Best Grave Poems
Sunlight falls in breezy dapples
across your lichened stone,
solace now I seek in chapel’s
old yard while we’re alone.
It brings my heart back, being here -
love; that I remember,
the autumn brings a tender tear
season of September.
Neath supple sways my prayerful praise
I offer you a hymn;
may dreams evergreen be always
blessed to soulful brim.
...church bells black -
they toll the hours
mourning time
since you’ve been gone.
Losing you
and laughter ours
wrong side of Heaven
I am on...
Green leaves that sigh like grieving silk
have not yet turned to red,
memories sweet as mother’s milk
will nurse through snows ahead.
It brings my heart back, being here -
love; that I remember,
the autumn brings a tender tear
season of September.
~ATLANTIS~ Featuring:) Kelly Deschler
-------
Can't be re-written by the Gods
The land and sands of time'
Destroyed by the fire of Poseidon's curse
Atlantis swallowed by: Earth
--------
In one day and one night
Peaceful existence met its end
Built on a volcano, now surrounded by ancient rippled tears
Lava stripped apart the rich and glorious empire
Enriched by Engineers and Architects whom loved power more than the Gods
Forgotten souls, sheltered by a watery grave
History withheld from shallow sunken memories,
Western sky's hide the truth, a vision from the Pillars of Hercules
"An island situated in front of The Strait of Gibraltar"
Ghostly ruins wait to rise above the Mediterranean and Atlantic Waves
A magical island held down by the hands of death,
~
Atlantis lost city walls ---a secret hidden by mermaids
Partially buried, beneath the ocean floor it lies
The largest sunken treasure never to be found
Magnificent pillars of an imperial palace still stand
Somewhere hidden under ancient sand
Some are leaning against turrets, that toppled after the impact
Nothing human will ever inhabit these walls
No feet will ever touch these staircases, again
Only an eerie silence now resides here, with the blue-green waters
Seaweed grows along it's outer walls, like ivy on a trellis.
Obscuring it even further from the human eye.
~
Other ocean tides will never compare
Tantalizing blend of fantasy and mystery
Stone walls covered with precious gems
-Listen to PLATO'S voice-
"Look close, Look close, into the sea!"
Through the light and Pillars of Hercules
Some where out there buried in the vast
ATLANTIS THE PARADISE
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
Is the ship
still in its bottle..
Have your lips
become dry,
tired from yearning.
Do you still wear
my sage shirt.
Are you still crying,
are all those tears for me..
Are you still reading the silent one?
Did you write me one last poem
or is your poetic garden full of decay?
Do you ever hear my voice
echo in the silence.
Turn around when
you feel my presence?
Do you call my name,
forgetting I'm no longer there..
Have you lost hope,
wondering where I am,
if I'm watching from up above?
Are you still hiding,
tired from smiling,
still pretending.
Has life lost substance?
Those shattered pieces of glass
do they still reflect regret,
is your heart heavier than a cliché
resembling fragments of stone,
do you look back at the footsteps in the sand?
Do you listen to our songs,
the ones we forgot to sing,
where I was the chorus
to the rhythm of your heartbeats.
Am I still your journal?
Does sunset still have meaning,
do you sit there cursing the Gemini moon,
does June still have a purpose?
In episodes of rage
are you angry that
I could not fulfil my promise,
do you hate me for being gone
blame me for destroying our dreams,
am I the reason you feel trapped?
Did you cry upon my grave,
place a carnation upon
the soil which has buried me
or do you never visit?
.... Do you still love me?
The Devils Riddle
Dark is the night
Dark is the soul
Dark is the heart that used to glow
Empty are the rainbows falling from the skies
Empty of the spirits when the darkness flies by
Empty is the treasure chest of dreams long gone
Tombs hold secrets of mysteries past
Tombs hold the dark to ensure it will endure
Tombs full of treasures are barren at last
Stones are grey in silence they sit
Stones are markers of the dark run amiss
Stones look up to overcast skies
death looks down, the final curtain call
smirks and winks, I will soon have you all
dark and empty you shall soon be enslaved
to the mysteries of dark empty ways
there is no final place that you shall rest
emoH the angel of death has declared
“oN graves the trumpets play as I shall sing”
Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
old monuments of stone set on the ground;
those silent sentinels that stand their guard
above the souls, we honor and regard.
To honor and regard through all the years
when loved ones come to speak unhappy tears.
Beneath the summer rain and winter snow,
these monuments of stone, their sorrow show.
Like tender arms, the vines embrace the stones
to comfort them, these guardians of bones
who bear the sadness brought to them to share,
by those who stand and weep in silent prayer.
The tender vines grow thicker 'round the tombs...
create a leafy shawl that lives and blooms,
and shows true hope for new life after death
which tangled vines embrace with living breath.
Like tender loving arms, they wrap around
these lasting monuments, where peace is found,
and frame the name of each whose life reclines...
now resting safe and sound, caressed by vines.
September 27, 2016
~7th Place~
Premiere Contest: Stones
Sponsor: Anthony Biaanco
Judged: 08/14/2021
~3rd Place~
Premiere Contest, 2019 Poetry Marathon Mile 18
Sponsor: Mark Toney
Judged: 02/16/2019
~3rd Place~
Contest: Your Best Rhyming Poem 2
Sponsor: John Hamilton
Judged: 02/03/2017
~2nd Place~
Contest: Overgrown With Vines
Sponsor: Broken Wings
Judged: 10/08/2016
*Note: A 60-year annual tradition that involved a mysterious visitor leaving three
roses at the grave of writer Edgar Allan Poe on the anniversary of his birthday
ended in January 2010. Curators of the Poe House and Museum are at a loss to
explain who left these gifts and why they stopped. On many occasions people kept
vigils near Poe’s grave during this period that began in 1949, but no one ever saw
someone leaving the roses. In the morning, however, they were always on his
grave. Poe is considered the father of the American short story and
his poem The Raven is one of his best known works.
Once upon a midnight dreary, Poe heard a tapping at his window
While grieving the loss of his young bride, a maiden “angels named Lenore,”
A radiant teen whose long, black hair in gentle breezes would billow,
Tapping at the window ceased, but suddenly it was heard at his door
Upon opening it, a Raven flew in repeating, “Nevermore”
At first he welcomed this odd visitor until Poe whispered, “Lenore”
When he heard his word echo, the strange Raven he began to abhor
He asked if he’d see his bride again and the bird replied, “Nevermore”
Though Poe died in eighteen forty-nine, a mystery evolved much later
A century after his death, his grave had an annual visitor
Roses were left on his birthday by someone whose love appeared greater
Who had left these floral gifts forever stumped the Poe House curator
Perhaps the answer can only be explained by reincarnation
Did the Raven embody the spirit of Poe’s beloved Lenore
If so, perhaps the Raven returned again in a life rotation
In human form she visited to lay roses on the earthen floor
And upon her death in two-thousand nine, she took to the skies once more
A Raven who now joins the flock circling above her late husband’s grave \/
Could it be her spirit remains with Poe, as it did in life before \/ \/ \/
Bringing him in the afterlife all the roses a poet could crave \/ \/ \/ \/
For those who consider this possibility totally absurd
Just consider the fantasies Poe created with the written word
By Carolyn Devonshire
Contest Title: “Among the Dead,” sponsored by Constance LaFrance ~ A Rambling
Poet ~
They walk silently along my hallways.
Floors littered with faded finery.
Do you remember my Granduer?
I had once been called the Queen of the sea.
Pulled down to the ocean's floor.
Swaying silently, so many sad souls
They are entombed here
Forever a part of me
Left to wander my halls
Sharing this watery hell
Faces frozen in skeletal grins
Evidence of our eternal sadness
Fish now swim across my stage
The band is silent
Still I remember
I absorbed them note by note
They played till my last moment
Yet it was not for my benefit
For I had betrayed them
My promises were empty
Temptation, travel, time together
Some mercifuly escaped
What did they remember of me?
Some came back in ghostly form
Searching for those I had taken from them
I will not release them
For I do not wish to be alone.
Grey clouds the innocent sky ambushing light turns dark
stumbling over a tombstone opening up cold graves
When eyes become frozen behind scenes in hidden truth
as a weight deadens upon the shoulders without hope
A ghost from past experience consumes the present
and golden sands blacken beneath your feet fallen one
Deep undercurrents strains awaken in the ocean
Invisible cloaked dagger pierces without mercy
I pray waters calming find peace in this mortal frame
as the whirlpool of desires casts an ominous spell
Upon the sea of life Satanic storms enter Hell
and exudes within the malevolent clouds failure
Forgiveness stands at the crossroads beholden no more
within promise of a dream transparent through the rain
As yellow moonlight draws one pathway clearly cutting
brings you safely home to love under a fragile roof
Under black currents of loss when the heart returns beat
in the last teardrop sorrow remained faithfully loved
In collaboration with The Irish Poet Liam Mc Daid
2016
I close my weary eyes
I quake and tremble
The meaning of life losing its hold,
Losing its wonder
In this magnifying, mystifying Sadness
Where is the river,
Where is the ocean
To drown these sorrows...
The dry formations in this barren land stay tall,
Pools holding life drying in the dinosaur wasteland
I am bones...
I am bones sinking in the waterless chalk
I keep these eyes shut
To hide inside my meditations
My ears have grown accustomed to the silence,
And sensitive to the drops of tears
They dry too quickly,
For the sun is against the moisture
And all for the fossilization of my soul
Where is the river?
Where is the ocean...
I do not ask with hope-
I am too ancient to beg for miracles
To dream, yet, too long I have slept
I ask on account of who I once was,
A land so lush and plentiful
See now only the dryest thrive
I am bones on the brink of history...
The elements have claimed me
Life will return elsewhere
I am become by the rock and the sun
The graveyard, shrouded in pale mist, so hauntingly eerie,
dampen spirits as the full moon loses her glow - dreary!
I float, like a vapour, amongst lifeless, inky shadows;
solitary yew tree, groaning with age, as the wind blows.
A ravens cold, chilling stare, shoots shivers within my soul
as I glance at fresh earthly mounds next to an empty hole.
Decaying flowers, leaves, disfigures forlorn, relic graves
as melancholy whistling heralds me in mournful waves.
I wander past headstones sheathed in mould, epitaphs long gone,
This sacred place seems familiar to me as night draws on.
Movement beyond a mausoleum - am I all alone?
I feel I am being beckoned to something to be shown.
Hypnotic, ethereal sounds now on this Halloween Eve -
I am guided to a grave where I shall lay down and grieve.
For, as I kneel against sodden turf, horror upon face,
An inscription enlightens me - I dwell - at this resting place!
November 11th is Remembrance Day in Canada
(Veterans Day)
When I was in grade 7 or 8 (I don't exactly remember) we had
to write poetry for a Remembrance Day contest. I won and had to read this in front of our whole grammar school. I must of been 12 or 13. This was my first real poem!
I dedicate this here today to all the soldiers who fight or have fought for our rights and freedom.
In Flanders Field with poppies red,
there lies the secret of the dead.
Those blood coloured poppies
so red and so gay,
bring the whispering sound
of Remembrance Day.
Those true earnest men
who fought for their land,
now lay beneath the musky cool sand.
Alert and ready at dangers call,
prepared to fight they would not stall,
but march right on,
now some there lay,
In Flanders Field,
with poppies gay.
Written by Brenda Meier-Hans
1970
weather-beaten sign
driven down in dying weeds
forsaken headstone
oh nameless, forgotten soul
the Savior knows who you are
I think about you, every single day,
Since from me, you were taken away,
Your absence has left my world cold,
Now I am alone, with no hand to hold.
I wish that I could bring you home,
So that your soul, shall need not roam,
I hope that you were given white wings,
To fly amongst, where the angel sings.
Within my heart, your eternal breath,
Shall now linger on, even after death,
My love for you shall never cease,
So, may you always rest in peace.
Written by: Kelly Deschler
Gautami Phookan's contest - The Poet III
_______________________________________
For Gail Angel Doyle's contest - "Eternal Breath"
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
FICTIONAL EMOTIVE WRITE
Since I was a tiny baby I was brought up by my grandparents and had a very happy childhood. I knew that they were not my real parents but they gave me such love that I didn’t ask any questions for fear of upsetting them. Grandma’s eyes would mist over any time anyone mentioned my parents so I knew something bad had happened to them
Whispers in the hall
The child is too young to know
They passed so quickly
I left home at 20, married and moved to a small town about 50 miles from where I grew up. I was always in touch with my grandparents, but over time old age crept upon them and I recently cleared the family home when grandma passed away. I discovered yellowing newspaper cuttings, which told of how my parents had been killed in a horrific car crash, it also detailed their final resting place in the local cemetery.
Family secrets
Scrapbook of old photographs
My parents smiling
Dawn is breaking and dappled sunlight streams through the trees. A veil of grey swirling mist shrouds the cemetery. I pull my shawl closely around my shoulders and begin my search. Strands of ivy hang down from the towering yew trees, its dark green tendrils wrapped around the grey granite graves clinging so tightly as if it was trying to hold up the graves like a puppet on a string. The fallen gravestones remind me of decaying teeth with many gaps where stones had crumbled with age and neglect. I walk slowly, reading the names of those who now had eternal rest. Eventually I found their grave at plot 142, where a marble angel watches over them sleeping. I scrape off the thick lichen, which obscures their names. Tears fall and I hug the gravestone wishing I could embrace my parents for real.
I greet my parents
Stone cold grave gives me closure
Heartbroken child cries
09~26~16
Contest Overgrown With Vines Sponsored by Broken Wings
submitted to ''H'' Contest, New or Old Poems Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Constance La France