Best Cause Of Death Poems
I Write
Less words
in a windowless room
no use for my eyes
Humidity suffocating
what is left of me
I hear the silence of evil
poverty a state of mind
a shiny gold coin
Turns a small man
into a rich thief
Laughter the cause of death
Of course it would involve making love
If I had to choose the way that I would die
Fornicating until my heart gives out
Is something I might like to try
The mortician might have a job to do
In trying to fix the smile stuck on my face
And the cause of death on the certificate
Might result in a little disgrace
But alas, my heart seems to last much longer
Than the other required part for this act
But I am willing to keep on giving it a try
And on that you can bet as a fact
Written for the "Die A Fun Death" contest.
With the death of my parents something changed inside,
Its a secret very deep that I’ve tried so hard to hide,
I keep busy working but admit I often have denied,
There’s not a day go by that I don’t think of suicide.
Then I look at my children and become filled with pride,
To see my son graduate, my daughter become a bride,
Would be part of life so important, it could not be denied.
And spending these milestones without me to preside,
Would make my family feel like a big part of them died.
So I keep the sleeping pills hidden and the act untried,
Averting the sad thoughts, putting a smile on the outside.
Breathe easy, this secret is not a true story, that’s the upside.
Written by Lee Ramage
August 30, 2011
For Shani Fassbender’s Contest
“Tell Me a Secret”
Placement: First place
** According to the World Health Organization someone around the globe commits suicide every 40 seconds. Suicide is the 3rd leading cause of death in 15-24 year olds. WHO website 2009
Moral Standards, self respect, a sense of peace
In a struggling world, trust and honesty expected, received
Family time, Sunday worship, where did it go
Changing world, liberal views, Standards removed
Political correctness, allow the changes, just accept it
Society weakened, sinking slowly, watch it crumble
Even the heroes are villains, chaotic thoughts
The world we knew can rest in peace, six white horses
Allowed to die by the people, for the people
No No No Not destroyed by progress
The cause of death being self inflicted.
Life of a Forensic Pathologist”
(Free verse in free style)
Eleven years of high school, he had to try
Seven years of college, he almost cry
Becoming an intern, his professor a real oppressor
What can he do, he chose to be a doctor.
Forensic Pathologist is his specialty
Dissecting dead bodies is his eventuality
Finding the cause of death, natural or criminal
Is it heart attack or a stab wound so typical
Going to court, giving expert opinion
Had to be unbias, statements given with reason
He is a legal witness, to save the innocent
But to a guilty criminal, he had to be insolent.
His daily life is in the mortuary and not so easy
Once he is in, it is a lifetime job, not so briefly
It is a difficult career and do not expect to be rich
This is what he is, the life of a Forensic Pathologist.
Written by Dr Ko Ko Thein
Salt Lake City
Fire burning bright how we take you for granted without a revelation of what you are.
Before the phrase was uttered you were there to start the beginning.
An ending to the previous flames of previous times.
Always sparking! With a passion of anger and love.
The warmth of over 10,000 years has been the same.
Some use you for love; while others use you for the cause of death.
Some deaths are noble; while others are works of those who claim nobility!
The Romans, Moors, Holy Romans and even the new world use you for wrongful reasons.
The dogmas want you to bleed with them and fight those they believe are wrong.
The real people whom are wrong are those who hinder the progress of truth with falsehoods of the past that they claim to be true.
A tribute to the dead you forth shine.
A tribute to the life of many you come as a welcome.
What would we be and where would we be without you?
Spirit of electromagnetic radiation
What are you?
Where are you?
Are you just a combustion to us?
Regardless of your rest we still use you in a condenser.
Always grateful and always bleak we are to you.
Coursing through our skin in the wind and snow.
Even coursing when we back off.
Except we take our extra skin off to bathe with you.
In the eyes of scholars and growing scholars the passion of you burns within them!
We hold you dear and try to uncover more of you.
The knowledge inside brings you back to the stars.
You are light and a reflection of a truth that we are constantly trying to discover.
We admire your power.
A truth you will always be.
Even in the end of the universe you will sleep; however, after a length of infinite to us you will explode into ignition.
We cry to you and ask for you to never go out?
The only hindrance to you dying in us is when we let others control us.
This is why so many have fallen.
They have lost the passion; they have loss you.
We are the children of you.
We are the children of fire.
Mama Africa is sick and getting sicker!
Millions suffer from cancer!
Millions have heart attacks!
Millions considered HIV positive!
Millions have tuberculosis!
Millions are affected with diabetes!
Malaria is the first leading cause of death!
And cases of epidemics are reported every year!
Mama Africa, is your behaviour malpractice?
Mama Africa,have you forgotten how you lived
before 1800?
Mama Africa,have you forgotten the healing skills
you possessed?
Mama Africa,have you delibarately avoided your
healing skills?
Europe learnt about you with admiration and awe!
chipepo lwele
PS;Hats off to the chinese!!!They have completed their
hat trick in traditional medicine.But, alas,here in Africa
,it would be associated with witchcraft and mysticism!
A CRY FROM DEEP DOWN MY HEART!
Amidst the cruel claws of doubt
I plunged disastrously without
Your helping hand, your soothing voice,
In spite of how you had the choice;
You've purchased now my dying breath
Through willed abuse, my cause of death.
Such shrewd abuse, the form of which
Is crude neglect and wicked word
The currency that made you rich
And turmoil that within me stirred.
Like putting out a fire by
Pretending that it isn't there,
Or heartening me as I cry
By gifting me an empty stare.
Like making my body hurt less
By handing me a pack of smokes.
In order to relieve my stress,
Lobotomize me as I choke.
The torment you've engraved in me
Through harsh, relentless, cold abuse
Does prompt one thought, that death is glee,
To which I offer no excuse.
Such cold abuse, such cold abuse
That racks my frame, my mind, my soul.
Like reassuring a recluse
By not talking to him at all.
Like swindling your warmth from me
By giving it to someone else
And forcing me to sit and see
While ice around me slowly melts.
Like lying in a manner bland
About the bullet you would take,
So that I wouldn't think "to hand
The gun to you is a mistake."
Shot- dead
The cause of death, shot- dead,
They quickly get a fame,
And quickly they leave us,
Shot-dead is a dominating cause of death,
What is wrong with this Hip-Hop music?
The music that influence a violence and anger,
The music that influence gangster ‘ism,
The music that promote hatred amongst groups,
The music that promote the abuse of alcohol and drugs,
They speak of imaginary riches and not physical riches to drug you in,
They go deep underground to blaspheme God,
If there is power behind this music,
I believe is a power from the darkness,
Shot-dead, the cause of death in Hip-Hop industry.
I’m Calico, the fourth, and though you haven’t asked,
I’m here to tell you what you’re thinking; so relax.
The Duel, you know that poem by Eugene Field,
it was all a big hoax, ‘cause the facts were kept sealed.
The Old Dutch clock and the Chinese plate? well they lied.
And that gingham dog? he turned tail to save his hide.
My great grandcat, the calico, told me the facts.
(There were no burglars; they were men from the gov’ment
invading the house for some secret exper’ment.)
They had a cat-of-nine-tails which they tried to use
to prove cats have nine lives! Grandcat simply refused.
There IS more than one way to skin cats, they were sure.
Then cat got Gran’s tongue and she smiled like a Cheshire.
When those scaredy-cat feds got fed up with her gag -
cat and mouse game was done; cat got outa the bag.
And like the cat that got the cream, she was excused.
(The g-mens’ report claimed they did an "cat"opsy
declaring the cause of death - curiosity.)
March 1, 2014
parody of The Duel by Eugene Field
contest: Parody Of A Famous Poem Poetry Contest
sponsor: L. Milton Hankins
*Ethan T. Frye
*Died at age 15.
*Place of death Grand junction,IA.
*Thurs. 3/19/2015.
*Place when died at NBA's Final.
*Cause of death when leaving got in car wreck from txting.
Born- Feb 11, 1999
in Jefferson, IA.
Parents- Nikki, Jaz, stepdad, brother, sis.
childhood- greene-county HS, best friend Drake.
Hobbies- Football, Basketball, Rap music, AutoCAD, drawing, and photography.
Ethan is survived by: Grandma Vickie, Grandpa Tom. Parents: Nikki mom. Siblings: Lyndsay, Briahnna, Garrett, Emily wilder Real sis. Niece:Brooklyn wilder. Best friend: Drake.
Age does not matter
It does not matter
As to who you are
It comes in all ages
His sister had a shock
She went to her son
Knocked on the door
Then she rang the bell
Being scared she called
The police department
As soon as the door opened
She rushed inside
Looking on the floor
She saw her son laid
On the hall carpet
Shocked she screamed
The police told her
That her son was dead
There was no blood shown
A coroner will check the body
To see the cause of death
Her son was young
His age only Forty-four
See age does not matter
For Angie
The hallways rotated over and around me, maybe it was that aged smell of antiseptic affecting my equilibrium...
Trying to keep my feet, bracing the wall of the room she was assigned with my hand to gain my balance, I was overcome with
hot vibrations
of past voices, shrieking, pleading, crying out for lost loved ones at the time of their greatest need...
unanswered
Slumping to a chair, I felt the weight of despair
Nothing, nobody
My will to live had been broken
Shaking myself, I knew I needed to be released from this
Possession of my soul, so I began praying...
'God, grant these souls entrance to Your Kingdom, reach out with Your Loving Grace to hold them and keep them in Your Love'
Free at last, the orderly asked if everything was alright, I said No...he said, I'm sorry, I need you to sign these papers for Insurance, we have a patient waiting for this room and Housekeeping needs to finish some tasks
Angie's heart had given up, but the cause of death was listed as covid
I just got up from my chair, set the forms down, and walked out, the orderly pleading behind Me "sir, sir, the papers!"
Housekeeping brushed hurriedly past me as I hit the elevator
Down button, entered and
Released at the lobby floor,
Stepping out to the fresh air,
I noticed a Ruby Throated Hummingbird alight on a trumpet flower nearbye, sip, then pause to acknowledge me and spun straight-up...
Heaven awaited
11/12/21
One day i watched a housefly perish.
A memory i'd never hold or cherish.
A soul escaped his writhing mass
magnified by looking glass.
I swore i'd seen its final breath
and knew i'd been its cause of death.
Insignificant i know God slap my wrist!
Oh lord i wish the fly swat missed.
From her lavished home
Into the body bag!
From the body bag
Into the cold freezing plant!
There is more to it
Than the freezing of beers
That's for you to hear!
She was beautiful
Or so,
She had thought to herself!
But not anymore!
The reason for her leaving
And the manner for it
Must be known!
He was called in.
And again she moved
But she knows not that she moves!
Now, she moves
From the freezer
Onto the bier
Into the green room!
But she wasn't aware!
How futile!
He came in
Clad all in green.
Down came the scalpel
Tearing her up
Like a butcher with his knife!
He pulled and tugged
At dead intestines
At rotting food remains
At the bloating liver
At the motionless eyes
At more and more!
Then he took samples.
Samples that will tell
Or even untell
The cause of death
Of this once-upon-a-time beauty.
Looking at the once
Privately private body
That was gaily covered
And that no one
Could anyhow intrude.
Looking at all before him
He knew
Again and again
As in all other ones
That we are living
In futility!
We are but wastes!
His job is to find
The causes of deaths
Of this body and many more
Before and after.
But he thought
For how long more
Will he do it?
He knows his will be done
Then his man pike
A grub would have become!
But when will it be done?
Lots of deaths
He had helped demystify
But what will kill him?
He knows not.
He only knows
That one sure day
The Pathologist
A stiff will become!
(An homage to Wole Soyinka. Born from the
poem: POST MORTEM)