

Copyright © JAY JOHNSON | Year Posted 2008

Details | Rhyme |
The midnight clings to dwarfish kings 
while robot drones, adorning thrones,
       kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
       grace FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.	

The diplohacks, like melting wax,
have swept along the clueless throng,
       some dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Beyond the streams, a raven screams
at loser fish that swarm and swish;
       Nun slowly drains her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
       near FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
the hierarch obeys the bark
       from maw that oozes pure...lard. 
There's much ado throughout the zoo
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Well, FRiar’s pets are in a sweat;
he calls the tunes near burning dunes
       and taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms, their future tombs,
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
reciting verse near FRiar’s hearse,
       extolling wild the van...guard.
Remote controls abet the trolls
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.
With faces straight, in bent debate,
they advertise their empty lies 
       to every passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
       in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

continued in Part 2

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012

Details | Elegy |
>Someone I know not who walked over my grave today

It started on my local BBC Radio.
It really did you know.
A question was just asked it’s true.
What was the nicest thing ever said to you?

I did not have to think of an answer.
To this question asked on our local BBC radio.
The one that struck me off their Facebook page.
They really did, you know.

I shall not ring them up.
I will not tell them so.
As if I do, I really know.
My voice will sadly go.
I can write it down.
As none can see my tears flow.
I wish I had not heard that question.
I really do you know.

My sister Alma was dying.
She was younger than me.
She was only fifty-four.
Two years younger, you see.

When we were young times are hard.
To a children’s home was sent.
For three years, we were together.
Then to different foster homes were sent.
Of course, no one would tell me.
As separation, at the home was made.
And after a little while playing  with her.  
I was not allowed to play.
And that made us both afraid.
Then the seed was planted.
We had no related plaids.

It was through my sister’s insistence.
When, finally she was in a loving foster home.
She pestered her foster mother saying.
‘Who was that boy who played with me in the children’s home?’
Her persistence finally paid off.
Her foster mother did find me.
We had many happy years visiting.
At least, that’s what she said to me.
But the nicest thing she ever said.

Was, ‘Stanley, I am so pleased I found you.’

Then Cancer took Alma away you know.
Now I must stop as cannot see, as my tears oh so flow...<

Copyright © STANLEY Harris | Year Posted 2016

Details | I do not know? |
A mother and father that we share
Doesn't mean you had to care
Being blood is what I thought mattered
But losing mom and dad made our family shatter
Now sister I  havent talked to you in years
And brother when I came to you with tears
You turned and blamed my heartbreak on me
You wasn't near so there's no way for you to see
With a list of whys  you to put the blame on me
All we share now is DNA and a small hope we'll talk again some day
A day sooner than later beside a grave
Saying things we wanted to say
With tears in our eyes
We will be forced to say a final goodbye

Copyright © Tracey Pollack | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
With ghouls, unlearned, no stone’s unturned to burnish blame with Nun’s proud name        and leave the midnight sky... scarred. They raise their hats to copy cats        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. While rumours spread amongst the dead, Nun stays the pace with saving grace,        and phantoms keep their face...marred. The maggot digs neath twisted twigs        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. In tempests strong, Nun rings the gong but fails to rise in vacant eyes -        he palms a one-eyed trump...card. Nun sets her sail, to no avail        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Nun asks him why a bird can’t fly. His mouth, a rut, replies “tut, tut”,        with conscience painted white...tarred. A mushroom mold has taken hold        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. “To fly aloft," he laughed and scoffed “lay bare your breast! I’ll do the rest,        I’ll bless you in the church...yard”. The golden rule's contrived for fools        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. He cast the bait and wouldn't wait - once more defied, her wings denied,        the Kingfish is a bass...tard. A 'no' said twice must pay the price        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. When day’s undone, and night’s begun, Nun stirs a cup and turns face up;        she's feeling that she’s ill...starred. ’Tis such a crime to waste her prime        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Nun plans to dine with sparkling wine but sips instead a bitter red        served with a crystal glass...shard, Behind the bog, beneath the fog        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Well, minstrels fight beyond the night and demons fete behind the gate,        while silence chokes the host...bard. The angel sings with broken wings          in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. The webs are spun neath dying sun; and caught ensnared, her flight impaired,        Nun’s thoughts are how they’ll die...hard. The puppet people storm the stee-        pled FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. And voices wail beyond the pale “The old taboo - it echoes true -        Nun’s bound to have her way...barred”. The schemes are strange and minds deranged        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard. Ms.! Cast your nets, but hedge your bets - there are no odds, where purple gods        and hungry idle ghosts...spar with nameless gnomes in catacombs        in FRiar Small-Bro’s grave...yard.

Copyright © Terry O'Leary | Year Posted 2012