Best Day Of The Dead Poems | Poetry

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day of the dead by Edwards, Michelle
DAY OF THE DEAD by Robles, Ernest
The Day of the Dead by Putman, Zachary
The day of the dead book by Hall, John
the day of the dead by hansen, jan oskar
DAY OF THE DEAD by Perez, Nola
Zodiacs, Day of The Dead!? by Rhinem, John
Day of The Dead by williams, colin mitchell

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The Best Day Of The Dead Poems

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Rainy Days And Mondays

It's Monday The day of the dead leaves and fresh flowers The dry and wet hours Like the other days Of life and death The desert and the lake Thousands of the little ponds The debris waiting for the mansion Farmers stacking the hay The trains that run every day It's Monday It's raining As it rained last Friday too The leaves whisper With the caterpillars The rivers playing football The children of water The toad is in laughter The breezes leave rustles in the blades The larks look on The flood has robbed a family of life The relatives weep The rains stop a little and smile The window down under my heart Calls me It was on a Monday too Only yesterday as it were Do you remember? Your permanent shadow Arrived on my canvas The dream painting I am still doing The rain got jealous It came down on the shadows heavily The time got flooded As the water receded A little plant raised its head Got blended with my butter and bread Moon-flower in the dream The sunbeams woke me up Whenever Monday is accompanied By the rains The pains of the window Call me to you With the windows holding the flowery hues I look for the brushes To pick the colour For the shadows of the rustles Slowly and softly The gladioli _____________________________ February 21, 2018 Rainy Days And Mondays - Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Silent One


Copyright © Probir Gupta | Year Posted 2018


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La Calavera Catrina

The fire burns deep within my heart
As ice forms on arms and limbs
The evil one approaches
With a smile and a knife
To be twisted in my stomach

The witch of Acambaro looks like an angel
But her dagger can pierce both heart and soul
She is the five Pillars
Darkness
Anger
Greed
Envy
Bitterness
Pilar Lopez Diablo

Raised by nuns, her values none
She spreads hers smile
For a few pesos
False hopes and empty dreams
She surely shall make you scream

Bury me naked, if you must
Wear a black veil, you stole my trust
Draw blood and make me swim in my own juices
I shall float in my bloody pain

On the  Día de Muertos
I shall sing back to you
Oh Catrina, lady of the dead
You lie tormented
For you have all of me in blood
Except my heart



Notes:

La Calavera Catrina ('Dapper Skeleton', 'Elegant Skull'
The “Day of the dead” can be traced back to the Aztec festival dedicated to the goddess Mictecacihuatl. Catrina would be the modern name of this God.



Copyright © arthur vaso | Year Posted 2013


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Halloween Visitor

On Halloween just around midnight
an eerie sound filled the night.
As a clock nearby chimed out the hour,
she prayed for daylight to a higher power.

That morning, on a mission that couldn't wait,
she gulped her coffee and cleaned her plate,
grabbed a lantern and climbed the stair
to the attic, if she dare.

Cobwebs and dust did abound.
For years no one had been around
but this is from where came that sound;
The source of it must be found.

She knew what she was looking for;
She packed it away years before.
As she unwrapped many a treasure,
one, in particular, gave her pleasure.

She found it sitting behind a box
and sure enough, she heard ticktock.
Alive again was grandmother's clock
but now a mystery to unlock.

When she was little, she'd wind the spring
which kept the old clock running
but who had wound the spring this time
that caused the clock to midnight chime?

Could grandmother have visited that night
to wind the clock and set it right?
It's the only answer that came into her head.
After all, Halloween is a day of the dead.

October 17, 2015



 


Copyright © Janece Terry | Year Posted 2015


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DAY OF THE DEAD

"Dia de Los Muertos", the Spanish name it.  Eve
of All Saints, saw we of the church of blessed assurance
of an observance ushering in fall while easing
our multilingual obsession with death.  The sun shines
on unmarked graves, and, "Come winter the same
snow falls, dusting us all," so it is said, and so
honored at The Dollar Tree Store.

Weeks before Halloween, when punctilious roadside tents
fill with demonic orange grins, when what the French
call The Season of Color with its 'sturm und drang' roars
in, I push past the doors of The Dollar Tree.  No
automatic entry ushers us in, no Pearly Gates swing
wide to celestial Muzak.  We come to purchase the needs
of the living-- tinfoil, plastic bags, detergent: a limpid purple
liquid with its cautionary "Do Not Drink," its "Fragrancia
Duradera."  Longevity, one dollar a bottle.

Shelves of seasonal gimcracks stack up at the entrance.
"Adornes" in your face, useless for extending time:
crows with real feathers, spectral spider webs, glittery 
black skulls, mockup tombstones inscribed "Rest in 
Pieces"--Do Not Disturb-- Don't Laugh, You're Next. 
I laugh, anyway.  Comics know reality is funny.

All Hallows Eve a year ago, our parish priest 
stood in cemetery darkness at a rude stone altar, 
celebrating Mass at Bosque Bello, our Beautiful Forest 
of flashlights and  luminaries.  There among graves 
of the known and unknown, we broke bread and 
shared the cup of blood, there, where the blessed dead 
settle deep in their shoe-boxes, and the not-yet-
unmasked confront certain demise.



Copyright © Nola Perez | Year Posted 2011


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A Lonesome Maker

****A reflection of a day, i wrote about the death of my fiance from cancer****
last night
the daughters of ignOrance
coupled with the sons of despair
in parked cars by ruined rivers
WhiLe dreams were finding their way home
in the dark

Old dreams
staying on old roads
neW dreams falling away
troops were being withdrawn
from One battlefieLd to another
and the president was to be re elected
because he kills more than any other
and is the best man for the jOb

because he Wears a mask
on the back of his head
smiLing
and because he lives
where telescopic cameras
always crosses its target

As today, is the day of the Dead...
so this mOrning
I placed at the feet of unfinished statues
the scars I have salvaged

it's my Way of protesting

Now i sit in this bar
with the bartender and the cockroaches
pretending i am here on a visit
when I know this is home

Like a man with no one
you are such A Lonesome Maker


Copyright © Liam Alepta | Year Posted 2016


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Zodiacs, Day of The Dead!?

Paradoxes perceived....

Alas, afore perditions peremptory paroxysms passing

Recompense, aneath this incantations au revoirs pier?!

Intensity wrought forth amid the speculums mist

Surging slicing waves rolling in; brevitations acme ~

This cresendos apsis, imploding both place and time; time

Sending forth a zephyrs horizontal vortex greeting unto, these assimilations....

Subsistences sumbliminal portals now weighing forlorns images; moribunds

Sanguinary lineage, ill-poised at the gates of reapings; centuries they have sown!?

Turpitudes brazen vizard standing tall and holding fast unto these

Still, sacrilegious hexagons misconceiving beliefs; charmless fruits upon their vines

Kwashiorkors bitter continuums in this state of morass', mummering morbid ways....

Alas, afore perditions peremptory paroxsyms passing

Recompense, aneath this incantations au revoirs pier?!

Cresendos apsis horizontal zephyrs vortex; assimilations twilight 

Greeting, augars ziggurat surging slicing waves, now rolling in ~

Brevitations ominous acme soon to forever pass this; Zodiacs....
 
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

....Day of The Dead!?


Copyright © John Rhinem | Year Posted 2011


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A Ghost in the Night

There is this girl
she resides in my dreams
she is quite young
eight or nine it seems

i know not where she is from
nor why she appears
I know not what she wants
or why she is here

she scares me immensely 
for her face is scarred and twisted
she sits in the corner
wanting what? I must of missed it

she wears a little white dress
frilly and pressed
with long dark hair
messy and stressed

I sit frozen in horror
as she sobs in the corner
blood stained tears drop to the floor
i want to bolt for the door, I can't take anymore

I can not help.
I know not what to do
I sit frozen in shock 
right next to you

Our eyes meet, yours is a glare
I dare not move,for I am regretfully aware
she's just cold and lonely, a ghost in the night
wanting assurance, Everything will be alright






This is the first time I've written anything in a couple years. I love this site and the people that visit it. just wanted to do a little something with the upcoming holloween/day of the dead vibe to let everyone know I am in fact still here. this is something ive honestly dealt with and have had several nightmares about. Creepy stuff. Hope you enjoy!

MWP



Copyright © mike patrick | Year Posted 2012


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Earth Worms




                                                   Earth Worms



                                  Rotted, eating flesh disease wound,
                             the day of the dead rises well before noon.

                     Open caskets, hatched maggots pour from their skin,
                      jaundiced eyes, yellow spines let the feeding begin
.
                           Alive but not breathing these hunters of men,
                            look at these monsters just drenched in sin!

                       Together, we must fight together or we'll never win,
                 Zombies these damn Zombies coming out of the earth again.



bmdavey@
02/19/16


Copyright © Brian Davey | Year Posted 2016


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the day of the dead

The day of The Dead. 

 The cemetery in Loule is on top of a hill, today
early spring the steep hillside is full of luscious 
yellow flowers. Not like ripe lemons, more like 
Swiss butter, from the rich milk of cows will bells
and horns; sturdy feet able to carry big, rose-pink 
udders and be milked by smiling maidens with 
strong arms creamy white as a Valkyrie’s bosom 

What you didn’t see- all this life- when blinded
by the intensity of every sun lit flower came
 from a rotting coffins, the few day in early spring 
when the dead are let out, sway on a hillside and 
soak up the sun.


Copyright © jan oskar hansen | Year Posted 2015


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THE SAN ANTONIO NIGHT CROSSING



      “... The closeness of the place and the heat of the climate, 
        added to the number in the ship which was so crowded 
        that each had scarcely room to turn himself,  almost 
         suffocated us."
				
	   Olaudah Equiano, freed slave, abolitionist, merchant (1745-1797)




We were taken in by roundup- 
legends of freedom, sold
heirlooms to pay for the privilege of being 
crammed into a tractor-trailer like green-
ware into a kiln.  The youngest 
faithfully lifted her chin, Quinceañera 
memories still fresh enough to almost keep 
her balanced within that shifty, 
blistering dark until she felt 

another sharp shaft of air, a searing blast

of a bone-dry wheeze from the next pilgrim to hit 
hot metal like he’d been shot in the head.
The chant began again, Santa María, 
Madre de Dios, ruega por nosotros
pecadores. Sweat stung our opened eyes, 
clarified visions of diaspora, of coldblooded
coyotes packing cargo holds with cornered chattel. 
We, the many, shackled by migrant irons. We,
a crop of people, survive only to swelter later 
in tobacco rows, on countless estates, behind thick shop doors,

but each Day of the Dead, we will recount:

Mexicans lost to a hardened 
geography where even breath is branded, 
an absence of just one half-mast flag, anywhere, their star-
crossed national anthem, our  costly escape 
into undocumented slavery, how long-
suffering dreams either suffocate or hide 
scars, why wheeled sloops blaze down border 
highways with short-lived payloads, scammed commodities
as expendable as a shipment of spring lambs ...



Copyright © Cyndi MacMillan | Year Posted 2017


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The Mercenary

Just when you think memories die
They say your life flashes before your eyes 
Silent nights 
Scripts of peace in a new born life
Hunger in days 
Taken back less for what poverty weighs 
A couple visits to I-C-U 
Now as a ghost I see you! 
Pain inhabits reflection 
My anger and aggression 
Smiles and faces 
Childs and different races 
In my final poem 
I lay it down a mercenary 
Look to heaven with no commentary 
Double jeopardy, 
A sinner plagued with leprosy 
Broken jewels in hands of an innocent man 
It's going to be a little blood shed 
For the faces that weren't fed
Walk as mortals on the Day of the dead 
Even in God's hands there’s a little bloodshed


Copyright © Jerry Golden | Year Posted 2008


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The day of the dead book

On Saturday or Sunday B-4 the fourth of July ,

Paperboys wood deliver the day of the dead book & I doent know why !

It had the names and addresses of everyone hoo died in the last year !

But Yude have 2 check the sales papers 2 see if thair was a sale on beer !

It's hevvyest thing in the paper ever And it could take all day !

And thay diddint even give us inny extra pay !

The sun times let us deliver that stuff on Saturdays 

Win the paper diddint have inny wayt ! But the tribune diddint 

Bring those stuffings until Sunday's so it felt like frate !

Sum of us wood get 2 the offices at ayround midnite ! 

So we could be thrue by 8-A.M. , win we could bie 

4 ice cream boxes 4 a dollar at walgreens & 

It wood ease the pane  , so people wood be less likeley

2 go insane !...


Copyright © John Hall | Year Posted 2016


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Word Play I

Wagging
tails of cats
grown in marshes
or books on mans'
best friend of a dog
day of barking
up the wrong tree ...
semantically.

Swinging
tales of jazz
blowing in lounges
or the cheeks of diz
and a day of jamming
up the scene ...
poetically.

Shooting
trails of men
going into deserts
televised like a hurricane
howling on the
day of the dead ...
murderously.

Wagging, swinging, shooting,
twisting, sliding down
Alices' well into
a word pile
a word play
ground of merry.


Copyright © Sue Mason | Year Posted 2007


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All Hallows Eve

Such eager fingers, from skeletal hands
Glowing eyeballs scan parched lands
Howling winds that scrape the sky
Bat-ish chatter as on they fly

Pumpkins glow to mark the way
For spirits seek to rise and play
Shady windows hide wicked smiles
Black cats prowl with patient guile

Stalking wolves find willing game
Witches cackle ‘round rising flame
Thunder cracks and lightning gleams
Day of the Dead, it’s Halloween!


-Dedicated to my Mother, Halloween Queen and loving friend.


Copyright © A. Sanders | Year Posted 2008


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Making Every Image Count

Man I've got to slow it all down take another route...
Walking past this blink dispel, time heart's dotage her
Brightest star amid the skies these, nocturnal nighttides ?
Johnny jump up his bluish purple rush hour russet's, diamond eyes
Denying their proteges defeatist provenance ? Where wicked was, a clinging 
Touch gyroscopes day of the dead piece, de resistance: falling at His feet weeping
She and phantasmagoria's end this summer; Lord, be love's harvest ? Aureole's vanguard.


Copyright © Jeremy Street | Year Posted 2014


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The Day of the Dead

Horrifying images pass through the mind
Mingling and mixing and leaving you blind
Thoughts of the past swim into sight
Leaving your mind consumed by fright

The living dead dance through your dreams
From their bones, the light of the moon gleams
Demons and devils join in their fun
Making you toss and turn until evening is done

Corpses fill the ground at their feet
Making clickings and clackings that move with their beat
Their stares, like spears, pierce through yor rsoul
Making your skin to crawl and your blood to boil

This is the tale come the day of the dead
The songs of rememberance and the prayers that are said
So sleep well, young child, and by morning they'll go
And enjoy this night-time, undead show


Copyright © Zachary Putman | Year Posted 2016


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The Festival of Samhain

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

Standing upon centre's stage as the crowd became frenzied amid anticipation 

Wild in abandonment as their naked bodies began to dance within the aisles 

Shouting in revelry this festivity celebrating the end of summers, dawning

Day of the dead with travelers from as far away as Sodom and Gomorrah 

Chanting in tranceful unison while I then lifted this dagger, to place it upon my throat 

Peering into the skies as the blackened clouds began to burst a crescendo afore 

These orgies crying their delight as I then slashed the veil of my wrist 

Virgins in wishful wanton bareness kneeling at my feet, their crimson nails 

Digging deeply into my turning flesh as the blood poured upon their thirsting lips 

While storm clad winds began to howl and banshee's gathered upon the ridge 

Their piercing eyes penetrating the night as they looked upon in deja vu desires

Demons, rising from the depths of the molten earth to mingle with the pendular crowd 

As the moon began to bleed and the stars to erupt; cries of ecstasy 

Virgins bathing in this blood and smearing it upon one anothers burning breast 

While Lucifer stood smiling in ovation with his queens draped at his side 

Loyal unto their king these children of wayful and I in this spellbound cast

Their sacrifice; on this the day of rejoicings darkened hour in crimsons calling

Dreams amid, the night of the livings dead.... 

,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,,

,,,,“The Festival of Samhain” ~ 


Copyright © John Rhinem | Year Posted 2012


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the mercenary

Just when you think memories die
They say your life flashes before your eyes 
Silent nights 
Scripts of peace in a new born life
Hunger in days
Taken back less for what poverty weighs
A couple visits to I-C-U 
Now as a ghost I see you
Pain inhabits reflection 
My anger and aggression 
Smiles and faces
child’s and different races 
In my final poem 
I lay it down a mercenary
Look to heaven with no commentary
Double jeopardy
A sinner plagued with leprosy
Broken jewels 
In hands of an innocent man
It's going to be a little blood shed 
For the faces that weren't fed 
Walk as mortals on the day of the dead
Even in God's hands there’s a little bloodshed



Copyright © Jerry Golden | Year Posted 2009


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Remember the day

Day of the dead 
Oh what a fest
It's the best 
You get dressed
There is no need to be despressed


Copyright © Elizabeth Negrete | Year Posted 2015


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Father's Day

Father’s Day is like a day of mourning
A day of the dead
Where young men who committed suicide
Come out of the graves to be with their fathers

I knew a young man who father did not raise him
His mother tried her best
The best schools
Her son was going to be a doctor

But for him it was not enough
No matter what she did for him
No matter how hard she tried
He wanted his father

When his father killed himself
From the convenience of drinking himself to death
No one could console the son
Not even me

The son took his own life
The son wanted to be with his father

Father’s Day is like a day of mourning
A day of the dead
Where young men who committed suicide
Come out of the graves to be with their fathers


Copyright © Mel Brake | Year Posted 2018


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Day if the dead

The day of the dead 
Our ancestors 
Needs to be feared
Sadly they 
Been eating lead 
Oh well as long 
As they are feed 
It's only them
Who has wept 
So whose up set 
Only them
For they are dead.


Copyright © Elizabeth Negrete | Year Posted 2015


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DAY OF THE DEAD

i do bleed
i do 
As when life is
fighting to 
bruise me
i do bleed
i do
AND
i express 
 m y s e l f 
in a slow
unraveling roll
of energetic
stress /and\
i love you
forever &
always.

:: 02-09-2017 ::


Copyright © Ernest Robles | Year Posted 2017


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Day of The Dead

Day of The Dead 

Old suits and old gowns
They wore
With fresh memories
They mourn

Dance of candle flames 
In their portrait windows
Some semblance of life
Through flickered shadows

Dancing remembers
Long passed footsteps
Recounted smiles
And reinvented anecdotes

While ancient skeletal death
In bony tattered rags 
Banters his scythe
In slow melancholic celebration

Generations joined
By white boned fingertips
He leads the waltz of death
To a rhythm of life

Falling tears glitter
Remembrance in fireworks
Crackle alive with music
The departed dance

Mausoleum and mound
Lay their head hung flowers
Beauteous colours of solemnity
To ease the passing

Old gowns and old suits
They wear
With new memories
They mourn

And the dance with antique
Weary old death
Carried his bones to a newly laid bed
To be reborn




Copyright © colin mitchell williams | Year Posted 2008


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Dia de Muertos

Day of the Dead has come to town as bright parades go up and down. How very odd to celebrate our most final date with fate. 11/6/17


Copyright © Sian St. John | Year Posted 2017


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'The 'Heimlich' Maneuver'

“The Heimlich Maneuver”
(Jamie Brolin)

And so, on Christmas Eve,
Marriage…If only to boast
They entered into a wed trust
When the Beast was most disparaged;

After the ceremony: the fête!
They greet the Revelers from the street,
To break bread and celebrate with a toast,
All the Good-Fortune the Catholic Ghost
Had, on this most joyous occasion post!

After they seat into the nuptial dinner
Of prime rib beef roast,
Sliced into thick steaks—
And after a matrimonial, three-tiered cake,
They trust, among the hearth,
Upon which they heat,
They had, Christian-like, duly fed the Sinner;

But as the wedding party sussed,
A bone caught in the Host’s throat;
The diners’ hearts stopped their beats—
All time stood still—
As if to tell, the guests mirthful celebration,
Had turned to sudden death,
As the Groom struggled for breath!
The jubilation on which they fed
Could in-a-minute take the Groom dead!

His hearted pounded like a hammer in beat,
Would his day of joy turn into an Irish wake?
He gasped for air, as life sounded defea;,
From the blockage in his throat,
Would the youthful vows produce 
A Widow’s Day-of-the-Dead?

He saw Angels,
Dancing around his head,
He lost-in-thought wondered
If the Marriage must be led
His Bride would take terror to holy dread;
His life flashed before-his-eyes, in fleet,

As he read the future’s stake of his Bride,
Even if only, to pass on, at seat, into dust;
Yet, someone, behind-his-back,
Thrust his fist, up and into his gut,
Ejecting the tracheal blockage, 
In a propellant gust;
For God’s—and his Bride’s—sake, saved!

But he would take from the abyss—
Seemingly,
Smugly brushed off,
They will live together,
Again and forever,
Or, at least, must, until
Either a fiftieth-anniversary
Or thirty-years’ sobriety!
So that either, fulfilled
And make Bliss 
Over two life-times 
Beat the odds--
A great-hard-fought--
Superhuman feat!
Of two-as-one,
From different sides
Of complete!

(1 November 2017)(Edited)


Copyright © jamie brolin | Year Posted 2018