Home » Poems » Best » Bereavement

Best Bereavement Poems | Poetry

Below are the all-time best Bereavement poems written by Poets on PoetrySoup. These top poems in list format are the best examples of bereavement poems written by PoetrySoup members

Search for Bereavement poems, articles about Bereavement poems, poetry blogs, or anything else Bereavement poem related using the PoetrySoup search engine at the top of the page.

New Bereavement Poems

Don't stop! The most popular and best Bereavement poems are below this new poems list.

Bereavement by Riley, Sandra
BEREAVEMENT by Strand, Brian
Bereavement by Chamatete , Kunda
Bereavement by Mosia, Matshidiso
An observation, a warning, and a reconciled bereavement by Cooper, Jessica
BEREAVEMENT by Larson, Paula
Bereavement Support by Ramage, Lee
Bereavement by Gelb, Michael
Bereavement by Johnson, Joyce
BEREAVEMENT by Larson, Paula

View all new Bereavement Poems

The Best Bereavement Poems

Details | Bereavement Poem |

She Wept In Languished Moan

         She wept as they buried her one true love.
             Each day thereafter she brought him a rose,
         the flower she knew he was fondest of.
             Her grief unbearable, beyond repose.
                What pain and suffering his death bestows.

         Nothing prevented her daily visit.
             She didn't want him to feel all alone.
        When beside him her face was exquisite.
            When weary she would sigh and then lay prone,
                 weeping for her love in soft languished moan.


                     Originally written on 23rd of July 2016
            Two Stanzas - English Quintain, 10 syllables per line 
                    with a rhyme scheme of a-b-a-b-b

Details | Bereavement Poem |

ADIEU UNTIL I SEE YOU IN HEAVEN - EMOTIVE WRITE

I know your spirit is finally free 
when I scattered your ashes yesterday 
Cancer has taken you away from me 
solitude is now the price I must pay 

When I scattered your ashes yesterday 
I said adieu to the love of my life 
Solitude is now the price I must pay 
I’m now a widow, no longer a wife 

I said adieu to the love of my life 
I look to heaven and I question why 
I’m left a widow, no longer a wife 
as seagulls circle in bright azure sky 

I look to heaven and I question why 
cancer has taken you away from me 
As seagulls circle in bright azure sky 
I know your spirit is finally free 


New Poems Only Contest
Sponsored by Emile Pinet

16 lines, 10 syllables per line

FICTION POEM WRITTEN FOR CONTEST

4/12/18

Details | Bereavement Poem |

It was Beautiful Yesterday



Bha e brèagha an-de
(It was Beautiful Yesterday)


There was a sailing vessel
With many a sail proudly lapping in the wind
A flag of the Celtic honor, in ruin an rented
As all the sailors sing
Of my love for you
From long ago
Before death became our friend
Oh would I be sailing from stormy seas to the Scottish glens
To lay some flowers at your side
Your beauty is now far under
My love ill wait for all eternity
For loves resurrection’s stormy thunder
Our bodies may be under stone
Our memories long lost in tales and fable
Let no man ever lay any such claim
Our love was not the gift of briny seaworthy fame

We be only stones, in a meadow blue
When you come upon our fate
Tiss with this verse, I state my case
The life that escaped our sadly date
Love though was true as sky
For long ago, she bid adieu
Her sadness at my drowning departure
As I her lover was told to be 
Buried deep and under sea


Both sadness and the tossing waves
Took the life out of her and me
So when you look at fading stones
Remember the love that used to be

Details | Bereavement Poem |

In a Field of Lavender She Lay

The weeping willow stands high on the hill
as though a sentry, watching o'er the land.
One wonders, does the weeper understand
how hearts once warm can freeze in bitter chill?

Across the span I hear the piper's song,
a mournful tune that echoes through the trees.
Impulsively I fall upon my knees
and pray for grace and strength to carry on.

There was a time when love was truly mine;
a goddess who became my very own.
Red roses would I lay before her throne;
each night we'd drink our fill of honey wine.

If only God would void that fateful day,
for in this field of lavender love lays.

Details | Bereavement Poem |

My Heart Beats For You

Walking aimlessly through the woods
Searching for that spot we once stood
Pouring out my heart and my tears
Reliving memories of those special years

Red and orange and purple from green
Rich autumn colors, a sight to be seen
The winds of change quickly blowing in
With it a new chapter will soon begin

Not ready to give up, I can't let go
Where am I headed, where will I blow
Lost without you, what am I to do
Darling, my heart is still beating for you

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Caressed By Vines


Caressed By Vines


Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
   old monuments of stone set on the ground.
Those silent sentinels that stand their guard
   above the souls, we honor and regard.

To honor and regard through all the years
   where loved ones come to speak unhappy tears.
Beneath the summer rain and winter snow,
   these monuments of stone, their sorrow show.

Like tender arms, the vines embrace the stones
   to comfort them, these guardians of bones
who bear the sadness brought to them to share,
   by those who stand and weep in silent prayer.

The tender vines grow thicker 'round the tombs...
   create a leafy shawl that lives and blooms,
and shows the hope of new life after death 
   which tangled vines embrace with living breath.

Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
   these lasting monuments where peace is found,
and frame the name of each whose life reclines...
   now resting safe and sound, caressed by vines.


Sandra M. Haight

~3rd Place~
Contest: Your Best Rhyming Poem 2
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 02/03/2017

~2nd Place~
Contest: Overgrown With Vines
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 10/08/2016

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Summer Rain

I wade into the surf and stand alone

Enfolding in my arms, the dust of You

I hear the raving wind lament and moan

As if the summer storm is mourning, too

I breathe your wispy ashes as they're thrown

And whisper your name softly while I do

I lost you once, and now I've lost again

As all my tears are lost ... in summer rain.




** Submitted October 12, 2017, for the "Rhyme Battle: IX" Poetry Contest, Juli-Michelle, Sponsor. **

** FIRST PLACE in the "Late September Standard" Poetry Contest, Brian Strand, Sponsor. **

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Still A Soldier

I lay here today a soldier
I know some don't understand
I will try to explain
So maybe you can

I served my country
For many a year
I retired long ago
The soldier still here

I put on my uniform
I wore it to foreign lands
The soldier I was
Is still in the man

I have been a husband, father, and friend
To some of you here
But I've been a soldier all along
Even after so many a year

My final salute
I render today
I'm still a soldier
I'm just on my way

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Soul mates solace

When my final shadows cling on desperately
Where I fight formidable battles
to merely hold the light
I send you loving vibrations
and soul sustenance
Deep from the cathedral
of one heart to another
where today no choirs sing
nor symphonies play
Yet it is here where we meet
in spiritual solace
here to surrender 
and exchange inestimable treasures
recollecting memories 
like unopened letters
Galaxies are stretched
over chronicles of shared history
Nebula birthing stars
will be exposed
in forth-coming conversations
bringing short-lived fulfillment to you
Hungry to feast
now will be the time
to approve your blood art vision
and with my own haunting surrender
as dappled shades ink stain your chest
I will reside with you and share, mesmerised 
pens - by branding
as this will be your written reams to me
your artist's pallet or brushed canvas
no need for words
and yet creating
mysterious magical moments
Bitter-sweet the music
that dances taut guitar strings
but now blood approved
please go kick your heel up
return to your laughter
and ride on the breeze
for not all are lost
change not
for I am with you always
to love, listen and comfort as one
with you in me and I in you
as masterpiece

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Je suis Charlie

Translation below (in progress)


Celui qui n'a pas de cœur
Ne doit jamais reposer en paix

He who has no heart
Will never rest in peace


J’étais Charlie

De ma tombe
Mon âme pleure encore rouge
L’encre coule encore
Arrosage des fleurs ci-dessus
Les fleurs, fortes et belles
Elles doivent étouffer vos manières diaboliques
J'étais Charlie, je suis Charlie, Charlie toujours
Dans ma tombe
je ris
vous perdez

I was Charlie

In my tomb
my soul still cries red
the ink still flows
Above the flowers grow
the flowers strong and beautiful
they shall choke your evil ways
I was Charlie, I am Charlie, Charlie forever
In my grave
I laugh
You lose

Details | Bereavement Poem |

The Last Call

He left his sneakers by the shore
A backpack too, was laid aside
to pick up when the sun had died

He claimed his other gear, instead
The thrill of rapids filled his head
and sounds of water drew him in
             His sneakers, backpack cast aside
             would wait 'til dusk, upon the grass
             when he returned to don again

They did not hear the roaring tides
They did not hear the shouts of fright
Nor did they hear, at last, the call
That came from voices through the night

Calls from those who searched the dark
While water surged and moonlight fell
And rushed instead,  to grip a life
              His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
              assumed that he would come again

His sneakers wait, .........he kicked them off
In haste his backpack, too, was tossed
The river flows...... and all was lost
The cost was more than words explain

There's someone home who got the call
The words so wild, the last, that came

                 His sneakers, backpack, cast aside
                 assumed that he'd return again
                 It lies not in their province now,
                 to know the cost of human pain


___________________________________________________________
(Based, sadly, on a true event, and someone I once knew)
10/23/15   For the Contest: "Hear The Call" triple prompt
Resubmitted for Skat's Premiere Contest # 11...... 9/16/16

Details | Bereavement Poem |

That Was a Human

Allow me to be disgusted at the jest
and your halfway happy surprise at the end result
of the missile timed precisely:

Did he just splatter?

And allow me to feel the brunt of the bruising
upon my saddened heart, where for others was felt,
from laughing hard.

Yes, all lives matter

Even the ones who don't bear
our national colors
our political expectations    no matter how wrong or right
For just this occasion let us get back to basics:

That was a human

ten fingers and ten toes
perhaps a wife and family to call his own
but do you even know?

            Or even care to think
beyond the face of it?

Getting kicks at watching the Live Leaks
of people being blown to smithereens      It bothers me
That one should find it amusing
Does it bother      You?

---a single tear of blue
is all I'm asking---

Who he was or what he did
what difference does it make?
When life closes the lid
all we have is the acknowledgement:

That was a human      A human

What if those pixels on the screen
were all that was left of that man's memory

would you still find it funny?

And yet still we turn to Facebook Enlightenment
with quotations that decorate a sniper in a holy moment ---

"And oh God. One more thing.
Ignore my enemies heathen prayers
and help me send those bastards
straight to hell.

Amen."

(The amount of "likes" are disheartening
and should be a sin.
Where's the "vomit button" ... ?)

Reading through the comment's section,
like poetry for the juvenile,
and the criminally insane.
No Alka Seltzer      No pills
I'm riding this crazy train unprotected
as if I'm dying for a thrill.

Dying ... at the very least.
Queasy at the vertigo of a nation
acting to love and loving to act

(Nineteen-Eighty-Four called,
they want their plot back)

And have you read empathy such as this?

ROFL, mate! That's classic!

(you have a doggie bag on ya, by chance?
I think I'm gonna be sick)

That was a human

A HUMAN!!!

And you call yourself a Man of God?
Yet still feel compelled
to pull back His Grace to your own ends

... that slippery tide
between your fingers

As if infinity could only be stretched so far;
it won't last long my friend,
before you look into that celestial mirror
scared at what you see

 Is that            me?

Yet still you wear that outpouring of love
on your neck like a trophy
as if you even deserved it.

a single tear of blue     just one
can you give it to me, son?

t h a t w a s a h u m a n

And do you even care?
Does it phase you in the slightest?
Or does a coat of arms
give you further reason to divide?

Jesus died for all      For all

All that upheld the American flag
      as equal to His words.
All who marched to the beat of the drums
      drowning out the birds.
All who bravely proclaimed: We are Heading to War!
                                       We are Heading to War!
And all those who never asked: And what for? What for?

Do you feel its beating on your soul?
S h  o   u    l     d
      I       t        a        l         k
          s           l            o             w?

(the unwritten verses
you added long ago)

It doesn't even matter now,
because all that remains
is what's been left on the page.

All that remains...

Just four sad words
like hopeless sand
slipping through my fingers

That was a human      (or at least it was)
Before Man forgot what he had,
Believing he could do better,
Egging the Almighty to play his game

... back to the drawing board, smirked the Creation

And what about you, Dear Reader?
What will the eulogizer speak
in your honor
when the lights out?

That was a monster
He won't bother you now

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Do you remember me

They walk silently along my hallways.
Floors littered with faded finery.
Do you remember my Granduer?
I had once been called the Queen of the sea.
Pulled down to the ocean's floor.
Swaying silently, so many sad souls
They are entombed here 
Forever a part of me 
Left to wander my halls
Sharing this watery hell
Faces frozen in skeletal grins
Evidence of our eternal sadness
Fish now swim across my stage
The band is silent
Still I remember
I absorbed them note by note
They played till my last moment
Yet it was not for my benefit
For I had betrayed them
My promises were empty
Temptation, travel, time together
Some mercifuly escaped
What did they remember of me?
Some came back in ghostly form
Searching for those I had taken from them
I will not release them
For I do not wish to be alone.

Details | Bereavement Poem |

The Crosses of Night

Rising before me, are the graves,.. like the stars
Embracing the light, while reflecting the moon
The fields, vast and silent, ... never ending, the valiant 
Of those who had fallen, never knowing how far

Some names forgotten, and some never known
Crosses that grow from the wet grass below me
I have lost count, as my eyes seek horizons
Reflecting on lives of the soldiers, unknown

Deeply I'm falling without knowing how far
Into the depths of the fields that have drawn me
Into reflection and into the questions
Tossed into the sky, without answers to why

My eyes can't believe all the sadness before me
I have lost count and my heart seeks horizons
Reflecting the reason, seeking answers, unknown


_________________________________________

 7/15/15

Details | Bereavement Poem |

A Child's Prayer

Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares down the darkened hall.
A solitary line of pink light sneaks through a crack in the door.
Fighting tears hanging loosely in my eyes, I listen.
 
“Please tell daddy that I love him and miss him.”
It has been two months since he died. Long, hard months.
“Keep him safe.”
His smell still lingers on his clothes in the closet.
“and bless mommy to be happy…”
How can I be happy, or even smile, when all I want is to be numb?
The tears burn in my eyes, but I can’t cry, or I might never stop.
“so that she will play with me like she used to”
I can scarcely recall the last time I was able to focus; to give her all my attention.
“help her to forgive me,”
Oh sweet baby, it’s I who needs your forgiveness.
“help her to love me again, even though sometimes I’m bad”
Oh God, is that what she thinks!?
“and please help me to find dolly so she won’t be scared tonight”
Ok, focus…just breathe.
“in Jesus name I pray, Amen.”

Clutched tight to my chest, the doll smiles lifelessly
sending vacant stares into the room lit by a solitary pink lamp.
I sneak through the door, with tears rolling down my cheeks,
and enter with a promise, that all her prayers will get answered.

05/31/15

Submission for Prayertime Memories
Hosted by Isaiah Zerbst

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Never Out of Season - A Short Story

I was wiping the dust off an old snow globe in the upstairs attic, when a mop of honey-blonde hair suddenly appeared through the wooden flooring.
"I thought I'd find you here," said the voice, warm and feminine. It was a lovely contrast to the thoughts that bloomed inside my head. The little red Santa smiling gaily, his gloved hand forever frozen in a wave. Truth be told it was over a hundred degrees outside, and up here in this cobweb-ridden place (by God) was practically unbearable.
But as I lightly shook the fragile keepsake I found myself dashing through the snow like I once did so many years ago. I heard the sound of high pitched laughter from afar, out in the sultry day (most likely the neighbor kids playing tag through a sprinkler-soaked lawn). But there, at that precise moment, I was taking the road before me, and singing a chorus or two.
"You miss him don't ya?" the voice broke me out of my thoughts, and for a moment I just stared at her as if she had a left over piece of spinach in her teeth. I nodded quietly in the silence and rubbed the smooth curvature of the glass with my thumb. It somehow felt cold, as if winter wonderland was still trapped inside.
I knew I hadn't stayed too long, though I knew my wife would be patient throughout this ordeal, however long it took. She didn't need to recite any famous sayings to pick me up, just her being there was enough. It was the unspoken truth between us, and it was always enough.
"Cody and Angie will be downstairs when you're ready to head out."
"I'm ready now. I was just doing a little cleaning up." It wasn't quite a lie. It was one of those statements we use to say one thing and mean the other. The attic was "okay", but I knew of more dire things in need of some organization.
Beth went down the ladder first, naturally. Then it was me, a bit awkwardly, still holding the snow globe. We both came into the living room, where our children sat waiting. Cody was playing some handheld video-game in his Hawaiian swimming trunks. Angie was quietly giggling at something her friend said, via text. Her blue bathing suit was barely more than a strap, and I knew I was this close from losing it. But this was a happy day, so I let it slide, just this once.
"Are you still not ready?" asked Angie.
I looked down at my blue work jeans and buttoned-up t-shirt. My wife gave her a fierce look, as if willing her to take back what she said. It didn't really matter though ... my emotions were spent.
"I was gonna change when we got there," I said, a bit defeated.
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and plopped her phone right there on the couch. I just stood there like a lifeless statue, while my family got everything ready to head to the local pool. My wife was as patient as a snail, but the kids bustled about as if they've been down here a lifetime. Cody was mad when Beth took the game-boy from his hand, just before some big important checkpoint. Angie was calling Beth completely unfair for not letting her invite Tom over to come swim as well. My wife told her, "This is a family event, no exceptions, and for Pete's sake, listen to me for just this once!"
I just stood there, in quiet grief. Their voices were mere sounds, plastic and surreal, and I went along with it as if everything was alright. But it wasn't alright. The world was falling apart all around me, miraculously still turning, and I just stood there! Finally I reached for the doorknob, when I realized I still had the snow globe in my hand.
I looked at it longingly, with affection, and it came to me. A slightly crazy idea. Not the kind where it's life or death, but the fact that it was a spur of the moment decision, it felt totally crazy. I placed the snow globe on the mantel above the fireplace, where the glass caught the sun just right and the jolly Santa shone a brilliant red.
Allow me this simple pleasure, I asked God in silence. Let the neighbors gawk and smirk all they want. Let the kids think their father's going senile, thinking it's December and not August. I didn't care. I just watched the little flakes twinkle through out the water-filled dome.
I displayed it proudly, knowing that good will, kindness and love were never out of season. So I picked myself up out of my gloomy state, got inside the car, and slid into the driver's seat. "Alright, let's go!" I said cheerfully, and everyone looked surprised.
"Dad, is everything … okay?" asked Cody, from behind. But no answer was necessary. I just smiled, and looked across at Beth without a care in the world.
And since we've no place to go, let it snow, let it snow, let it snow.

First Published in Dual Coast Magazine Issue #3

NOTE: I've written a few short stories, but this one is special to me. It was well received by my family, and I was so excited to discover it was accepted by a magazine. It was my first non-poem to be published.

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Parasite

==================================
The widow, dressed in glossy black,	
glides from the shadows at the back.	
A veil lies slack across her face	
to mask the grief her features lack.	

Possessed of an insectile grace,	
she sidles to the open case	
and like the reptile smile she bares,	
this too, serves to defile the place.	

Since jealousy insures she cares
less for his death than for her shares,
obsession next finds her engrossed
in leaving with the gold he wears.

A parasite, she'll man her post
and feed from this depleted host 
'til she believes she's bled the most
she can from his departed ghost.
==========================

Details | Bereavement Poem |

A Game Of Thorns - Collaboration with Maurice Yvonne



i heard a...what do they say...a spine chilling scream
...is that the saying?

a spine chilling scream
followed by

'he's dead, my G_d he's dead'

the phrase echoed 
inside the whole of me
like tennis balls bouncing between two parallel walls

i ran up 
aware i would be at the edge
where the road ends and the gates of heaven stand

saw a young man 
looked through the aperture of his existence 
looked and singed his eyelashes
looked and could not see beyond now

you know those beautiful fluffy white clouds
the kind that feel like large teddy bears that want to hug you
she had landed her very own- she cherished him
knew who he was
felt lucky they shared a mutual love 

i can't imagine the despair 
flowed through her when she saw him like that

his doughy complexion screamed volumes
breaking the thunderous silence
he was a pale grey, blank, empty
a sight impossible to process 

at odds with how one survives
the experience of this tragedy
she was lost in a dreamless mare

[most of the time 
life 
its outcome depends on the flip of a coin
if you don't know that you don't understand 
life
his coin landed on its side 
...all the kings men and all the kings horses...]

her 'beautiful huge fluffy white cloud'
had succumbed to the storm

heart in throat 
hesitantly 
she touched him
he was a frigid cold
for a moment she saw her own smokey breath

moving as if she was walking 
through the thick grains of unbearable pain
thoughts racing 
she attempted to make sense of the senseless

despair had grabbed her by the throat
shook her around like so much thread and fabric

she thought he might of seen life as futile 
society as a guise, as a failed paradigm 
thought he had reached the last motel on the road to nowhere
and just...checked out

depression 
the illness 
it's unlike any other pain
when it peaks
few if any survive it

the afflicted instinctively self medicate 
but street drugs are mean 

she could easily empathize 
she too was him

honestly she was tired of living in her sadness 
a life marinated in tears basted in blood

the experience of having seen her partner
lose his life to drugs and alcohol 
affected her profoundly 

experiencing his death
was like getting hit over the head with a sledgehammer 
she'd never wash it off
it clung to her like a pariah 

you can't wake up from reality 
and you can't sleep through it
the tragedy had possessed her sensibilities 
it was a malignant truth she could not ratify 
singular in its nature
unfathomable

she'd been blindfolded and spun 

a ballerina on a high wire across the span of time
spiralling down an infinite vortex

one plus one is seven
the ceiling isn't a celestial painting
how many fingers
a forty ounce of vodka
opioids a hundred times stronger than heroin
men in uniforms

and

and

...lost...

what happened?

less than two hours ago 
he could think- speak
he had his very own persona

now 

lying there

as

nothing

it could have been her
it could have be anyone 
but it wasn't 
it was- Him

what did occur to her

was 

the loss.

Details | Bereavement Poem |

My Sister Says

Listen to poem:

My sister says
               my father was a good man --
but, how should I, 
                        who never "knew" him
    (except as a far-from-good man)
          buy her stories?
                        Am I, the last child
   of that union, 
              too, too judgmental?
     Too far removed in time from 
                              what she knew 
    and now recalls?
My memory is of a different man, 
              who died when I was twenty-two:
       one rarely present, never talking, 
often jailed,
                      unsupportive -- 
  someone I really never knew.
He was no bearer of familial tales, 
              no imparter of the history
                       now I only wish I'd heard...
Obviously, I differ from my sister 
          about what constitutes a good man.
He never seemed to feel that he
      needed to provide basics --
                  food, shelter, clothing, health care --
  to his offspring -- and he almost never did......
         I do remember how he staggered 
            on the street,
                             fell off of curbs, 
sought shelter 
                       and often could be found
asleep -- or at least 
                  stretched out unconscious --
                                          in some vacant lot; 
how he foraged 
                  frenziedly
                                   about for beer, 
or only Gallo muscatel 
                          (thirty-five cents for the flask).
Should I not ask 
                what makes my sister think
                         I could remember him as does she?
In such a different light?
                                   As victim,
                                               and maligned
              by inlaws or by circumstance?
All I know is what I do remember,
               what I survived
                           when she and others,
 grown, were gone.
 
I do not think 
                that I can accept
                                 or change
(nor in absentia, forgive) --
                        and, no, I do not yet
                                                        believe
            what my sister says.

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Memories and Mourning


Trickle tender tears - those that take their time
born to bathe and baptize bereavement
free delivery from a fragile flower of forlorn feelings ~

aged and alone
senescent sentiments from sorrowful soul does slowly seep
to revive in rising rivulets of rhythmic release
emptying from eclipsed eyes
in reverberant regrets and reveries ~
retrospective reviews with resilient realism

offered to an overdue oldster oppressed by outliving others
reflections retrieved and remembrance retained
are gifts given from the gravestone-garden of growing grief
watered with wept woebegone wine
and cherished with chaste caressing care 
memories and mourning ~
hallowed in a harrowed heart



Susan Ashley
March 24, 2018

------------------------------


~ Second Place ~
Contest: Alliteration Poem
Sponsor: Silent One

Details | Bereavement Poem |

A Dylan Thomas State of Mind

A Dylan Thomas State of Mind

It’s precisely 2:45am...the time when
~ if I’ve fallen asleep ~
I always awake to find
Myself drenched in sweat.

I lie here beside my beloved
~ as I have so steadfastly since
16 November 2016 ~
Thinking about...wondering...pondering
The end of my existence.

I am not talking about
Taking my own life.
          NO!
I’ve seen, heard, touched, tasted, smelt
          too much...
I’ve survived too much, felt too much...
I value Howard’s sweet...sweet...
Nurturing soul’s devotion 
To keeping me alive these past 40 years
To raise my hand against myself...now.

I AM talking about these things:
     Where do we go when we die?
     Do I have a soul?
     Will I be conscious — at the moment it happens —
     That I am drawing my very last breath?

Sometimes, when I awake in the early morn,
Howard is motionless beside me
And I stare at his beautiful face.
Dare I reach out and touch it with one finger?
What if it’s stone cold?
His flesh heavy...dead?

Death.
The End of Living.
The End...The End...The End...

Last January I begged for surcease...
For an end to the pain...
An end to the physical torture...
An end to the psychic suffering...
The constant thoughts of:
        “Is there a Hell?”
        “Will I go there if I take my own life?”
        “What does ‘eternity’ mean?”

Now this morning of 19 October 2017
I am thinking...feeling...praying:

         Please...Please...Please...

         God/Goddess/All That Is/The Universe/The Spirit
         Make my neglected hated scorned body
         Healthy and whole.
         So I may live
              today...
                  tomorrow... 
                      next month...
              next year...

Do not let me go gentle into that good night.
I am alive now...
And I rage...
                   I RAGE NOW!
                                       ....against the dying of the light.
       

Barbara Dickenson 
19 October 2017

Details | Bereavement Poem |

The Last Gold Leaf

The last gold leaf hangs on the bough;
summer is just a memory now.
You, too, have gone, my golden friend;
our summer days came to an end.

We said goodbye; our chapter closed.
How I will miss you no one knows.
On eagle wings you split the skies;
your spirit soared. You had to fly.

My earthbound soul will bear its grief
severed from you on mortal reef;
but returning from yonder shore,
your love in waves will wash me o'er.

You've gone before, my trusted love;
I wait behind, your mourning dove;
yet, from across the great divide
your voice to me in dreams confides.

No, I think not that dreams they are;
but communion of the near with far.
On such sweet songs I stake my claim
to know and love you once again.

Copyright, 1987, Faye Gibson

Details | Bereavement Poem |

The Teacher of Islam

Islam is non merciful
Islam is about repressive means
Islam has no heart
Over and over this chant shall start

For when we close our eyes
For when we judge our fellow man
Chants may bring us comfort
However false is the ringing of the rant

Men of terror may fly their black flags
Claiming a merciful god orders them to kill
al-Shabab reads no holy books, be sure of this
At reckoning they will be omitted from Allah’s bliss

So let us now pay tribute and honor
Let us hold a tissue for a tear so well deserved
The blood of Islamic hearts shall surely open your eyes
As I myself bow, in despair at a humble mans demise

That day, both miraculous and tragic
Salah Farah, a kind man, now a hero
His Muslim brothers became the strong and the brave
For they followed the true teachings of Islam

Salah Farah has passed on from Gods bountiful earth
A Muslim of brave heart and generous soul
He stood up for the love of his teachings
No man he claimed, should defile his fellow man

As terrorists point their rifles
At Christians shivering in fear
Salah Farah and his Muslim brothers
Stood firm with all of humanity dear

Salah Farah proclaimed “we are all brothers”	
Let us do no harm
Let Muslims protect Christians
Let Christians protect Muslims

For we are one, no matter religion
No matter destiny, we must all hold true
To the values of compassion and love
As every Muslim that day, stood ready die

I proclaim, Salah Farah flew the flag of hope
His brothers choose love over death
The all Merciful’s eyes too had tears
His flock of disciples saw his message clear

Teaching
Mercy
Love
Compassion

Details | Bereavement Poem |

Tanka 2 about The Cherry Blossom and Life

on melting snow

first cherry blossom

withers too soon

mum ties pink ribbons

to the white casket




Or

on melting snow


first cherry blossom


withers too soon


mum  unties ribbons


from empty cot-bed





Inspired by Chris`tanka contest,not for the contest

Details | Bereavement Poem |

For Nineteen Years

They are poor…they’re removed, they struggle through life,
Every day is a burden on the edge of a knife,
They’re stuck in the circle, that’s all that they know,
And there’s not work around, and nowhere to go.
 
But a man full of promise says he does understand,
‘My names Uncle Sam, please take hold of my hand,
I’ll break the circle, and then I’ll bring you back,
After a year from somewhere in Iraq.’

She stands at the cemetery gates.
A small bunch of roses and holding back tears.
Just three hundred steps to a name etched in stone
That’s all she has now… for nineteen years.

On the mantelpiece over the burning wood fire,
A son’s photos, citations from her country’s desire  
as she sits and she weeps on the madness of war,
And his last words she heard, “What am I fighting for?”

She stands at the cemetery gates.
A small bunch of roses and holding back tears.
Just three hundred steps to a name etched in stone
That’s all she has now… for nineteen years.

2nd January 2010 ©Lindsay Laurie