Best Dead Person Poems
If loving you is wrong
I don't ever want to right.
If loving you is a sin
I outrightly reject righteousness.
If loving you is disobedience
I give in to mutiny.
If loving you is folly
I swear I detest Solomon.
If loving you is madness
I deny not my state of lunacy.
If loving you is an error
I want to keep this mistake.
If loving you is death
I am a living dead person.
But if loving you is life,means life
Believe me...
The state of my heart,
This outpour of my emotions,
The lovely looks in your eyes
And this ranging fire in our hearts
Was written in the stars... .
When At Her Sepulchre I Heard Her Ask
From her sepulchre she sent her calls
or was it from my darkest midnight walls.
Yet in those calls, mixed was love and hate
and many mysteries of angry Fate.
Some nights I swear, she danced in the house
or tipped toed, quiet like a mouse.
Yet heart forbade me chasing her away
or praying for early coming of day.
The last moment before dawn broke that seal
she would let me know just how cold death feels.
Icy hand touched me, as she said good-bye
I then heard, I love you until I die.
When at her sepulchre I heard her ask.
Will you please die soon, wear with me death's mask?
Robert J. Lindley, 5-14-2019
Dark Sonnet, ( When She Broke Death's Wall To Speak Of Her Love )
Inspired by reading yet again, Emily Dickinson's famous death poem,
titled- ""Because I could not stop for Death""...
Note-
sep·ul·cher
/'sep?lk?r/
noun
noun: sepulchre
1.
a small room or monument, cut in rock or built of stone, in which a dead person is laid or buried.
synonyms: tomb, vault, burial place, burial chamber, crypt, catacomb, mausoleum, sarcophagus, pyramid; More
verbLITERARY
verb: sepulchre
1.
lay or bury in or as if in a sepulcher.
"tomes are soon out of print and sepulchered in the dust of libraries.
Solitary Life story/poem
He was able to get up and was able to walk. Now he
was thinking to himself - maybe I did the wrong thing.
I shouldn't have isolated myself from people. I could
have hurt myself really bad and no one would have
helped me.
He said to himself - I am going to change. I will take off
the fence, uncover the windows and change my ways.
I will start talking to people again and make some friends.
After doing what he said he would - he then went out for
a walk. He first saw the dog that always barked ar him.
He tried to touch him, but the dog didn't barked at him
this time.
He saw the neighbor that always said hello to him. He
greeted her and she didn't answer him. He also saw other
people, he tried to be friendly, but no one talked to him.
As he was going back to his house - he saw a lot of people
going inside his home. He asked them what was going on,
but they too did not answer. They were paramedics and
other people that had gathered around.
Soon he saw them bring a body out of the house. He went
over to see who the dead person was. To his surprise - he
saw himself as the dead man. The fall had killed him...
08/01/2013
Written by Lucilla M. Carrillo
Comments: The message here is to not isolate
yourselves, from people. try to make friends, don't
be by yourselves. We all need friends. Friends are like
treasures. Sometimes it's better to have friends, than to
have a lot of money and live a lonely life...
& when you finally die,
they will not let you rest---
for to finally get to enter every orifice
of your once secret world
is something that vultures dream of
late at night,
before cumming in their jammies
to the thought of discovering
what was never ever their business to begin with---
and when they get what they want,
they’ll puncture it with a stake &
run all over the televised town square
amidst interviews with people who will
say that they are your friends now &
family members who will say they always knew you,
all wretches whose boredom in life can be stirred up
into a freshness for a day or so
by the vomiting up of lies concerning a
dead person for the national public.
ever heard the stories of the sap whose **** collection or
drug stash was found by the weeping family members after
the tragedy?
ever heard a story come from the mouth of an individual so very worried
that when it is all over,
the “real” them will be discovered?
unfortunately,
the incessant curiosity of mundane, mediocre minds
has no limit &
to make themselves feel more alive &
better about their own failings,
they’ll stop at nothing to find out everything about
anyone,
when said individual is no longer alive
to ask them politely
to stay out of their business.
Since it’s such a nice and beautiful day
why not become a piece of cloud myself
or a stream of water, and go.
If it happens to be a cloud,
looking down a side of a mountain floating in the middle of the air;
or if it happens to be water,
bathing in the basin under the shade on a foot of mountain at times
and merge in the plain drifting through the valleys.
How do I do manage today? Because it is raining all day.
Should I visit a tavern and have a drink to get mellow?
Or become a tree frog(1) and cry my eyes out?
If neither of them are feasible,
walk in the rain to find my place to stay and when my feet are mired,
just stand there to become a totem pole and chitchat with the rain
by a roadside stream.
Why the wind howls today?
Is it because Jonah incurred God’s anger?
Or because Shimchung(2) has to throw herself in the raging water?
Oh well, since no one knows where the wind comes from,
why not blown myself in the wind become a Manjang(3) and
visit the netherworld where Hades reigns.
1. Korean folktale Chonggeguri. Story of a disobedient tree frog.
2. Korean fairytale Shimchung-Jon. Story of a filial daughter Shimchung.
3. A streamer made with a piece of silk, cotton, or hemp cloth on which funeral ode is written. This streamer is carried by a person who goes before the colorfully decorated bier to let the people know that dead person is coming as well as to express the mourning for the dead in Korean traditional funeral procession.
although a group of people sustain their lives beautifying
everything surrounding them
insisting that everything is good
because they are God’s creation
while another group of people
though they also are humans
swallow and spit out loathsome language
go tottering intoxicated from a foul-smelling-contaminated-air
fuming from the languages they spat out
after there came an erect postured bipedal primate
which was a trifle creature fed by dust wiggling on the earth
for thousands of thousands of long years
eventually they started to share their thoughts
looking in each others’ eyes
cultivating, refining words and phrases for better communication
among those words
were beautifully polished and preserved phrases
thru generation after generations of studies and development
they were exclusively used by a specific class of people who enjoy showing off
and thereby wanted to separate themselves from ordinary people, however, now, the beautiful words and phrases became coarse;
is it because the words were abused by them or
their sleazy tongues stiffened the phrases?
they lost interest in finding the reasonable reasons
because there was no yard-stick to establish a standard;
zombies stalk on the street in bright daylight
the fake brand-name luxurious articles overrun the street
DNA twisted weirdly
all children are born mutated and therefore have evolved
to an overly obdurate species, strange world
there are no family features of daughters like their mother
or sons who resemble their fathers anymore
but only a line of families
like a poorly shaped mosaic landscape made with puzzle pieces
picked-up from alleys and forcefully placed to make a picture
they are never satisfied with what they have
and that’s why if you applaud them they demand more,
if their request is rejected they yell and scream at you
with newly invented swear words
rather, like a dead person
no matter how much you extolled him, doesn’t ask more;
even stamped on to humiliate him, won’t cry or say a word
that’s why God may have kept
everything beautiful beyond men’s reach
that’s why men who live on this side of the world
shout and scream
making everything uglier than it should-be
hanging on to the things they can easily put their hands on
MY POEMS PACIFY ME
It’s welcome pouring my feelings here
The wind that blows off my feeling here has no landing
With a strong hand that blows me to the edge
It makes me numb when I want to speak
Trying hard to listen with ear that have gone deaf
The bats see clearly than me because my eye is blind
Trying to understand but my mind on stray can’t focus
At that moment my whole body ceases to function
I became a living dead person in a dead living place
This is what happens when anger takes control of me.
It’s awkward but more unwelcome when my body over-reacts
The wind blowing off my feeling starts searching for a destination
It’s worse when that strong wind blows me off the top of reasoning
That is when my mouth will want to speak as well as shout
My ears will hear all that’s to hear even words never spoken of
My eyes will see more clearly than an eagle even sees things unseen
I absolutely understand everything even when there is nothing there to understand
At that moment; blood surges through my veins in a rush like a rushing storm
My body over functions that I hear, see, feel, say and act out of control
That’s what happens when am frustrated and upset.
This is the part of my life I carefully always want to avoid
It’s unfortunate as well as impossible; I can’t avoid a final destination
Sometimes I succeed in avoiding the part of me I don’t want me to know exists
Sometimes I fail in avoiding it because the same me makes it happen again and …
It’s scary to know I want to kill myself so as not to see the next second and still….
Its worse I want to kill someone when am angry so as to pacify myself
When I can’t do all these, I settle to destroying things & breaking glasses to classes
I don’t want to fight if it’s a he; the aftermath will be fatter than fatal
It’s worse if it’s a she; I don’t know where to start; stopping will be grave junction
That moment; all I do is go somewhere quite & complain to my poems that listen
That’s the only place I pour my feelings without regret…
My poems pacify me…
…Lordvip…
…D’ Poetic Beast…
Dear friend
Where do I begin?
I got so much on my mind
Sometimes I wonder where we stand
But my emotions is bout to explode
Like a volcano when its eruption
And your name came in mind
When it came to reach out for a hand
I’m overseas fighting
With mortars flying over my head
Bullets traveling toward my frame
Fighting for something I don’t understand
I’m crying cause I need help
And here I don’t have a friend
Today I am alive
But tomorrow I might be dead
And man with this
Always on my mind
Got me scared for the fact
I don’t know if I’m running out of time
Usually I call you
But I have to write this on a line
Cause my voice is so shaky
I can’t say a word but jus cry
To me you’re like a brother
You are always by my side
That’s why I’m writing you
Even though I feel shy
You always seen me tough
But never seen my sad side
I hate that I feel like this
Even though I don’t know why
And I think you are the only person
That can really calm me down
Even though in my eyes
I see death all around
Blood on the sand
Body parts on the ground
Sometimes I think to myself
How do I stay alive living with a frown?
But knowing you’re here for me
Is enough to hold me down
Jus writing this to you
Is making me feel better right now
One day we’ll sit down and talk
And on my face you’ll put a smile
But I hope that day comes
Before I’m the next dead person found
Dead
Dead person does not harm
Or love any one
Why people scare of them!
After death
Surgeon knows dead person
Does not oppose
While dissects corpse
Difference between the dead
And slept is
One can speak
Another cannot.
All know this irony fact
Even cannot trust in that
Like in cinema role remains apart
People in life perform vast
With a fact along belief of act
Thus the life rolls on rolls on
Until fate defaces task
So in time keep with tact of nature
And forget to fear with dying act
Surgeon knows dead person
Does not oppose
While he dissects corpse.
I am being thrown from the depths of centuries
Carrying all my grandmothers’ wounds
Combat boots marked my head with terror
my back bruised with the lashes of my man’s old belt
I am being thrown from the depths of centuries
With infants hanging from each side
Sucking on my milkless breasts
Their urine unkoshers my religious purity
inherited from my grandmother’s time
I am being thrown from the depths of centuries
To throw hateful words at my own children
It avenges my life of a dead person
It comforts my purposeless time
I am being thrown from the depths of centuries
To live the life they have destined for me
The men who are not even from Persia
Those bearded strangers who stress their “Zaad” at the time of worship
I am being thrown from the depths of centuries
To be weak so my man can call himself strong
And to be a mother to my many unwanted children
So he could brag about his fertile manhood to you all
And for his God to reward me at the end a paradise
To watch him making out with the good-looking cherubs
I am being thrown from the depths of centuries!
"Grief exist in thoughts.
With a shift in thoughts they end"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
When someone close dies we cry
How will I live without that person
Thinking so our tears never dry
We praise his goodness he was such a good person
How will I live without that person
Our selfish mind is thinking
We praise his goodness he was such a good person
If only we would stop thinking
Our selfish mind is thinking
Only about our loss
If only we would stop thinking
About self and our loss
Only about our loss
Forgetting the dead person
About self and our loss
Not a thought of dead person
Forgetting the dead person
Can do wonders to our mind
Not a though of dead person
Can erase grief from mind
Can do wonders to our mind
If we think how dead persons suffering ended
Can erase grief from mind
If we think how without more suffering his life ended
If we think how dead persons suffering ended
We will rejoice on death
If we think how without more suffering his life ended
We will be happy on death
We will rejoice on death
If we loved the one who died
We will be happy on death
If we selflessly thought only about one who died
If we loved the one who died
We will never shed a tear
If we selflessly thought only about one who died
we will never shed a tear
We will never shed a tear
For death marks the end of pain
We will never shed a tear
For our loved one is now without pain
For death marks the end of pain
We will thank God for it
For our loved one is now without pain
We will be grateful to God for it.
We think only of ourselves
Thinking so our tears never dry
Since we worry about ourselves
When someone close dies we cry
6th February 2021
Contest Name : Proud Pantoum Poetry Contest
Sponsor : Caren Krutsinger
Someone asked Buddha "Are you god or human?"
Buddha replied , "I dont know, but while the world was sleeping I woke up"
I tried to wake up too, into the reality
From the very matrix i was into And what i got in return?
A misry, pain and darkness
I mean If you have to wake up from sweet dream
You see, your dream resembles past, you chose your dreams
Would you chose deforested hill for snow capped mountains?
Would you give away your nostalgic pencil for money?
No Buddha you are wrong
You see Buddha I can dream the taste of pinapple cream and tell it's not tasty I can sense Branded Nike shoes and tell its not comfortable
Why do you want me to wake Buddha?
I am living life on my dreams Its good in exchange for day to go without bread
Dreaming is free Budhha, reality is not
But i feel you Buddha, you always wanted to leave Lumbini, didnt you?
so one day you woke up while everyone else were sleeping
Even your wife, did you bade her farewell?
You woke up cause you saw a sick , a old and a dead person
You are a joke Buddha
You know i wake up when my roof starts to leak rain
or When my dad coughs of his heart disease
I have been waking up everyday more far from enlightment
You are god buddha cause as a human I cant so it
If you want to paint a panel
This is not impossible
Put two beaches
And their mold
Formation of the Palm
Falling from leaves
Like in a fight with the wind
In other side
Houses look smaller
Obscure the mountain
And camps
Clouds Above
And aircraft
You can dip a another brush
Thrown on the ground, where dead person...
Or as you like from the dead
You can paint the barriers
Like a city under siege
Back to us imagine that your
And fly peace pools
With Restricted wings
On bare Girl **** chest
At channels
Never turn channel
For see Russian aircraft
And Exterminate the Syrian people.
Where is the peace
Hey humanity
Your Long Angular Feet
You don’t know me, but
I been riding here in this trundling lounge car
for two hours now, watching
you and your long angular feet,
while rumbling over these burdened tracks,
to silent Garden City, up there in Kansas
on the high wheat plains, sky bound!
I been wondering what your name is.
Alas, it is really none of my business,
but your silent intuitive look,
your expressive knowing gaze,
has intrigued me with repentant ambivalences, and
guilty acknowledgements within my mind,
far beyond any understandable explanation,
far beyond the passing distant New Mexico mountains,
as they inertly move with silent dogged violence,
out there, in the whirring passing blur,
beyond these curving airy Amtrak eyes,
of blue tint and orange penetrating glare,
wrought with distorting apparitions of yellow
and green wheezing monsters of morning light,
with the Super Chief masticating eastern miles,
like a termite boring ferociously, slashing
into the railroad ties of unyielding time;
And so we sit, staring out this bubble window in the sun,
and I been wondering about you.
I been believing you’re educated, I can tell,
by the look of your pursed lips,
indicative of past heartbreaks and meltdowns;
and I been believing you’re a democrat,
by your descending, unhearing stare,
indicative of past arguments with fools
who sleep near obelisks, set in old stone.
And as you gaze far away
through the lounge car windows,
deep into New Mexico, its heart and rocky soul,
I wonder what you’re remembering there,
smiling, at peace with your intended purpose.
It was really nothing to me or anyone else,
nothing earth-shaking or profoundly circumstantial,
but you got off in Albuquerque,
you and your long angular feet,
and you walked away, like a dead person
in an old film reel.
I
I felt something which knocked me out...
then went to sleep on a snowy night;
hardly remembering any heartbeat in my wrist:
much colder than snow, whiter than a ghost.
I travelled into the airless, motionless athmosphere, clearly seeing
magnificent planets drawing closer to Earth...
" Dead for sure " was that dreadful feeling,
and lighter than a falling leaf I floated greeting an imagined death.
Who raptured me? Was it a spirit being to induce a nightmare?
All I saw was constellations that were as immense as Mars
and black holes deeper than a volcano's inactive, scary crater...
fearing that they'd have swallowed me up in their blackdness.
If I had been dead, would I have felt fear, danger and fright?
A dead person doesn't feel, or hear anything...why did I still have senses?
Science fiction became real...horrible sights of clashing meteors:
exploding, scattering their debris causing an obscurity blacker than night.
I had read of spaceships venturing into the unknown and mysterious space,
and wondered if they ever came back to tell of its infinite wonders;
no, I wasn't dreaming...I could have been the one never returning,
being trapped in an outer-body experience: shivering, screaming and not dying.