Metaphor Death Poems | Metaphor Poems About Death

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Details | Dramatic Verse |

Indian Ink

“Indian Accent”

Hear the whispers inside

Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry blue eyes enchanting melodies!
Voices fall from the sky;    -Rising hymns release 
-ancient demons that   CLING to the soul

Darkness dwells under - gentle moonlight
Ancestors of the Spirit World!
Weaving Native smoke into the barren air
Indian spirits haunt the muddy Earth---
Moccasin makers rise from underneath;    While
  guardians of dream catchers - print the Universe
Smooth thread from the outer world; 
Arrowheads,   Ivory gems,   feathers, and illusions
I stumble upon a florid kiss.......   My veins;
Run Cold, like ice through a desert night.

Winds of enchanted drums - cry out for rain
Hollow chimes mesmerize,  my ties,  my eyes
An ancient rage begins to flare --- MADNESS! 
- takes place among the sanity of  who   I am
The spear of the perfumed buffalo scrapes my skin
I remove the veil that covers my eyes
The hands that cover my ears
Drying the scalp that bleeds on my face

KINDRED IN EVERY WAY!

Raven silk braids and feathers on my hair
Dancing in a horrid hallucination of Peyote,
*
Waking up from the “American Dream.”
Holding out my arms, I am free, I can fly.

I AM A BIRD!

By; PD

Copyright © Poet Destroyer A | Year Posted 2013


Details | Lyric |

The End

The End

Seeing through these cold dead eyes now,
This world looks much different.

The scars of one’s life entire,
Appear now for all to see.

What once meant everything,
Really means nothing now.

I still see and sense things mortal,
But the earthly world can’t hear my words. 

Lying on an ice-cold white slab this darkest night,
I see the pale yellow moon’s sad face in the sky.

With visions of people who’ve crossed over before,
I wonder when Charon shall finally appear?

Shall it be him who appears on this new horizon?
Or shall it be someone or something else?

The everyday mortal world moves on as before:
Regardless of one’s wealth, poverty, fame, shame, infamy.

I guess now all the ancient mysteries of the universe,
Shall become obvious and answered in kind.

I wonder what shall be said to me and the reception?
Thumbs up or thumbs down—I guess I shall find out.

The pale yellow moon now appears brighter . . . 
As if a special message cometh soon from a winged angel.

Hope this helps to answer my lingering questions . . .
As the dark void from the mortal world grows greater now.

I feel a gentle tug pulling me upward now from Earth’s grasp,
Into the majestic arms of infinity and into God’s eternal light!        

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
June 12, 2016 (Lyric)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Classicism |

The Widow among Roses

The widow among roses,
though a scent so sweet 
she smells to near smile,
how red the vibrance of life
and soft the petals caress
her lonely cheek,
she remembers her love lost
(her left eye a tombstone glass)
and seizes not to yearn it back ---

The Blacklady among crimson;
her desert rains evermore night and day,
and still the dunes of her heart soak not with love,
the arrid wind still shoots the sand 
through her wasteland unbetrothed,
where the sun never rises,
nor never beautifully it sets 
through her tombstone eye

She walks the night dressed in white,
her wedding gown a sight for ghosts
and phantoms do fright;
they cannot haunt ---
this foot-in-the-grave-soul,
glowing white-red howling at the moon

To true midnite her feet carries her so,
where the river rushes reflecting 
forever moon glow

Where the nymph and sylph and dryad never go,
whispering and wondering ---
gazing to this lady alone,
this poor begotten thing ---
this shadow unto death,
who filled with eternal tears
(seated in some unknown place)
her nose in roses, and her mind always in the past
(grieving life) 
and mourning some faceless man


*** Inspired from a friend's mother, who at the age
of 40 --- all but gave up on life at the death of her
husband, which deeply saddened me ***


Copyright © Keith O.J. Hunt | Year Posted 2017


Details | Lyric |

A Butterfly Inside

I feel a butterfly inside;
its wings are cramped within my breast.
The weight of flesh, o dull cocoon,
prohibits my free flight. At best
I only soar inside; my wings--
gossamer, light, remain untried.
I wait...I wait...until the day
the barred' cage is flung aside
and airy wings lift toward the skies.

I have felt this graceful creature 
flutter faintly deep inside;
then, at times, so ardently,
I think no way will it abide!
It will be loosed! Its wish to fly
will push the bars of flesh aside.
Determined is this butterfly 
to show its colors multiplied
and wing its way through azure skies.

The time is drawing near, I'm sure;
the throbbing swells within my heart.
The cumbrous cocoon, filled with life,
is bursting now, falling apart.
The butterfly is breaking free;
no more its wings will tightly furl,
but lightly spread upon the breeze 
their filmy webs, gilded and pearled...
and, then, my soul will leave this world.

Faye Lanham Gibson
Copyright, 1987

Copyright © Faye Gibson | Year Posted 2014

Details | Lyric |

The Unknown

The Unknown

While standing on a razor-edge end of my mortal time,
I’m not sure of what lies beyond and what I shall find.

Death’s dead, cold eyes stare me down now, as I wait;
My spirit sweats and shakes, as my blood turns frigid.

His skeleton face is scary, horrid, pallid, and macabre.
His apparition floats freely full of fear this frozen night.

A little girl long dead steps toward me from this oblivion,
Her face sad, streaming tears as she hands me a wilted rose.

This strange netherworld has that dull, cold pallor of death, 
Just like the smell, sensation, and sadness of a charnel house.

The moon on this eve is one blood red, insidious in intent;
Fixed high in the cold night sky it gives one no hope at all.

The little girl long dead returns and holds my left hand gently: 
She says, “It’s not yet your time . . . this is still only a dream.”
She adds, “The River Styx lies ahead—cold, dark, and deep.”
She says, “There is yet time to change your life for the better.”

As I started to awaken from this intense and revealing dream,
I could hear a faint voice whispering deep inside my psyche.
It told me now a certain message that I shall never ever forget.

Follow your heart and conscience, find the goodness in your life.
Listen to God and what the better angels of your nature tell you.

This shall keep you on that path of the devout in the eyes of God.
The image of God is reflected in Man himself as he seeks to fulfill
Always His Divine Destiny!

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
January 1, 2016 (Lyric)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2016

Details | Lyric |

Death Comes

Death Comes

All arguments and denials were fruitless;
The deceased fell prey to the Master Thief.

The “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . .
Just Too Cold to Resist! . . . They Say!

No worries though . . . They Say:
“He looks so life-like!”
“He looks like he’s sleeping!”
“They do wonders with embalming fluid, don’t they!”
“Who wants to live forever anyway?”

The deceased’s body epitomizes all four.
I’m sure the deceased appreciated them all . . .
As if the dead could talk and nod in agreement.

Alas! The body’s texture is . . . Cold-Rock-Hard.
No surprises here! 

The thoughts of what might’ve been,
Are now . . . 
What could’ve been and what should’ve been!

“I guess we’ll never really know.” . . . They Say.
“I wonder what he would say?” . . . They Say.
“But the dead don’t talk.” . . . I Say. 

That icy-cold touch of the Master Thief . . . 
It was just too cold to resist!

The sweet ‘n stale odors now so deep in the air,
Overwhelm everyone packed in the funeral parlor.

The loved ones, friends, and visitors all walk
Outside into the very frigidly-cold night air.

An anxious pale-yellow full moon awaits us all . . . 
It looms now larger-than-life across the cold-night sky.
It looks down at all of us . . . so sad and so forlorn.

All of us seemed to be momentarily spellbound by this
Mournful visage of the full moon on this very sad night.

Perhaps, this was an omen of some sort—I thought.

But what to do?
A life is over . . . A person is dead.

I walked away from the others in our group before 
Preparing to leave.

I needed take some time, some moments, to collect my 
Thoughts and memories of my dear deceased friend who
Was lying now all alone only steps away inside of the
Confines of dimly-lit chamber of the mortuary nearby.

As I slowly walked away, very deep in thought, it was only
A few minutes later, and then I suddenly stopped . . .  

When, I started to hear the faint echo of a deep-raspy voice
Sounding out some very strange words in the cold-night air.

These faint words had a definite imperative resonance,
Sounding almost like inexplicable, ethereous vibrations.
 
“You know the Myth, they say, is true my sad friend.”
“Yes, my icy-cold touch is just too cold to resist!”
“But don’t worry though . . . you won’t feel a thing!”

The faint echo of this deep-raspy voice sounded once more . . .
“No worries though . . . it’s not yet your time!”

The very last sound I heard before quickly leaving the area was 
An eerie rattle of frozen-ice droplets colliding intensely in the air,
Whilst making a high-pitched crystalline-like type of sound.
All very spooky for sure, I thought . . .  

These frozen-ice droplets reflected the macabre image of a faint 
Blackish-grey frozen hand, arrayed with jaggedly-long fingernails!

I then, momentarily gasped and paused—then gasped again,
Whilst transfixed in a moment of true fear and mesmerization!

It was like my mind, my very being was in a catatonic state,
A mental stupor of sorts . . . and then, I snapped out of it!
 
Yes, ah . . . I thought, ah . . . Oh No! . . . Oh God! . . . It’s Him!
It’s Death Himself!

He’s the “One” whose icy-cold touch is . . . Just Too Cold to Resist!

Death Comes!
May God Help Us All!

Requiescat In Pace.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved,
August 3, 2017 (Lyric)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2017

Details | Free verse |

The Color Missing

The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes.  Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.

‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’

Copyright © Jacob Reinhardt | Year Posted 2013

Details | Dramatic monologue |

Trick

(THE GHOST)

In the naked eye,
Pure death approaches!

Incredibly hollow, kick the bucket long ago
No, whiff nor smell when “THE GHOST” is around
Abuses the whiteness, in which exists inside these sheets
It can be the cost and the intellect of your overdose in question
Go ahead and dig your own grave
I have already commissioned your headstone
You won’t be remembered,
The aftermath this GHOST creates 
---will leave you babbling, even in your crate
This is that whiteness you do not want to feel or taste.

Once he or she was a nobody, is now “The Infamous Ghost!”
The one that lives inside your ‘Indian Hollow Walls.’
The Ghost’ leaves heat behind in your room.
It prowls around, 
---leaving you within a near death experience every night.

This' ghost left behind will wreak mayhem on your soul,
Shh!  Listen to your walls, they speak quite a routine.  
Once you see yourself with broken wind, and watery eyes. 
Do not believe this is your maker in the process.
‘The Ghost’ with eyes so potent compels a numbing stare!

If there really is such a thing as reincarnation,
Then you had better remember
--- that this ghost was a ghost in its own past life
‘The Ghost’ can have you breathing out tears so intense
Leveling your entire room with fear
Not even your frightened watery eyes will salvage your soul
Nothing will come in handy before you expire.
‘The Ghost’ will incinerate your obituary.
          
         …READING…

“There is nothing to Fear but Fear itself! “By Franklin D. Roosevelt!”
That, and the fear is all this fearless 'Ghost will leave behind.
 Everlasting rational fear.

-Happy Halloween- 

Copyright © SKAT A | Year Posted 2012

Details | Iambic Pentameter |

Red Roses Fade To Black

Red velvet petals, only I, seduce,
With hidden danger under the disguise,
My fingers feeling shyly, I reduce,
Thorns sharpen, ready, waiting the unwise.

Before me, bleeding poison, I assume,
This flower withered, shriveled the entire,
A dark extracted substance, the perfume,
No beauty, only sorrow, I admire.

Withdrawn I wept lamenting the depart,
A rosebud, crimson, youthful, I erased,
A lifeless flower, never I impart,
nor taken with affection, I embraced.







Written by Kelly Deschler  October 23rd, 2014




Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

Moments In Time

The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark

The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been 
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy

You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark. 

Copyright © John Paluszek | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |

A Soul Awakened

She is the muse to her own sorrow; She is the digger of her grave. She is the painter of her ocean view and every fatal wave. She is the shadow of her Father; She is the darkness in your sight. She is the night without the stars surrounding pale moonlight. She is the music with no words; She is sweet love without the reason. She is your dreamer with submission cold by warmth with every season. She is your pet with cold intentions; She is your baby scared and shaken. She is the bold and pure- the lost and found, She is a soul awakened.

Copyright © Dana Smith | Year Posted 2013

Details | Light Poetry |

Grey Skies are Raining Poets

Is this a poem?
I will let poets decide
I read here, words and prose
How is it possible
Such ingenuity, over and over
Inspirations
Expressions of the heart
Kindness exposed
Bitterness sits in the cold
Storytellers
Poetic wisdom's
Lovers shedding words
Lost souls attacking verbs
Poets in mourning
Deep and emotional losses
Opening the gates of heaven
For the bereaved and forlorn
Poets dancing
Poets crying
Poets who dance and cry
Add some spiced rum and tears
Poets who ponder why?
Poets who offer comfort
Random words of the charitable order
Poets who cannot compose
Yet they are more poetic
Brutal exposure of the heart
Is poetic in its own right
Painters of poetic verse
Who disperse art like candy
I bow my head
In honor of you all

My last request
When that dark omen of death arrives
There shall be a poetic funeral
I shall write nor speak no more
Of lovers and poets
Drunk with words
You all, hoist some cheer
I wish to be surrounded
With poets
As all of you

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2014

Details | Elegy |

The Death of Light

Once again befalls the night,
The birth of dark; the death of light.
The shroud that veils the light of day,
Of silk and lace does lightly lay.
And so the mourners straggle on
Each waiting for a coming dawn;
Yet this is not a common night--
T is the birth of dark...
And the death of light!

~M

Copyright © Mel Merrill | Year Posted 2014

Details | Verse |

The Footpath


The Footpath


The footpath to eternity

Crosses our sea of time

Beyond

Horizon of mortality,

Where in Heaven sublime,

Souls bond.


© Sandra M. Haight 2015 
   All Rights Reserved


~NA~
Contest: Memento of Waters ~ Visual #1
Sponsor: Nette Onclaud
Syllables Checked: 8,6,2,8,6,2

Copyright © Sandra Haight | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Witness and Behold the End

White Lilies,
Scattered on the ground,
Out of their element.
Witness,
Purity,
Deprived of its origin.
Behold,
Clarity no longer visible.
 
White Roses,
In the purest snow,
Frozen to the core.
Witness,
Loveliness,
Stripped away so rash.
Behold,
Beauty destroyed.

White flowers,
All around,
Trampled into dust.
Witness,
Wildness,
Stolen without knowledge.
Behold,
Endless death fighting to prevail.

Copyright © Alina Councilman | Year Posted 2013

Details | I do not know? |

To those for war

Paddling through a river you made.
Rowing to your success & fame.
So row!
Paddle through the blood,
The blood of your countries sons.

Watching your people try to swim.
As they fill the river to it's brim.
So stare!
Watch them create the river you row through,
Rowing through all their blood.

Planting your countries flag into a generation.
As you land at your destination.
So sow! 
Plant the metal pole through the shriveled corpses,
The corpses of a dead generation.

Hearing the mothers' cries.
As they stare at all their sons' lives.
So listen!
Hear the tormented wails of agony,
Agony caused by your greed.

Copyright © Steven McDonald | Year Posted 2014

Details | I do not know? |

love is a poison

love is a vicious posion
 that has no comparison.
 the black death, aids, cancer, ebola
 are not even close to its ranpit death toll.
 homicide and suicide follows this deadly
 mind configuring disease.
 Given in the right dosage 
 It is harmless and offer cures to many
 diseases that pre-exist.
 Given heavily, an overdosage offers
 adverse reactions and deadly side effects
 when a person is force to go cold turkey.
 It spikes up jealousy, envy, rage, depression,
 and madness like no other posion on earth it
 spirals out of control.
 The poison affects first the heart 
 when it is first introduced to the body.
 when it is suddenly taken away 
 the posion migrates to the brain.
 where dellusions festor and revenge
 becomes inevitable.
 uncontrollabe rage takes over the mind
 and harbors itself deep into the brain.
 where it grows to the point of hostile takeover.
 the host suffers from great depression that turns
 into suicidal and homicidal tendencies.
 without the proper anti-venium the 
 ability to restrain because weak.
 the drive to live becomes no more.
 Purpose of life
 becomes meaningless.
 death plagues the mind and
 a life or lives are taken.
 blood spilled over passion, desires and love.
 love is a poison
 that noone can outrun.

Copyright © Michael Pickings | Year Posted 2014

Details | Quatrain |

Echo

Many voices from the past,
Always echoing in my head,
How long can it last,
I thought you were dead.

You always tell me what to do,
So I don't make a mistake,
Somehow you always knew,
How many I could make.

Because once I hurt you,
And you'll never let me forget,
But what can I do,
You're not quite dead yet.

Why won't you leave me alone,
Will you never forgive me,
I wish I could atone,
Please, just let me be.

The hollow echo of your voice,
Will linger on forever,
You've given me no choice,
It'll never stop, ever.

The sound of you used to make me smile,
But now it tortures me,
I will always be in denial,
So an end I'll never see.



Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2013

Details | Sonnet |

To You, Crocodile

The river dragon of crimson streams
Swiftly swimming to bring my end
As I’m standing alone at the silent shore
The beast from this murk suddenly ascends.
Gripping my face in her flawless jaws
The teeth latched efficiently into flesh
Pulling me quickly into the depths
Dragging me into the shallow grave.
Surrounded in filth, drowning in the banks
The apex predator’s grip never relenting
All I can do is break, bleed and decompose
Hoping for some relief in the pending death.
I find some comfort in this prolonged pain,
Because I haven’t felt a thing in ages.    

Copyright © Samuel Lee | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

4 letters

4 letters can describe us all
Sane, Slim, True, Tall

ironic and solemn
Your 4 letters Will change
Love. Hate.
Here. Gone.

simplistic and short
yet complex and infinite

Baby to Wife
Wife to Mama

This is Your

Four lettered Word



pasted within Your incredulous Mind

Your 4 letters.
even you Will Hide.

Slut. Spic. Tard. Twit. 

oh no! no, no one can Know.

Hide. Hide. Hide.
no one Shall Know my Most 
precious Word

ridiculed and cursed
ashamed and misunderstood

Hide From Your True Self
Hide From That

Four lettered Word



in the end our 4 letters Will all be the Same
no one can escape From This 
villainous Word


It lingers the longest
seared swiftly on the Soul
This

Foul Four lettered Word

cursed Upon us all 
is 

Dead. 



Copyright © Brian Byrne | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

The Dark Artist

Death,
A fate foretold 
Since the beginning of time

Master of time,
Misunderstood, 
And feared by many. 
Some say your power is a curse
Some a blessing

Emancipator of souls,
Bestow freedom 
On my poor soul.
Trapped in this prison of torture
Called a body, 
Which places limits on my true potential

I understand you, 
Hiding behind broken hearts
Are benevolent intentions, 
A noble purpose

Bringer of peace, 
You give rest 
to those tired.
You free those soldiers
Trapped in a game of kings

A dark artist. 
I see the beauty in your work.
With your scythe
You paint a masterpiece,
With your scythe 
You write a magnificent tragedy.
You are the perfect ending
To our tragic story

Copyright © Andres Rocha | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose |

THE UNIVERSE IS IMMENSE

How many people with foreboding palpitations
have I seen slip from middle age and slide into old age?
They slither into their last refuge, the dirt hole,
and nestle into the unknown life stream that continues forever.

The ones who grow older, breath by breath, carry a last wish,
a final wisp that life be sustained for one minute more,
to last long enough for death to be quick and painless.
The dead, even the almost dead, know hope is futile.

Hope is only for the living, the years that brandished hope
and vanished from our hours as we lived in joy,
decayed quickly into last, precious dying seconds 
revealing that recoiling from death is folly.

We are finite beings with an expiration date.
Death always triumphant shows no mercy 
and leaves no room for hope or idle prayers.

At my age, death is my constant companion, I do not shun it.
I welcome the old rattler without hesitation or fear.
Life and death are just what they are, a before and after selfie.

Nothing more, nothing less and in the in-between years 
I stuffed my hopes in plastic grocery shopping bags 
toting them with fears and lofty aspirations.

I’ve lived my life as a happy-go-lucky tourist
seeing interesting places, but finding people with minimal common sense, avaricious to a fault and lacking compassion ready to believe anything.

Questioning has been my guide to understanding this convoluted world,
but what I see is a war-torn Disneyland in chaos, controlled by wealthy men. 
But I’m grateful for having visited and lived through the malaise.

The call to learn critically is imperative. 
I await my next perplexing assignment,
eager to explore the universe to satisfy my curiosity.
Surely it must contain more common sense and astute logic

Age brought wisdom, but also laughter and confusion,  
gearing me up for the next bewildering wonder to be revealed.
The universe is immense, but humorous and full of deceit.

Lead on, Grim Reaper, 
I will follow your lead with bated breath, 
although worried what other idiocies you have in store for me.


Copyright © norberto franco cisneros | Year Posted 2017

Details | Haiku |

Lunar Eclipse

Raven Blue twilight, Existence epitomized, Formless shadows lurk.
8~June~2017

Copyright © White Wolf | Year Posted 2017

Details | Personification |

Ana pt 2

Our love continued to grow as the warm gaze of summer came forth, shinning light on the skeletons we’d became, bodies ravaged from the merciless vulture that was and is the winter.  No rays from the sunlight, so brilliant they hurt my eyes, could provide the warmth her love provided.  The bones that tried to cut through my skin were the love-marks of our late night romps, the constant light-headedness I took for euphoric ecstasy, was really my body dying.

In the dawning light of the summer…I began to see what I had become.  What both she and I had done. I was no longer a girl, I was no longer a human being. I was a breath of bones, so thin you had to squint one eye and shut the other to notice me. “What have I done?” I screamed to myself as I stared at what use to be a body in the length of a one-way mirror. She came to me then, tried to tempt me back into her arms, but I no longer saw the beauty in her skeletal form. I could only see how her love had raped and pillaged me.  And so I turned her away and said goodbye…

Copyright © Mika Mulkey | Year Posted 2015

Details | Elegy |

Autumn Leaves

I first met Autumn when I was very, very young,
she was just a shy, quiet girl, but so very bright.
These maple trees were our favorite to play among,
as our laughter faded away with the falling sunlight.

I can still see her brown sweater, and reddish-orange hair,
blowing around her smiling face, like a flickering flame.
Her innocent voice still whispers on October's cool air,
near the place, where our lonely swing remains the same.

As the summer days said goodbye, and welcomed September,
the death of my dear, young friend came all too soon.
Autumn was one of those whom you'd always remember,
her soul was as beautiful as the shining, harvest moon.

She was here, then gone, leaving words that were never spoke,
to this day, I have never understood why Autumn had to leave.
Her presence lingers on the wind, like drifting wood-smoke,
as once a year, her playful spirit arises on All Hallow's Eve.




August, 4th, 2014

Copyright © Kelly Deschler | Year Posted 2014

Details | Free verse |

My Micke boys

                To be called ..
            ~   Grandma is a Honor ~

        I have been blessed with 4  Grandchildren

       ~ one lays in Heaven " Kaleb "  He is God's Angel ~
   ~ His twin brother he will always watch over , and be in his soul~

     For he loved his Brother so much in the womb ,
       he chose Heaven which gave life to his twin
      ~ I feel his spirit when I see the other Grandson ~
 
              Time passed another gift to see
               we are " Mickes" and Loved 
            Our Dad held the title in Baseball 
                   ~  that's how we roll ~
           those children are Grandmas hero's 

       The Irish they love big and Family is everything 
        The brothers will protect the beautiful sister 
              ~ as many lads will be calling ~

        Every time my Grandson hits a home run
     There will be a Angel watching proudly in the stand 

       It will be as if the Angel lifted him when he runs 
           ~no one runs faster then my Grandson~
     either baseball or Art  ~ you shall find your gift given

                These children have been blessed~
                 ~  a beauty to hard to describe 
        If you think not ~~  Take a look at the Mom  
                     That girl can stop Traffic   
                    after raising three and still~ 

          "Inspired by the gift and loss of Grandchildren "

     May our precious " Kaleb " softly rest where Angels only Dwell

Copyright © Shanity Rain | Year Posted 2013

Details | Verse |

Metaphor and Simile We Flog Them So To Death

Oh I am a little metaphor
I love to play a word,
today I am a fortress on 
Tuesday I’m a bird	

On Wednesday I’m a simile
cos I’m like a train, storming
into history,to  play this wordy game

On Thursday’s I push the boat out,
ploughing through the waves, then
Fridays I’m like a scimitar, slicing 
through the raves

And if you catch me weekend,  I 
won’t hold a grudge, just take me
as you find me,  wink, wink,
nudge, nudge, nudge.

Copyright © Peter Lewis Holmes | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |

Dementia

He was always so happy
strong and bold.
He'd give you the shirt off of his back.
Tough.
Independent.
He had a rough life
growing up through the depression,
but like he always does,
he got through it.
He has two boys, of whom he is so proud.
Moved from Regina, to Victoria.
He had the best life anyone his age could have wanted.
But ever since his wife died, 
he has not been the same.
Sad
Lonely
Empty.
But like he has always done,
he got through it.
Mind slipping, 
just a little forgetful.
That's how it always starts out...
But like always, he powered through it, 
until now...
He is not the same person that I used to know.
He been sentenced to the prison in his own mind.
Possessed by the thoughts of his dogs ashes.
He likes to play the blame game,
but we know he doesn't remember that it was him.
He wakes up in the night
shaking with pain, 
tears streaming down his face.
There is nothing we can do,
Oh well...
Two more tylenol.
Hold on to hope
for as long as you can,
It's only a matter of time now.
He gets vocal, a very loud tone.
He'll block you in your room
and make false accusations
But we know that it's the pain induced monster in him.
Tick tock, tick tock...
You can't handle the stress anymore
you have to leave.
Just hope for the best, 
maybe it will get better.
Surprise, it doesn't.
Your denial is foolish, everyone knows 
what happens next.
Sedation
Medication
Anger
Hurt
All results of
dementia

Copyright © Laura Hamilton | Year Posted 2013

Details | Double Dactyl |

Bryant's Necropolis Conceit

Bryant’s Necropolis Conceit
 
Silent halls of death so cometh
William Cullen Bryant
Thanatopsis supremeus now
A sepulchre awaits us all.

Dour darkness and shroud forever
Thanatopsis-Phantasmus
The spirit world so beckons us
We all shall so wither and fall.

Gary Bateman, Copyright © All Rights Reserved, 
(January 15, 2015) (Double Dactyl)

Copyright © Gary Bateman | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |

The Twilight Moor

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