Poetry Death Poems

These Poetry Death poems are examples of Poetry poems about Death. These are the best examples of Poetry Death poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Free verse |
My shadow flirts with the sun
As I caress the darkness
We are one and separate
As my shadow smiles
Anxiety suffocates me
The shadow will soon fade
I shall die
One happy, one not

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2017




Details | Light Poetry |
I see the pain
Reflected via turquoise blue
Of the oceans hue
She stares out into the oceans depth
Lost
Her lover dead under the sea
The waves have made her destiny

I stare at her
From a hill above the shore
Her pain cripples me such
That I can not move

How can I love this woman so
The small of her back
Invites me to hold her
Caress her tears into the sea

The salt water offers comfort
Massaging her feet
The sun glitters with hopeful endeavors
That neither of us feels at all

I am in love with this woman
Since a wee child long ago
Her pain is my pain
Yet my guilt I carry alone

Tomorrow
We both will stand hand in hand
To bury her husband
My brother

As I keep secret my love and desire
Only wishing her sadness to ebb
Into the sea that took hold of part of me
My brother I loved and honored

So on the hill above the shore
I stare at the woman I always adored
Oh brother forgive me my thoughts
As I wish to comfort your lovers broken heart

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
The End of Love

A secret grief rips apart all that was
Slaves to the sexual caresses of time
Stallions in black gallop gallantly in fields
Of spring full wishes
Thou seeith the birth of love
Naked hopes surrounded by sweet perfumes
Seduced by the gods or by demon fools


Dancing, towards our own charades we sing
Funerals consume autumn’s dead poets
The gravestone cold and gray
We hug it like a long lost friend
One may see a battle lost
The other a battle won
In November we reminisce the soldier and singers too

Didst you know I was a prostitute?
Selling my soul to the hourglass of eternity
Foolishly hoping to sleep upon her breast
Shivering as others seem to fall right at deaths door
Brimstone, black and rose

The underbelly of St Laurent
Youthful boasts as the old man in cane hobbles
Generations sailed down the main
Some seeking solace others finding fame

Vaguely the recollections appear
Visions inside dreams inside the darkest fears
The end of love is near
For the hand above is reaching
As I float to the end of time

Enchantment in the crypts
Ravens dancing as they consume our mortal
Hearts
No smiles, no sleep
Thou did knowest I’m surely certain
The dance of death
Only to be followed
By a piper
And angels violins

Rags and shrouds, kiss them all goodbye
Hallelujah



In Memory of Leonard Cohen, a fellow Montrealer, 21 September 1934 – 10 November 2016.

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016




Details | Light Poetry |
My Dear Enemy
Here I am
In full armor
My quill is full of arrows
My bow is taunt and ready fro battle
My horse is pristine and shiny black
I am your enemy
As you are mine to the death
I shall take my bow and arrow
Pierce you through the heart
My king shall praise and honor me
For many battles so well fought
I know I have to shoot my arrows
To save my own pitiful soul

My dear enemy
I just long for you to know
Every arrow, every drop of blood
Every soul that must depart
Due to my fine skills and sharp arrow darts
I die along with you
I know not who you are
Yet a weep for your lost soul
I imagine other times
Maybe we would sit for tea and cookies
Laughing over words of glee
You and I so battle ready
I am sorry for all the battle scars
The blood that flows so deep
Every arrow that leaves my bow
I am sure it too, also weeps

My Dear Enemy
I prey today that before the dusk
One of you will have a finer bow
My heart no longer has the will
To fill my quill with arrows so
Today, I let one of you end my day
No longer can I live on this way
All my fine arrows fired
Have finally been on target
My Dear Enemy
I love you as any man
I have only love for humanity
I pray one day
Our Kings and Queens shall feel this way
As off the battle field, I am carried away

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Italian Sonnet |
The sandman will take pause and say a prayer
Then reach in to his special bag of sand
And with a sweeping motion of his hand
Bright glitter colored stardust fills the air

It falls to bring a dream beyond compare
Where castles in the sky are gold and grand
A momentary glimpse of "Beulah Land"
As we envision life beyond death's stare

And with that thought we'll take a rattled breath
The last tear of this life will find release
We'll see our shooting star, a passing flash
Exhale our soul and welcome life in death
Then build our castles on white clouds of peace
The sandman will sweep up our sparkling ash



   by Daniel Turner

Copyright © Daniel Turner | Year Posted 2016

Details | Epic |

      Before my flowing, poetic pen is hushed in Quietus,
And I have reached my journey's end with folded hands;
            Departed into my dreamless sleep beneath violets,
Let me write one everlasting, eternal, immortal verse;
                  Of the ravaged garden of my life.

      I want to hear a bird song when I quietly glide away,
With a sigh, I will lay my pale form down peacefully;
            I have willed my Keepsakes and my musing poems,
The Angel of death, will take my hand into another realm;
                  And the drums of time will cease.

      Oh, it has been a life full of happiness entwined with sad,
I have travelled many different roads to get to Tranquillity;
           The chapters of my life are full of the dead and undead,
Memories of childhood, family, friends and pets I loved;
                  The scars of life stab my soul.

      I do not fear death and I am ready to go through the gate,
But I will miss nature, the woods and the waters moving;
            And as I walk the silent passage alone to my eternal night,
Think of me as being set free and soaring high up above;
                  I lived a life weather-stained with tears.

      Leaving life is something we all must do; it is written,
I was held by a thread in this earthly realm until that last gasp;
            Now, all I know is the peacefulness of a leafy tree above,
Drifting blue clouds and rain falling gently on my resting place;
                  I was a shadow on the wall of time.

      Do not weep over my eternal grave heartbroken my dears,
I have followed the beautiful Angels footsteps to heaven;
           My poetry is timeless, ageless, and will always remain,
I have shed this earth bound life and I am a butterfly set free;
                  I drank from the deep blue cup of life.

      So come, dear hearts and plant some pretty flowers in Spring,
I am at last united with all my beloved who have gone before;
             Touch my name and remember me for my beauty,
And although my life was but a whisper, I loved every moment;
                  Now, I exist in another realm.

____________________
August 26, 2015

Epic


Submitted to the Premiere Contest Number Five
Sponsor, A Skat

Tenth Place

Copyright © Broken Wings | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
Paris the 13th

Tears, my tears fall to wine
As I can not comprehend this horrendous crime
Men filled with such spiteful hate
Islamic teachings seal their fate
Kill and slaughter love and smiles
How I pray tell does this bring about
Any compassion of heart, have they no guile?

I have walked along those Parisian streets
Filled with history and diversity, such a feat
Hand in hand, people from so many lands
Dressed in darkness, blacks and grays
The massacre dancing in premonitions sway
Crusaders never win, for love will take its stand

Hundreds taken from Jesus hands
For nothing more than celebrating their great lands
Food and drink and lovers smiles
Stolen this night by hateful bile
We shall rise again, defend and stand

Our blood may flow in the river seine
However in the end its you, who is insane
We shall defend our liberty
Even if we hang evil from the tree

Père Lachaise has brought me tears
Such history over all the years
Yet here I am faced to visit once again

Paying respect to those dying in vain
My heart is fraught, with you till eternity

Liberté, égalité, fraternité


Notes: Pere Lachaise is a famous cemetery in Paris
Liberté, égalité, fraternité is the motto of France


Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
The roses of September the first
They know the dance is almost over
Slowly the life shall bleed from the stem
Beauty shall wilt
The winds shall blow away the memories
Bagpipers four deep and six long
Shall march upon botanical grounds
In remembrance of those brave souls long ago
Stoic the march, the notes lingering in the air
Falling on the deaf ears, of the already departed
Two swords laid as the cross
Highland dances of youth,
Old photographs lieing burned in the trash

Marching forth, to old peoples applause
They march towards their own death
Overlook there, over the sea, look closer
Shall you see the dust that covers me?
Twenty four reasons to die
Yet here I am on the twenty fifth
Wishing for only one

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
I can show you where the brimstone sun has no remorse,
and where devils on horseback, have burned our homes, have pillaged our farms.
A killing spree,   the drum of guns, some tried to flee, but died,... each one.
The screams, I dream! Oh, the cries........the cries....... 
I try to mute the sound of them
For...,  I was there, I hid in fear,  was somehow spared, but now I look for 
something, ...something, ...something, here, ...someone to care.
A bit of food, a bit of shade, such bitter taste is in my mouth
A world of hate. To have no shoes,...a walking ghost.....
a blistered soul, I have no hope....  but nothing, nothing left. 
My eyes are blurred, and fires burn, a heavy world, shouts out despair.

Where are the flowers that used to bloom, where are voices, that once I knew?
There are no flowers here...just flies, in waist-deep dust, and a hot orange sun,
that coughs up sounds of fear and guns, and swords and words against my ears, I 
live in fear with no one here. 
I'm just a girl,  or at least I was....    for just a while.

I was defiled, when found by one
He spared my life, but did not see, I'd rather die than be this girl, who feels the 
shame in being free.
I once had a mother, I once had a father, I once had a brother who made me smile
Where did spirits, lift and go, when the devils on horseback came to kill? Spilling 
blood as if for fun?  For thrill? For what? 
Where were the Gods? Where are the ones who turn their heads?
In desert's dust with blood red crust.  They poisoned our wells, burned out our land, 
ravished and raped, and relished their brand......, 
nomads came, leaving shame, evil and horror came like rain.
 
Janjaweed, the name, I cannot say... I live with shame, a world, insane
I try to sleep, but I cannot........I can't forget and I am lost, the cost too much,
a swollen tongue and calloused feet,  across a land of bleached white bones
Alone, alone,....lost and done...a vanished heart......no one sees me  
There are no flowers, there are no trees, 
Famine as my lone companion, a pool of mud a home to stay,
Life drains out more every day, my belly swells....my eyes are parched,
and I can't tell
if I'm alive, or if I'm dead, dried up tears are what I shed....
Where are the flowers for my head? I've been scorned, 
all I have, and all I see is wind and rain, sorrow and pain
thorns, and dust, and a grave, that waits for me



__________________________________________________
 8/28/2014
Devils on Horseback – The Darfur genocide (ongoing) The Janjaweed (translated, 
devils on horseback) slaughter and rape the women, men and children of Darfur. As 
of today, 480,000 people have been “exterminated” and 2.8 million displaced.

Let's not turn our heads away from this, or from other atrocities being committed 
throughout the world.

Copyright © Carrie Richards | Year Posted 2014

Details | Rhyme |
Too hard for me to say goodbye
For all apparent reasons why
Even though we all know it must be
Each heart will someday stop the beat
When the rhythm of life, and silence, finally meet
.
Yet I always seem so surprised 
To find that death is part of life 
Knowing that regret, will now haunt my every rhyme 
The specter called "if only", will inhabit every line.
Wish I could arbitrate a deal to have gained a little time
Just one more talk with Sissy, to ease my guilty mind. 
.
And the sun now sets on my regrets
I gamble on time and lose each bet
Thinking I'll move on and yet, 
here I set . . .
Wishing for one more time 
One more pun
One more smile 
That will never come 
.
If I could just recall the things you said that mattered to you most.
Memories un memorized
That now I'll never know
Years of conversation when I didn't pay attention
Times I should have said I love you 
And somehow failed to mention
.
Then when you tried to tell me you felt your time was drawing near
Your selfish little brother pretended not to hear.
Even when you did your best,  and tried to let me know
You'd made your peace and you were ready, and that for you . . . 
It was simply time to go

Copyright © Kelly Crenshaw | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
On the day after Christmas, they started appearing,
cast out of houses, stripped of their finery,
lying crooked in the gutter, garbage bags flanking.

My brothers and I walked to school
and halfway there, three blocks away,
was a steep ravine called The Hollow.
A place of some dark mystery in summer,
one hundred feet deep and forbidden land
according to most parents, The Hollow
sang its song to all neighborhood kids.

Returning to school after Christmas,
my brothers and I would drag the discarded
Christmas trees along the sidewalk and onto the bridge
that spanned The Hollow, then heave them over the railing,
watching their graceful tumble earthward, 
their air brushing final fall.

"Hey, I used to do that too!" Donnie was a lot older,
almost done with high school, and his walk took him
right by our elementary school - he laughed to see us
hauling the trees to that concluding bridge.
He grabbed a large one, bigger than any of us could handle,
and upon the bridge had us help him hold it upright on the railing,
as it stood in life, as it looked down upon Christmas gifts;
we watched it slowly lean into Gravity,
watched the balletic descent into silence.

Donnie kept with us that first month into the new year,
the pile of trees growing in the bottom of The Hollow.
He told us things, we told him things,
we asked him things and he told us more.

My brothers and I still talk about that big tree
on the railing of the bridge over The Hollow.
It hit right on top of the pile of other trees
and bounced off to the side, its own special place.

As January wore on, we didn't find as many trees,
and ultimately it was all done.  
Eventually the school year too was done,
and then more years, and school itself was done.
The trees at the bottom of The Hollow rotted away to nothing.
Somewhere in there my mom told me that Donnie
had been shipped off to war, killed within a few weeks.
We had that one magic month.


December 25, 2016

For Anthony Slausen's contest - 'The Day After Christmas'

Copyright © Doug Vinson | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
The sun and moon conceived a star shooting through time and space born within the ocean delivered upon its waves while Beethoven's sonatas softly played nightly gales whispered those tunes to all the seashells beach sand passed through coral reefs as soles of lovers feet tread buried in beach fires deep begging the earth most humbly to draw a breath but over the cliff the hurricane's wind blew until death from those turbulent ocean waters came a sailor's truth watching a passing ship with broken sails and ghostly crew waiting as death cast it's ending shadow old, yet new sending those born in ocean waves back to the waters blue in birth and death none shall overcome casting us away to where everything was once created in it's hidden depths and there began an understanding between birth and death, a truce
Inspired by: John F. Kennedy." We are tied to the ocean. And when we go back to the sea, whether it is to sail or to watch - we are going back from whence we came." 9112007

Copyright © Danielle Wise Baxter | Year Posted 2012

Details | Rhyme |
AUTUMN BREEZE

When the magic is gone
	and all the stars have fallen,
do I just sit and wait for my final calling?

Is there still something
	to do, out there, for me?
If not before, then when comes destiny?

Ashes tossed, will I be known
	as husband, father, son?
Can I leave this plane with things undone?

Fair poetry I weave
	but words are falling leaves
and my soul detects an autumn breeze.

Copyright © Phil Capitano | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |

There, on a sill of contentious decisions Glass shards sit waiting a wavering hand Reflective the memories wrapped ‘round the curtains Lost in a pane that she can’t understand Chilled calls the breeze through a jagged eviction Scenting the air neath a ceiling now stained Dampening dreams behind oven doors gaping Finding the pilot light has not complained Ripping out pages of scribbled delusions Day becomes night in the depths of her mind Chasing the echoes when no one will answer Begging each shadow for something to find Setting a table of rounded persuasions Watching fluorescents fade fast in her eyes Turning the knob towards a sorrowed direction Why is there none who react to her cries Loneliness peels back the layered condition Voices of reason have fled to her past Fearing the worst will come visit tomorrow Sensing the hour shall now be her last So many days and the roses need pruning Nary a movement is noticed inside Caught in his thoughts that her words had intentions If only those moments ignored would confide Desperate ink found in fingertip writings Penned by the demons left roaming her head Still haunts the question of fear never listened Death becomes art in the stanzas unread

Copyright © Chris Green | Year Posted 2016

Details | Rhyme |
Sometimes my muse does holiday
far, far away from me
where it goes I do not know
it just chooses to go away...

I thought we were friends; maybe more 
She could quell a blaze or make the flames roar 
Through each trial I watched her strength grow 
Always at my side through every downpour

But then they came so fast; storms so severe 
One after another until there were no more tears 
No sorrow no hate no love; only echos
I stood alone. Her voice I could no longer hear

I searched inward and saw every bruise
With each break and tear I stood accused
So much blood, too much damage to truly know
Which was the cause; which gave the deathblow

It was then that I saw; a fate she did not choose
She wasn't on holiday ...I had killed my muse



1/25/2018
Note: in an effort to get my mind moving 
dear Edward McCall sent me a verse and
said get to it. He was a great help.
Thank you Sir Edward  :)

Copyright © Shadow of the Past | Year Posted 2018

Details | Light Poetry |
Ah the lovely seasdie
Ah the lovely seaside

Childhood scents
Salt air, Salty bitter memories

Jacques had turned just seven
He dreamed to walk along the seashore
He dreamed to see the seagulls sore overhead
He most of all dreamed to leave his basement

All the windows were covered with curtains
The days, nights no matter
His life was the darkness
His momma and papa, gave away their smiles

There were many days, the lightening was eternal
Well into the night
His mother held him tight
They both absorbed the fear of the other

Many mornings, Momma, can I walk to the beach?
No Jacques my little one, you must stay here
Help is needed in the kitchen
He wondered what help. We have no food to cook?

Many a day when no one was watching him
He would peek out the window, longing
The beach was simply down the street and to the left
Oh how he dreamed to run and play and splash in the waves

Summer was warming up his heart
He knew his momma and papa loved him
He knew these were bad times
Even so, he decided, tomorrow, yes tomorrow

So on the night of June the 5th
He planned well, hiding his boots out back
Made a small backpack for snacks and his jacket
He fell into a deep sleep, so very pleased

Up early he snuck out of the house
Past the bakers and in between soldiers patrolling
Quite easily he found the path down to the beach
Little did poor Jacques know he was to become a part of history

He ran from a little inlet out onto the beach
Jumping and dancing and gleefully singing to the seagulls
As he observed boats of all shapes and sizes and sailing to shore
His spine tingled, with a foreboding

The seaside
Became hell
Darkness clouded Jacques world
Bombs and gunfire rained down from all sides

Jacques tried to run, but his feet became heavy
He stumbles and fell to the sand
Thousands of solders emerged from the sea
Racing towards him, some running, some falling

A young Canadian man, Victor was his name
Firing his rifle, and racing for the shore saw the young boy
He had a new born baby back home, named him jack
Well he ran and fell atop the young boy, yelling above the fray

Stay quiet young man, don’t move
I will protect you, fear not
Even fear was the meal of the day
As the seaside became Dante’s eternal hell

The Germans above, fired all they had towards the beach
Machine gunners fired, mortars rained and snipers took aim
A young German man with a rifle was shooting anyone
Whom by miracle was still moving

His sites were set on that particular Canadian soldier
He took aim then saw a boy underneath the soldier
Well at the end of the battle, that young German soldier
Had one bullet left in his rifle

He could not fire
In the heat of battle
He pulled out a photo of his young boy Erik
He kissed the photo, and wept

It was the Germans last thought
As a bullet ripped of his head
The Canadian soldier was staring at this exact moment
Pain ripped his heart, as if he too was dead

Miraculously Jacques survived that day
When he made his way back home
His momma and papa hugged him so tight
They almost strangled him

For the rest his life
Jacques never went by the seaside, not once
For him he tasted the bitter smell of cordite death 
He lived his life in the vineyards, far from the sea

One may wonder now
How do I know all of this?
Well I work at an old folk’s home as an orderly
I take care of poor old Jacques

I remind him daily
No Jacques we will not be going to the seaside
Somehow, I feel obligated to this old man
As did my grandfather those many years ago

Who saved the life of a little boy named Jacques
June 6, 1944

Sidenote

Erik and Jacques both developed a passion for wines and vineyards and became the best of friends

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
People make me smile the way 
their eyes shine when they talk 
about something they love 
when they feed me food. Or tell 
me how much they love me 
when I look into someone's 
eyes and see it I see that look 
in their eyes I see love in them 
When I see someone laugh and 
have fun in what they do 
The way they cry for there lost 
ones
When they give me a smile and 
tell me how beautiful I am 
People are beautiful well some 
are and I wish someday I can 
find someone who will look at 
me and say "you have that look 
in your eye"    what look?
"Happiness" 
I want to find someone so 
beautiful in the inside I can't 
stay away they amaze me with 
what they say an do how they 
will dance in the rain and know 
every detail about me
Will bring me Starbucks on a 
rainy day and just talk about 
the stars 
I want someone beautiful

Copyright © brittney lopez | Year Posted 2013

Details | Rhyme |
I see her pretty little face
With a sweet smile as bright as gold.
I think about the days ahead.
It saddens me, I'm growing old.

I love that precious little girl
With all that dwells inside of me.
One day I know we'll have to part.
I beg of Time, so fleetingly,

To warp somehow and backward go,
So I could share more of her life.
She says "Grammy, never leave me".
That I must die fills her with strife.

She says"I want to go with you".
I tell her of the joys instead,
How one day she'll meet a man,
He'll love her so, and they will wed.

But Grammy's love is all she knows,
So I will leave her parts of me,
In photographs and work I do,
In love notes from my poetry.

April,13, 2016
Happiness of Life Contest
Sponsor Nayda Ivette Negron
First Place

Copyright © Connie Marcum Wong | Year Posted 2016

Details | Light Poetry |
The Twelve Angels of Beirut

They huddle together in the heavens
Muttering amongst themselves
Confused as any human down below

We bestow upon them the ancient teachings
Not once, not twice, variations to please all walks of life
Yes thrice

They may choose the ancient books they follow
They may keep the traditions yet must adapt to modern intellect
Such literate men who seem not to read

Who can cast his eyes at his child?
Feeling nothing but love and endearment?
Who pray tell us is displeased to arrive at his home at dusk?

Angels we twelve have nourished
We have showed you both love, morality and compassion
Yet ye who divides faith, chooses battle

You so easily prefer to drink blood
Rather than bestow a red rose upon breast
Olive trees so ripe have no meaning at all for you

Like a tree that reaches the sky
All things change, as evolution’s duty dictates
Yet you fight to keep perceptions frozen in time

You cover a woman’s face
When its you who should hide in shame
Modesty is how we bestow good deeds to strangers

It is how we look at our hearts in the mirror
A woman’s beauty should shine to the heavens
Competing only with a mans debonair style of chivalry

Honor you mother and father
Honor your tribe
Not with traditions and rented cloth

Honor with your whole heart
Feed the poor and kiss your enemy on both cheeks
The skies will become your friend

We sit here waiting in torment and anguish
Crying to the heavens that surround us
We gave you hearts and minds

You return us blood and bombs
We are ashamed of our duties
For we have obviously failed you

Forgive us, you tribes of the three branches
We are the twelve angels of Beirut
Whose tears give you your sea

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Prose Poetry |
My name is Devi, a foolish name really for it means Angel, and I certainly am not. The city of Phnom Penh had been our home, father was a professor at The Royal University. I was their only child. I was just getting ready for school, Tuol Sleng High, when the Khmer’s came. They drummed on the door of our house and said “Get out, get out.” They had bomb guns pointed at us. One of the soldiers, not much older than I, a very dark skinned girl screamed at Father. “You have American friends? You speak English?” He nodded and said of course he did; he was a professor at the University. “You New People, you think you are so smart—  She shot him in the head. He tumbled like a string-less puppet onto the step. Mother screamed and cried. “You are not to cry,” they ordered, “get out.” 

the open door
let in only the light rain:
teakettle whistles

They grabbed mother and I, and tossed us into the band of milling people in the street. They pushed us; prodding with rifle butts along the street lined with palm trees. I was glad it was warm. My black skirt and white blouse were dirty from the fall. All I could about was my feet. I had been barefoot when they came. What a foolish thing to think. Father was dead. Thinking of my feet. I wish I could go back and get my new shoes. I felt undressed. Mother staggered behind me. I told her, “keep up Mae or they will kill you.” Mother bumped into the Grandmother in front of her. Yiey spit at the guard. He jammed the rifle butt into her face. She fell into the gutter. The line walked around her. The guard spit on her body. “Why waste a bullet?” He and the other half dozen guerrilla’s laughed. The girl guard ripped Yiey’s gold chain and amulet from her neck. She wiped the blood off the gold on Grandmother's dress. “Be of use or die New Ones,” the male guard bellowed.

To my surprise, the guard took us to the High School. Mother was ripped away from me. All the women were taken outside. I could hear much laughter. There was screaming and cries to God. The dark skinned female guard smiled. “They are being of use,” she said. She sucked on her index finger and the male guard next to her howled. I never saw mother again. 

So many, many: young children, young mothers, young boys, all marched days with little food or water. The temperature climbed over 100 degrees. Babies were torn from shawl slings and tossed away like garbage as they died. There were no more tears. We were to be ‘purified’ in a commune in the village of Prek Sbauv. I struggled to live. I bent my back in the fields of the Old People. 

What was life? I asked myself, so many times, but, to say no was to die. I did not want to rot in a rice paddy, not be reborn. Had no one burnt father’s corpse? Had no one placed the white crocodile flag in front of our home? I must live to see father and mothers’ bodies were burned. I must place their ashes in the stupa.   

The Killing Fields – the Cambodian genocide.
10/29/14

Copyright © Debbie Guzzi | Year Posted 2014

Details | Prose Poetry |
Think of me and smile
Our time was shortly spent
Think for just a while
Of all the things we meant………
To each other we were Love, 
Laughter, Smiles and Joy
Think of all those things
Then think of us once more

Remember our first kiss
Remember our first time
Remember I was yours, 
Remember you were mine
The things that we would say
The things we use to do 
I heard you sing a song
I wrote a poem for you
Didn’t think we’d be together
Didn’t seek, but we did find
A precious hidden treasure
A love so true and kind


Now when the Angels come for me
My home now in the sky
Don’t hang your head in sorrow
For me don’t even cry
I will send a signal
And you will know the sign
The Sun will shine its brightest
The humming birds will sing
Midnight will be the darkest
Think of all those things

The wind will blow so gently
I’ll Whisper in your ear
You will smell the roses 
And feel my presence near
For you have known my spirit
For you have only seen
The beam of light now shinning
A dream that came to be
So just in case you’re wondering
It’s not because I’m free
But that I caught you smiling
And I knew, you had thought of me.


Patricia Templeton


"Women Only"

Copyright © Patricia Mitchell-Nunn | Year Posted 2014

Details | Light Poetry |
Obama drew his mighty line in the sand
Dare ye not to cross me

Assad replied in kind
Gassing thousands and laughing

A little Syrian boy has drowned
Siblings to weak to cross that mighty line

Salvation was the evasive dream
Father shall never escape the nightmares

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Free verse |
It was “Death” you drew.
You rolled that slip of paper
between your fingers 
thin as onionskin, 
and dropped it in your pocket.
Pastel lady, 

did you wish to spare 
us? You fluttered fingers 
over the basket, and drew out 
“Patio Party,” 
a subject we must address 
before we meet again.

How many great poems 
have been penned on Death? 
How many on a
Patio Party?

Copyright © Taylor Graham | Year Posted 2005

Details | Light Poetry |



                                        Live your dreams

                             Love is not about losing or winning

                                    Achieve your life's mission

                                 No one is stronger than death

                                     Followed by an eternity

                                          I am still alive









  08.09.2015 A-L Andresen :)
  Copyright © All Rights Reserved




Copyright © Sunshine Smile | Year Posted 2015

Details | Light Poetry |
The Iraqi desert was blowing wind
The bullet tore into my heart
My Commander, she had but one arm
She pulled me to the ground
Holding me tight she saw
I would not make the night
So she did what any lover would
She held me tight
Whispered, "soldier I am with you till the end"
My last thought
Was I died in her arm
As her tears drops mixed with mine

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Verse |
Flowers
Flagrant Inspiration
Spring rains soft
Love strolls
Black death

Dancing
Butterflies singing
Life a flutter
Songs only beginning
Black Death

Frolicking gardens
Beer flowing in fountains
Youth teases, curves and tinsel 
Three angels in the corner, sleeping
Black Death

Tranquility
Softer than feathered pillows
Peacefulness
The final glimpse through wrinkled curtain
Black death

Rose’s red
Ring around the rosie
Skipping glee abounds
Yet over there in the closet
Black death

The path in the forest
Dark and misty
Winding and twisty
Maps hold no comfort nor key
Black death

The last
The final
The end
Inside the darkness

Until.........

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2016

Details | Haiku |

                                                Innocent lifeless
                                       Pretty children rest in peace
                                             Let us pray for them

                                            The kids were victims
                                       The shooter was victim too
                                             Let's not put a blame

                                                 Exclamation sign
                                          Love family, love it right
                                        Don't loose, hug them tight

                                                  Dear educators
                                           Part of the victims as well
                                               The lifetime tribute

                                           Mourn traveled the world
                                         Burn by cause last on effect
                                               Careful in our steps

Author's Note:
Deep condolance for the victims of Sandy Hook School in Newtown, Connecticut,
Inspired by Zamalea George Poetry "Sweet Children, Sleep"
*****************************************************************
4th place
poetry soup VIGIL" Free Poetry Contest 
Sponsor	SKAT- AB SIN THE-

Copyright © Yanny Widjanarko | Year Posted 2012

Details | Light Poetry |
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 | Light Poetry |
The Unknown one
(Face 2)


Time steals a beating heart
The heart struggles to steal time

We grasp at emotional tinsel
We cry when our tears tumble  
					            to hell

Seeking solace we find no solitude
Nor comfort in the breast of life

Seeking love we find only the heartless
Battered down to the dirt from whence we came

Seeking the past
We weep in graveyards

Emotional baggage
Sitting on the shelf

Love letters
Feeding the flames

Hell fires
Warming the coffin doors

How did it come to this?
That I lie here of weary bones

Stand strong and face life they preached
I have no face

I am the unfinished one
The reflection of nothing

Walking in-between icons
Garden of dead dreams

Cemetery kisses
On unfinished faces

			clouds linger

Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2015

Details | Rhyme |
Deep in the earth, a crypt of rock
slumber guarded by casket locked
Lips grope silence ‘ever more
 rasping thought, remembers whispered lore
Outstretched palms the roots do clench
tranquility stilled by festered stench
And eyes, sleep caked, are propped ajar
ignites no life, but collapsed star

Burned blades sigh, Winds’ dying gasp
bones brittle snap within her clasp
A lonesome howl the moon does draw
vigil broken, it twists its maw 
Upon an arena of endless stone
the granite gates they’ve passed alone
And entered a world of burning eyes
eluded the judge of smoldering cries

A faultless gait, no stumbled draw
a reaping brought  by scythe and claw
Opal edge which shrouds a cause
aberrant blade shapes nature’s laws
Dictate a script, the stars can share
an open secret, a language bare
Steps continue, feet are drawn
across gray grass, undying pawn

Copyright © Avery Swarthout | Year Posted 2015