Best Death Rate Poems
I could see the virus approaching so why couldn't he?
But he had to keep investors happy and save the economy
On his watch people in their thousands, died needlessly
The U.K. had a spiralling death rate, a preventable tragedy.
He didn't listen to the top scientists, they have said so
I hope he doesn't try and deny it and say he didn't know
Care home residents from hospitals sent home to die
A ring of steel around the vulnerable, seems that was a lie.
Denials and lies seems to be a politicians stock in trade
Many have looked on in horror at the decisions he's made
Lockdowns were implemented but sadly too late
While the virus was spreading at an alarming rate.
He said " no more lockdowns, let the bodies pile high"
His advisor said he said it and of course he'll deny
The Bereaved Families for Justice, want a public enquiry
A waste of taxpayers money because he governs with impunity.
He stood in his doorway clapping with a smile on his face
What he offered the NHS 'heroes' is nothing short of a disgrace
They were offered a paltry rise of a measly one percent
Many put themselves at risk and are now struggling to pay rent.
These pandemics are nothing new and this one won't be the last
It's a shame that he and other leaders didn't learn from the past
Politicians are sparse with the truth, and they often deceive
But please make up your own mind on who you want to believe.
Written on 25th May 2021.
Categories:
death rate, death, england, political,
Form:
Rhyme
It swept across our world at the start of this year
An invisible enemy that brought with it great fear
My government was concerned about the economy
And let this merciless virus invade my country.
They said “let’s build resistance with herd immunity “
And like wildfire it spread throughout the community
"We'll take it on the chin" Boris Johnson said
A costly failure now thirty two thousand are dead
And our brave health workers on the front line
Told if they wash their hands everything will be fine
They cried out for protective equipment endlessly
For many it came too late and they died needlessly.
I'm amazed and so angry that they acted slowly
It was all over the news; how did they not see?
Questions will be asked when this pandemic is over
Those in power will be squirming as they run for cover.
England now has a death rate higher than Italy
They could have locked down sooner preventing tragedy
We're guided by the science they continued to say
While people with common sense looked on in dismay.
The beautiful world that I once knew has now been lost
To get to where we were before will come at a great cost
Many families will struggle to make ends meet
While our leader lives it up at his country retreat.
The government's mistakes will be paid for in high tax
There will be an inquiry that will say they were lax
Of course they will deny it and through their teeth lie
Avoiding questions as to why the death toll was so high.
When this pandemic is finally over I know where I'll be
I'll be making up for lost time spending it with family.
I'm so grateful too, that all my family are still alive
But mournful of those poor souls that didn't survive.
Written on the 6th May 2020.
For, In Times Like These Poetry Contest
Sponsored By Silent One.
Categories:
death rate, death, how i feel,
Form:
Rhyme
~A Poet Cherishes Her Freedom~
People jogging, laughing riding gleaming bicycles.
Some serenely picnicking by the lake on thick, green grass.
Parking lots full of happy people in stores,
Mothers Day looked more like the Fourth of July!
I was so very blessed to see this, I plain wanted to cry.
Instead,with joy I cheered, and with glee and relief, sighed!
Nobody at my daughter's was behind their couch, with masks in hiding.
Children outside on their beloved sidewalks, with tricycles riding.
We all said grace and ate in our normal, familial spaces.
With faith in God first, before obnoxious social disancing graces!
The major hospital parking lot, I never saw it so empty.
As my part of California, is the land of His graces, aplenty.
Plenty of freedom here, we are no longer living in media lies and exaggerated fear.
As we do hold the rights in our Constitution, far more dear!
People are river rafting in the Sacramento River.
It gives freedom crushers a very cold shiver!
However, our Governor is unhappy with our lowering death rate.
His goal is that we live in constant fear, so only he can control our fate?
(Not going to happen, mate!)
I guess he does not know American History well?
He thinks he is a school principal and we run whenever he rings his unconstitutional bell.
Get a grip, Governor Newsom....dearest!
For you see, we hold our freedoms, forever first and nearest!
May 11, 2020
7:30pm PST
Categories:
death rate, america, blessing, confidence, courage,
Form:
Free verse
We’re all hurled
Into the midst,
A perfect world
Does not exist.
Taught to hate,
Doomed to die.
Our death rate
Has soared sky-high.
We can escape,
Begin the climb.
Build to reshape
Free from crime.
Help to offset
Push and shove.
Do not forget
How to love.
Categories:
death rate, hate, inspirational, love,
Form:
Rhyme
There are to many mother's burying their babies..have you been to a funeral lately..the hurt the pain,it's so insane,the count of deaths and the famlies never rest,the death rate is getting higher,and those thatsay they didn't comited the crime turns out to be a liar,the closing of the casket is the last time you see your babies face,but they will always be in your heart in a special place,I know I walked that road before..my son he is with me right now, and forever more,
Categories:
death rate, funeral,
Form:
Concrete
There is a field where Sherman marched
Across the bloody South
Just beside a freeway, that connects it to the North
No one builds and no one plants on hallowed bloody ground
And late at night tis said there’s ghosts that hover all around
In the spring there’s beauty on this poor forgotten place
No one live remembers the men who died with grace
No cell phones or gadgets to escape the fear and dread
Letters lost or just delayed were part of war twas said
Brothers fighting brothers in a bloody senseless brawl
Shattering a country while a death rate took its toll.
Marching cross the U.S. burning towns just shortly built--
Lynching and destroying without a modicum of guilt.
Streamlined education doesn’t bother with “ancient” facts
Parents want a fast track deal –full deductions in their tax
Highlight education is the modern style—on line.
No room for the how’s and why’s –there simply isn’t time.
So, if you seek reflection in a conversation pit
Find an avid reader for a talk with any wit.
Categories:
death rate, education, history, war,
Form:
Ode
The United States of America
The day has actually come
Halting normal life on earth
Everyone felt the abrupt change
Unexpectedly dissolving our mirth
Now the enemy is creeping our way
Invisibly attacking our precious nation
Thank God our President is mighty fine
Embracing the war challenge with action
Decisive steps were taken right away
Social distancing to immediately begin
To slow down the climbing death rate
Although apart we stand united to win
The cease of the battle is coming soon
Everyone cheering the end of the enemy
Singing the songs of joy and praise
Over and over again with the victory
Family love is now being restored
As the land begins to rejuvenate
Making America beautiful again
Economy will soon start to escalate
Right after the pandemic is over that is
In the end will be hallelujah and praise
Coronavirus will soon be history for us
Amen is then all I will have left to say!
Florence McMillian (Flo)
Categories:
death rate, america, earth, family, leadership,
Form:
Narrative
Poet: Ken Jordan
Poem: Reparation
Edited by: Sparkle Jordan
written: July/2014
Why can't we
get paid?
We want
our
reparation,
for
lost wages
of
our labor,
since
the
Atlantic Slave
Trade- began
Reparations
for pain
and
suffering,
from being
auctioned
as
commodity,
to
racist
White men -
We were sold
off,
to
different
slave owners,
displacing us
from our
mother, father,
sister,
and
brother, forever -
We demand
to be
compensated,
for our
separation
from
family -
We want reparation
for
false imprisonment
as slave's.
Why can't we
get paid?
What we want
is
Retroactive Reparations -
It's the only
way
that
we can
catch up
financially,
to
the descendants
of
white slave owners,
who profited
from
our hard labor.
We want
to be
compensated,
from
1619 to 1865 -
246 years of slavery.
Why can't we
get paid?
Native Americans
got reparations -
Japanese
got reparations -
Jews
got reparations -
African Americans
No reparations -
Africans
No reparations
Jamaicans
No reparations
Black Skin
No reparations
And
the only thing
that
you can
say is,
We're sorry!?
America,
We
do not
accept
your apology,
for
your Dark
and
Ugly past -
No apology,
will ever
be
enough.
America,
You must be
held
accountable,
for what
you've done -
Why can't we
get paid?
Every
African American
living
is
a descendant
of
slavery -
Owed over
trillions
of
dollars
in reparations -
Why can't we
get paid?
We died
in
uncountable
numbers
at sea,
en route
to
the New World -
Once here,
our death rate
soared,
we
encountered
horrific deaths:
Beatings,
Diseases,
Lynchings,
and
Starvation -
So Listen Up
America!
Why can't we
get paid?
Categories:
death rate, black african american,
Form:
Light Verse
Attention please, many fishes have been hooked by the bait
They flutter their eyes, cross their legs and excuse the death rate
Desensitized by the detest, violence, and killings
But then having the body exposed is way too chilling
Excited in all the madness, there’s no problem with all the gore
After all, it’s in the history books and nursery rhythms lore
Movies and television glorify all the blood lust
It’s all good showing the body being blown into dust
Haters and avengers will go and justify their cries
Self-Righteous amateur politicians with all the silly lies
What is so horrible about verbalizing what love making is?
Structuring different words to fail an anatomy quiz
A banana cream pie is one of many metaphors
Cultures unjustified rules adding to the list of chores
Updated 5/14/2019
Categories:
death rate, allusion, conflict, culture, satire,
Form:
a just judge thats' fair in the unjust judge's case never lost any * - * innocent that's fine twelve of your own guilty peers why would you want them - * executioner the swift hand a quick death rate a sadistic one
Categories:
death rate, death, discrimination, freedom, irony,
Form:
Senryu
Tainted wits... blurred in
clarity,
a madman's coronation... our
country's plight.
atlas, we are home, choked in
parity
another to our last 51, the
journey's so far.
can we break the walls?
This imagination, a shattering
throne.
when city's celebrate a
thousand birth-years,
then we recollect another
bloodshed...
52 million heads in 52 dying
years.
what a shame!
My country of birth
civilized cannibals, through
kingdoms of ancient gods
to masquerades in
government house...our
golden gates.
BOKO HARAM? lies.
another lie,
Can of worms... debris at the
golden gates,
At 27,I look older than my
country's age
what years of tears had done
to my teenly skin,
my skipping heart would have
been younger in Queensland.
Another death rate
on our golden birth...52?
decades of misuse... reckless
abandonment,
while the slim pigs eats
porridge,
fattening to unconsciousness in
American clinics
once parading as good
Shepherds, we are all gone,
pocketted in their fat pockets.
52 years of ferocious reigns,
when he's gone..
yet another one
Olusegu..abach, babangi,
jona... No calling names,
Yet they all wear the same
masks.
Maggots at the golden
gates...snakes at the states
secretariates,
traditional money-bags...
nothing is left to cry for.
we are finished dry...
the tears are all gone...
though not fools, we only
watch.
Categories:
death rate, sorrow, sorry, sympathy, time,
Form:
Ballad
Every day is special, but not all you’d recognize
The Fluffy Slipper Lint Day just took me by surprise
It occurs in late October, the 26th is set aside
When people all over the world celebrate fairies that have died
You don’t know about this fairy, the Fluffy Bunny Slipper
They’re seldom seen by anyone, for they’re a night time tripper
They collect lint from their bellies and insert it in your shoes
Or any other footwear that you choose to use
But lint found in other places is not because of them
They’re strictly slipper fairies, at least they so contend
These creatures are so ancient, historians all say
Their name predates the cuneiform found in ancient clay
The nomenclature “Bunny” comes from their high birth rate
They have to make more fairies before it is too late
Their death rate is tremendous, the family’s almost gone
For often as they’re leaving lint, they just get stomped upon
If you’ve nothing else to celebrate on this October day
Celebrate the Fluffy Bunny Slipper Fairy in your own peculiar way
Categories:
death rate, fantasy, children, day,
Form:
Rhyme
Just unbound, the death rate.
Red roses had no qualms. Numbers,
unapologetic, they die or commit suicide.
Death had no tombs. One by one they
cross the stream, sinking half, floating half
in a cynic system, heedless, emaciated,
eyes looking beyond, cavernous.
They kiss the doors, will not comeback,
pilgrims of grapes or hemlock, dead on the toes
of rehearsals, dried milk in breasts and pounding
of metaphors. The mankind stripped of songs
drifting from one forest to another.
SATISH VERMA
Categories:
death rate, art,
Form:
ABC
Angels of Mercy
To all those who have been deemed essential
Dealing with a virus, with a death rate so potential
Looking into the eyes of a gowned, masked healer
Seeing fatigue and fear, but bravely the concealer
To all the police officers, who place their lives on the line
To all the nurses, who lovingly care for all those confined
To all the doctors, who have always been there for us all
To all the paramedics, caring for the big and very small
To all the bus drivers who bravely take people to and fro
To all the truckers, driving lonely, away from all they know
To all the grocery workers, stocking shelves of what we need
To all the frontline workers, always there to help us succeed
To all the families, adhering to all the social distancing now
To all the children, in this fearful time, being brave somehow
To each and everyone of us, this virus has somehow touched
We are all angels of mercy, our undying humanity untouched
By
Charlie Baker
Categories:
death rate, angel, appreciation, children, courage,
Form:
Enclosed Rhyme
And so it was that night
When the hands of time
Fell upon the shoulders of my clan!
It was like the terrains of our only source,
Of our only hope will be lost.
When we heard those heavy footsteps
Pounce beyond the walls of our city gates,
Those footsteps that left imprints
Of the hand claps of death that rings
On the deepest inside of our beings,
On the fearful outside of our skins,
On the hidden makeup of our genes
And bringing remembrance of past sins!!
Our human frame became aquiver,
Our human structure became bitter
Because that night our city gate
Became the home of death rate!
That night I saw war bow to man,
That night man accepted war and never ran!
That night the eyes of our enemies
Never blinked or gave a wink of pity—
Their hands spilled blood within the city
And so I watched them detach
My brothers head with knives,
I watched my brother kneel
With head afloat
Slowly letting go drops of blood through his eyelids!
That night I saw war bow to man,
That night man accepted war and never ran!
That night the eyes of our enemies
Never blinked or gave a wink of pity—
Their hands spilled blood within the city
And so I watched a little child being burned
With fossil fuels showered upon her skin,
I watched the little child freeze
With mouths open wide,
Lying still and slowly giving up the ghost!!
That night I saw war bow to man,
That night man accepted war and never ran!
Categories:
death rate, murder, war,
Form:
Imagism