Best Cemetary Poems
Pencil is bitten, tooth marks marring, but the paper is still empty. The clock shows quarter to one, I need to leave at three, what to write, what to say. He was a friend, but not close, I never really knew him, and his death came as a shock. What to say, what to say? Clock shows quarter after. Pressure is on. Quickly, think of something. Why me, why must I? Too late to pick someone else, must say the right thing to comfort the horrified family. But in shock, brain gone awry, is not the best condition, and the clock shows quarter to three. Swoop up notes, empty speech, run to the cemetery.
In shock, they stand there
Wearing black, with blank faces
Suicide unseen
Halloween in 16 lines of Rhyme 10-16-24
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Halloween Graveyard
Light intones the creeping darkness
Fallen leaves scrape broken paths
Distant footsteps, heard in semi-darkness,
Wail and weep on incensed footpaths.
Growing shadows blot out twilight
Darkness descends -a deathly pall –
Stone angels watch the hallowed night
Tangled weeds grab like black rainfall.
An outstretched palm hovers o’re the spine
Trembling hands brush at unseen breath
Above their graves haunted ghosts align
Prickly terror screams in cold sweats.
Shouts through chaos in moaning winds
From crypts of tears – spirits unleashed
Souls trapped in macabre whirlwinds
Midnight breaks the spell – souls released.
Obsessive, compulsive, special words...
to describe the way she copes.
Some like me have racing thoughts,
for others, it's locks and soaps.
I wish that mine were more physical,
and not so much in head.
I'm tired of waking every morning,
to that same internal dread.
Most enjoy the yellow, blazing sun,
but I'd rather it go away.
I prefer the wind, the dark and cool.
The beautiful calming grey.
Busy hands and mind I seek.
I yearn to multitask.
To refrain my thoughts from running wild,
is that not to much to ask?
Worry, worry, what's your hurry?
No peaceful state's been found.
Dig deeper, deeper, I tell myself.
In the Earth I'll lay my brain.
In the cemetary of the lost and lone.
In the cemetary of the insane.
Pine Trees in the Cemetary
Pine needles shiver in the frigid February air
Sunlight streams through the old tree’s huge arm branches
Casting light onto the frozen ground blanketed in snow
cemetery not cementary…
although, i see how you might think of this
chiseled rocks, carefully crafted crypts
no. this is the place where we come to bury
where we visit all we miss
i remember seeing you – again, my heart rips
rigor mortis came and went
boxed, lowered, blessed, interred
unnoticed tears flowed from my reddened eyes
i stood among the thinning crowd – all energy spent
strangers’ consolations were endured
inwardly, i shout at death whom i despise
alone, i walk through the cemetery
grass has grown, but i feel no bliss
our relationship has changed – i carry cups
filled with blessings you gave – smelling your bounty
i plant shrubs to say – just one more kiss
then, as i leave the gate, a smile erupts
The black ravens’ peer deep into the darkness;
Bracing upon cold marble and granite stone,
Beneath the ghostly moon's shadows in starkness.
Gray as gray, the ravens’ mock upon its groan
Absence of light and nostalgic clandestine.
Bleak night and nothing more wreathe the granite shrine.
9/28/2019
Photo #2
Poetry Contest: Make IT Six
Sponsored by: Joseph May
The swan in the cemetery looked so out of place
in such a depressing location to see such a symbol of grace
a mystical message engraved on a level of hidden depth
a breath of fresh life, hidden amongst the death.
as i watched the swan pace between the gravestones with all the confusion it
presents
in a place of such solitude, i chuckle at the irony the swan represents
but all of a sudden the swan stops in its tracks.
looks up at the sky down at the ground and then over its shoulder as to look over
its back
with an insinuation in its actions that portrays an essence of surprise
as it stops looking around and focuses on my eyes
which some how against my will has me rested on my knees
as the swan opens its beak but instead of a sqwauk a human voice pleas
a plea of forgiveness for all that its done
a plea to say goodbye to his wife and his son
but then the swan descends into the ground through a grave with not as much as
a sqwauk
as i read the inscription on the stone i cry as i find it reads here lies hope
The quiet hills of a silent cemetery beckon
I look its way when I pass by
as if hearing the murmur of voices
I imagine the many lives cut short
And broken hearts left behind
I reflect on life so fleeting
And meaningless strife
As I walk by it strikes a chord
And in my heart I hear a whisper
A reminder that life is short
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Day they open the cemetery gates
On the grounds I shall lie
Upon the sky!! who is that waits?
Is this the day I die?
My nerves frozen, the world over
In a glimpse I'm really gone!!!
Am I dreaming? drunk? or still sober?
Why? wont I be here the next dawn?
It's time I guess for my final vow
Before I'm laid to sleep
Will I be missed? at least or now?
Or have no one to grieve!
My flesh shall rot and bones perish,
My bloody veins shall dry
But no regrets, and no such wish
I ain't got nobody, nobody to cry
Cemetary Turned Into
The next thing before we all knew
Cemetery ridge had turned into
Never understood what this meant
There were tombs near a monument
So sad and lonely was silent view.
Jim Horn
Onto next one.
'Tis of time fragments its seconds strike three,
One enters through the world's door till strikes four,
Locked in Twilight's zone, witch brew set it free,
Chaos and Havoc, the demons twins be,
Guardians of Hell's Gate, watch o'er worlds door,
'Tis of time fragments its seconds strike three,
Loosen from their chains, spawned diehards conceive,
A commotion from potion, vile and gore,
Locked in Twilight's zone, witch brew set it free,
Pain and suffering, lifetime guarantee,
The one inflicts affliction, things of lore,
'Tis of time fragments its seconds strike three,
Web has spun, evil done, 'twas a wild spree,
Victims are vast, time much too fast needs more,
Locked in Twilight's zone, witch brew set it free,
Time ran its course, in its wake, much debris,
'Tis business, end good, in hour before four,
'Tis of time fragments its seconds strike three,
Locked in Twilight's zone, witch brew set it free.
2019 September 19
She is standing alone under the street lamp,
The light reflecting off her hair,
The steam mists from her lips
She doesn’t notice that I am there.
So I pause and watch her leaning on the fence,
Lips and cheeks blushed crimson.
Crystal snowflakes glitter all around her
And light up the solitude she sings in.
Suddenly I am noticed, a slight turn of the head
Your notes disappear so fast I wonder if I only imagined it.
And those eyes, yellow as the moon glow,
Went through me with the wind swirling off the surrounding crypts.
I can no longer stare, now that I’ve been seen
I feel you tense at the approach of possible danger.
So I put up my hands in surrender, with a smile.
Now you know me, we’re no longer strangers.
What kind of person waits until dark
Then walks through a blizzard to sing to the dead?
She said nothing could be worse than never hearing music again
So someone had to come out here to sing to them.
The snowflakes were melting on your eyelashes,
I’d never seen someone glisten, you lit up like a luminary,
I held your hand for the first time that night
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.
That was the first time he saw me,
In the midst of one of one of my many oddities.
I’d been embarrassed by his presence,
Surprised when he hadn’t been quick to judge me.
I’d first braced myself for his attack
Though I felt protected amongst my silent audience.
But I hadn’t seen any malice in your gray eyes
As you took a place beside me against the fence.
You were only cutting through the graveyard after work,
I was the freak with this morbid intentional destination.
You would later say the lilt of my voice that night
Made my audience feather up into a standing ovation.
Always my lyricist, you would pen the words
And I would pour them out beneath the rain.
You were the gilded crow, some child’s pet
And I was a stray that you hoped you could tame.
You thought that because I was able to mimic
That I might succumb to your choice of conformity
But I would never become civilized if it meant giving up
12 degrees below zero, in the oldest part of the cemetery.
The roundest, orangest, nicest pumpkin I find
In a farmer's field ten miles from town.
Uncarved and free from ghoul's design
with unsaid prayers, I set my pumpkin down.
I set it down in grass in front of a stone.
A granite stone turned in perfect square.
Light's changing now to a dimmer tone.
My tears fall from my empty eyes that stare.
They stare as time passes quickly before my eyes.
The rotting fruit has caved on all four sides.
Hence, heraldic symbol dies
To become slime above where love resides.
Globe spatters, sending forth white pearly seeds
with matted threads. Could this be human brain?
Lunging forth, I trip on rocks and weeds.
My legs move, but I can make no gain.
I look to see what caused my foot to trip.
I see a granite stone much like the same
as my Love's, it ends with letters RIP.
and, 'bove is' -Wife of- and - Oh No - my name.
When animals find a place to die,
do they look for a place of comfort?
Or perhaps they look for a place
where no one will see them dead.
Maybe they want to be alone
with themselves, to judge their life,
like so many people do.
Maybe they just want to find a quiet place,
where there are no distractions,
especially others crying for them.
Or is it just instinct?
Beneath rugged oak tree's shade, and the voice of nature's mirth;
Evergreen wreaths tied with red velvet bows lean back in repose,
Adorn thousands of soldier's headstones laid to rest upon the lap of earth.
A rhythmic verse passing tribute etched on each reflect among lives of those
Honored and mourn upon the lawn in the long-drawn endless rows.
12/26/2019
Poetry Contest: Writing Prompt- English Quintain Imagery
Sponsored by: Dear Heart
The rhyme scheme of an English Quintain is a/b/a/b/b. No meter required.