Best Cemetery Poems
I write so many poems that you don’t see
They end up in purple poem cemetery
Mangled in the **** of my maroon mind
Tangerine tangles of wasted time
Violet vines of not good enough
Tall teal trees of unreturned love
Winged words white like albino leaves
Falling to their death from teal tree
Falling for you’re deaf to my poet tree
Bass treble cleft left in green cerebral dream
Unsung songs unmade love
Sing a longs gone wrong
Made in maroon lust
But somehow I manage to hold on to it
Maybe it will be reborn as a chocolate kiss
of rainbow reflection of historical views
Of future endeavors red spice unused.
The cemetery was
Before my very eyes, stillness
Autumn leaves a blanket on the dead
The cemetery was
There, as it always was there
From childhood till now
The cemetery was
For me, my escape, comfort and refuge
Among the strangers and the dead
The cemetery was
My pathway to the heavens
The gateway to my dreams
The cemetery was
Until that one fateful day
My sanctuary
The bullet wasn’t even meant for you my love
You are dead none the less, beneath me
I, who weeps at your grave, lifeless too
Now the cemetery is my hell
Tormented by what ifs
I breathe the autumn frost only
That one day
Our daughter will become
You
I came across an old cemetery today while exploring,
Full of broken, toppled headstones and tangled weeds;
There was a deep hush, a whisper and a sigh, I felt tears,
My tears were falling for long dead souls forgotten.
A tree's roots are entwined around an old, tilted stone,
In loving memory of my husband George, born Feb, 1882;
Oh, George you were loved very much once upon a time,
God took him, but he will not be forgotten, engraved.
And I am of the age of Aquarius too, just like you,
I love violets and everything purple, and I am so mellow;
Oh, George were you a deep thinker, sensitive, creative,
I get hurt easily and I always want to help people.
Be at peace George in your decay and ravaged grave,
Listen to the twittering of birds this bright sunny day;
Promise, promise, I will be back to lay some purple violets,
Forever now, dear soul, you will dwell in my heart.
Now, be still George, I heard your whisper . . .
____________________________
April 28, 2016
Poetry/Elegy/Whispering Old Cemetery
Copyright Protected, ID 16-783-587-0
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Submitted to the contest, Any Poem Written in April 2016
sponsor, Laura Loo
First Place
_____________________________________________
Written for a contest
sponsor, Steven Henderson
First Place
Often, I open the cemetery gate to visit mother,
"I took the bus mother, the scenery was lovely;
I brought you a red rose from my own garden,
and now I stand weeping."
"Do not be sad daughter,
my time was finished;
you know I suffered,
now, I know peace."
(The birds are twittering.)
"oh but I miss you so much mother,
your voice, your touch, your love;"
"We had a wonderful life you and me daughter,
talking over tea, gardening, going for country drives."
"Oh, yes mother, I remember all that and so much more!"
(The leaves are whispering.)
"It is time daughter to let go,
do not dwell with the dead;"
"Mother, I wish that I could break this chain of grief,
so many lay with you beneath the cold earth."
" And we are all at peace, beyond all pain we dwell,"
(weeping) "I must go mother, I will back soon, promise."
(A red rose left, disappears.)
___________________________
September 5, 2016
Verse
Submitted to the contest, Best Sad Poem Ever II
sponsor, Laura Loo
Second Place
The robin redbreast is hardly afraid,
He is not afraid of cemeteries,
Seeing me, he lands on the grave of the Bouvier family,
Looks at me, then flies on that of Cécile Kerneis,
Since he is Breton, the bird waits for me a little,
And flies again to the tomb in black marble of a man named Brélivet,
The robin redbreast is not afraid of graves, nor of me,
All the dead are his friends, like saints,
He flies again and lands on the stone of François Le Gall,
Then happily jumps on the gray tomb of Alexis Kerbaol.
He watches me, like a small soldier with medals,
He prays religiously on the white stele of Madame Coat,
The little robin is not afraid of cemeteries, nor of me,
On the tomb of Hervé Jaouen, he finds his pride,
In the cemetery, all the dead are his friends.
NB names are from Brittany
Near Saint Avold, France,
More than ten thousand heroes
Whisper from the soil.
I was strolling through Evergreen Cemetery the other day,
Glancing at epitaphs etched upon various stones along the way.
Some flowing verse was out of this world but I can only assume,
That the authors were forthcoming in how they met their doom!
"Should an inconsiderate bird upon my stone alight,
Please do me a favor and remove the blight!"
"Here reposes a dude who tried to rob a lady teller,
But she was a keener shot than this unlucky feller!"
"Here sleeps ace pilot Captain Cletus Cole;
His wings were clipped attempting a barrel roll!"
"Here reclines butcher Clyde who cheated on his wife.
Unknown to him she was also adept at wielding a butcher knife!"
"Here lies Hank his mortal shell riddled with lead.
He was nabbed rustlin' steers and the sheriff shot him dead!"
"Here is deposited the corpus of Eddie a top-notch baker.
He is now serving assorted donuts to his beloved Maker!"
"Please relay your regards as by this way you pass,
But for heavens sake, keep off the cottin' pickin' grass!"
"On a banana peel the dear departed slipped and fell.
We pray he landed in paradise and not in hell!"
"He didn't know his Volkswagen had all that power.
He met his doom head-on doing 90 miles per hour!"
"Fer nigh on 40 years old Hank rode this earthly range;
Now he rides in that final roundup on that heavenly grange!"
"Gambler Jim has left very few friends behind to grieve;
He was caught with a couple of aces up his sleeve!"
Robert L. Hinshaw, CMSgt, USAF, Retired
(c) 2015 All Rights Reserved
I came across an old cemetery today while exploring,
Full of broken, toppled headstones and tangled weeds;
There was a deep hush, a whisper and a sigh, I felt tears,
My tears were falling for long dead souls forgotten.
A tree's roots are entwined around an old, tilted stone,
In loving memory of my husband George, born Feb, 1882;
Oh, George you were loved very much once upon a time,
God took him, but he will not be forgotten, engraved.
And I am of the age of Aquarius too, just like you,
I love violets and everything purple, and I am so mellow;
Oh, George were you a deep thinker, sensitive, creative,
I get hurt easily and I always want to help people.
Be at peace George in your decay and ravaged grave,
Listen to the twittering of birds this bright sunny day;
Promise, promise, I will be back to lay some purple violets,
Forever now, dear soul, you will dwell in my heart.
Now, be still George, I heard your whisper . . .
Longing, Look, Lofty
Next, Northerly, Navigation
Select, Sentiment, Sent
Living, Loving, Light
Destination, Destiny, Divine
Seeks, Solar, Sensation
Choose, Cherry, Cherish
Joyous, Joyful, Jubilation,
Veneration, Vega, Visitation
'Round about eight o'clock each evening the massive iron gates are closed.
The moon's mellow glow shines upon spectral scenes that are now exposed!
Phantoms that by day lie peacefully in their graves now freely roam,
Reliving mortal dramas when the earthly stage was their home!
I've never witnessed such things but I've heard from reliable sources,
That nigh midnight a spectral hearse travels about drawn by ebon horses!
Six ghostly pallbearers march behind the hearse chanting a mournful dirge,
As they escort the macabre procession and at a gloomy crpyt converge!
A specter desperado is seen dodging 'mongst the moss-covered stones,
Chased by a sheriff, his moldy funereal shroud flapping about his bones!
"Crazy Bob" Womack who discovered gold up around Cripple Creek,
Sits on his stone guzzling booze and gazing wistfully t'ward Pikes Peak!
Pat Brady, Roy Rogers' old sidekick, races about in his jeep, "Nellybelle!"
Rebel soldiers scramble from their graves and loose a fearsome Rebel Yell!
A gorgeous young wraith clad in white wafts to and fro seeking her lover,
Adding to this eerie scene, perched in ancient oaks, owls hoot and hover!
Ghostly apparitions peer from windows of the haunted chapel on the grounds.
Grinning skeletons rise from musty tombs rattling about making their rounds!
Helen Hunt Jackson, author of "Romana" resides here in her special nook.
She leans against her stone observing all, perhaps researching another book!
Snow fell lightly that February day.
So many mourners hurried fast away.
I was well dressed. I did not mind the snow,
And though the north wind blew, I felt aglow.
'T was a long time since anyone I knew,
Was buried there amidst cypress and yew.
The silence and solitude were my balm.
That's how I felt that time peacefully calm.
The light snow stopped and everywhere was white.
Sunset descended on a grey dark night.
A watchman checked everywhere, all had gone.
He saw me not. I had gone like the dawn.
"Parting is such sweet sorrow that I shall say goodnight till it be morrow. " ~ Shakespeare
As fragments of the stars abandoned
the sage of night, my kohl heart bleeds
beside your trembling tombstone,
while soul aches to seize the
fading scents within
the iris of
auroras,
leaving
dreams
and
I, lost
like the speed
of shooting sparks,
twirling above ghosts
in the cemetery
of wild corpse roses, whistling
moonless requiems to ravens
blind to the truth etched in lithium...
A gale force wind was blowing one cold October night
With a hunter's moon in the sky that was shining so bright
I took a shortcut through the cemetery as I'd often done before
And in ten minutes or so I'd be at home at my front door.
As I neared the cemetery exit, I had one hell of a fright
I saw a tall ghostly figure that was dressed in all white
I was seized with sheer terror and ran as fast as I could
My heart was pounding and my legs felt like wood.
I trembled as I fumbled trying to get the key into the lock
Never before in my entire life had I had such a shock
I reached for the Jack Daniels and poured myself a stiff drink
Had I been hallucinating? maybe I needed to see a shrink.
The next morning as I walked past the exit, I had a surprise
And laughed at what I saw before me, I couldn't believe my eyes
In last night's strong winds, a white sheet had blown onto a tree
And that was the 'ghost' that had scared the hell out of me.
plain wooden cross
atop
tired
ethereal chapel
unkempt
courtyard
crushed dreams
of detached young
10/7/2020
Writing Challenge - Septolet Form - Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Constance La France
Would you show me how you sleep so sweetly
Or could you teach me how not to dream
Mine have been deliberately consuming
Considerately they've been killing me
With reoccurring nightmares
Of creaking cemetery gates
The silent screams among the undead
As they lay me down within my grave
My heart beats restlessly inside of panic
Anticipating this hell I've never met
But it promised me that it missed me
Through all the nights I never slept
Its fingers grip tightly around my throat
The other hand covers my eyes
It hated that I believed in God
And all of His softly unspoken lies
Then I awake within a deeper panic
I still feel the impressions of its hands
Lord how many nights will I be pulled under
Before your heavens will take me back
~JJF ~
So peaceful is the cemetery at the edge of the town
Celtic crosses and grey headstones are everywhere
Stood over some graves watchful angels look down
Flowers so colourful and wreaths placed here and there
At the resting place of loved ones by loved ones who care.
Written 3rd January 2020.
For Writing Prompt - English Quintain Imagery - Poetry Contest.
Sponsored By Dear Heart.