Best Graveyard Poems
There's an obscurity on the threads of darkness
dare I peer beneath the starless shroud of midnight's veil
as I walk through the misty breath that beclouds my vision
in hopes it leads me to the temple of your soul? My dearest
my comfort is there, yet I feel a quivering in the flames
beneath these gusts that prevail through inaudible voices falling
winded in the distance where these shadows walk between us
I feel discernment in memories as these bony fingers reach out
my heart shudders beneath the orchestra of night as it beckons
a samba from the angel of death as it spans its wings before me
I shiver breathless in its cold as the flames grow dimmer
yet this time love, I fear for you as dissolution ascends above me
Muddled mind ventures through vivid vales of scepticism.
Slowly subsiding to my knees under the shadow of moonlight,
crows gathers as helpless hands clench decomposing soil.
Sapless lips gasp for oxygen, shivering in illusory mistiness.
Death's harbinger stands before me, an uninvited hooded eclipse,
holding me prisoner, strangling my soul with naked tree tendrils.
In silent steps he walks towards me, I have no will left to fight.
He has no mercy, content on me kissing the mouth of the earth.
Words hidden behind metaphors, surface upon shores of regret,
flashbacks are like daggers, reminders of unspoken, unwritten words.
My love mourn for me not, as I fall into the graveyards of poets,
in death we still connect, as my words will always live through you.
Silent One collaboration with Sandra Adams
13 October 2019
I pass the graveyard deep in snow.
One woman at a headstone weeps
all dressed in black like winter crows
as memories in warmth she keeps.
While icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
while icicles from boughs hang low.
On granite crags do snowflakes heap
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps.
As past the iron fence I go
her mortal love in silence sleeps
where frost on trees like lichens grow.
My heart into my throat now leaps.
I pass the graveyard deep in snow;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
all dressed in black like winter crows.
There's an obscurity on the threads of darkness
dare I peer beneath the starless shroud of midnight's veil
as I walk through the misty breath that beclouds my vision
in hopes it leads me to the temple of your soul? My dearest
my comfort is there, yet I feel a quivering in the flames
beneath these gusts that prevail through inaudible voices falling
winded in the distance where these shadows walk between us
I feel discernment in memories as these bony fingers reach out
my heart shudders beneath the orchestra of night as it beckons
a samba from the angel of death as it spans its wings before me
I shiver breathless in its cold as the flames grow dimmer
yet this time love, I fear for you as dissolution ascends above me
Muddled mind ventures through vivid vales of scepticism.
Slowly subsiding to my knees under the shadow of moonlight,
crows gathers as helpless hands clench decomposing soil.
Sapless lips gasp for oxygen, shivering in illusory mistiness.
Death's harbinger stands before me, an uninvited hooded eclipse,
holding me prisoner, strangling my soul with naked tree tendrils.
In silent steps he walks towards me, I have no will left to fight.
He has no mercy, content on me kissing the mouth of the earth.
Words hidden behind metaphors, surface upon shores of regret,
flashbacks are like daggers, reminders of unspoken, unwritten words.
My love mourn for me not, as I fall into the graveyards of poets,
in death we still connect, as my words will always live through you.
A Collaboration with Silent One~
On sunny summer mornings
the myriad markers gleam
and shimmer dreamlike
in the distance.
Visions from the stillness rise,
but only of the past,
for in this place,
time has come
to sudden end.
Glimpsed on headstone faces
in plain and shallow font
are etchings of their names.
Forefingers trace the course
of letters and summon memories,
suddenly vivid, of the fallen—
perhaps the only form
of resurrection most alive
will ever know.
A place of buried treasure this—
of ones revered and honored
who would unlock secrets of the mind,
give us cures for all disease that
we might live a thousand years
and summon knowledge beyond imagining.
Yet we have robbed ourselves of such,
for all these gifts lie with them interred;
their honors go unclaimed.
On headstones too are symbols carved,
emblematic of their faiths, for
we would have our deities
compete for attribution
until the soils of all the world
run red in honor of Their names.
Yet in the end our Gods are
much too small, dwarfed by
mankind’s boundless vanity.
Past the graveyard deep in snow
where icicles from boughs hang low
one woman at a headstone weeps
as memories in warmth she keeps,
all dressed in black like winter crows.
Still muted angels' trumpets blow
where frost on trees like lichens grow
and 'cross the powder darkness creeps
past the graveyard.
As by the iron fence I go
the granite gapes in pewter rows.
My heart into my throat now leaps;
her mortal love in silence sleeps
in frozen ground while snowflakes blow
past the graveyard.
11/14/17
This is a rewrite of my Terzanelle, "I Pass the Graveyard".
Across the road from new truck sales
Lay a yard filld with trucks that died
These vehicles' voice offer tales
Once on them a trucker relied
They thought that he would be companion
Their eternal guide protect them
He took one to the Grand Canyon
He was truck's total brain stem
Made the decisions for each day
This truck didn't object just follow
Whichever way trucker would stray
Even if where lay Capistrano Swallow
Then one day the truck's tires went flat
Soon in this graveyard this truck lies
Trucker lost his favorite hat
Old trucker no longer truck guides
Beneath the fathom’s deep, in wreckage’s graveyard
Of the forgotten, here the broken bones of ships lie still,
Covered in a forest of seaweeds greenery.
Corrosion steel hauls ripped wide open, lay against ancient
Wooden beams from vessels voyages, of long ages distant past.
Faded names, render no clues reference, for the maritime detective.
But tragedies lost vessels, did ride upon the frothy foam,
And spray above, sailing the big blues timeless tides.
Nay Poseidon's toll ti’s payed in sailors flesh, melting
Humanities dreams beneath his drowning waves.
Beauties fare, and proud are they, the crippled,
Swallowed whole by the aquatic storms avenging rage.
Mercy's mere-angels weep thus, for the mortal souls lost,
Guiding them towards their spiritual resting place below,
And welcoming them unto their fathers kingdom beneath,
The abysses darkening depths.
Torn asunder is mankind's well hued craft, shattered
Into bits pieces, large to small, a glittering shards
Rain of destruction. crashing into the muddy bottom,
Of the under belly of the sea itself.
Deaf are the silent cry's of men, whom leave only
Bubbles streaming upwards, as their last epitaphs
Tribute for thy existence.
The devil's gardens, swim these black waters,
Turning them crimson red, sharp toothed monsters,
Feasting upon carrion discarded left overs.
Dark figures, phantom creatures, lurking just below,
The briny surface, awaiting for the Poseidon’s next victim,
To join the graveyard of ships.
Faded are their names, forgotten titles, as the paint
Peels, on the once majestic vessels.
Now they remain wreckage’s ruins, abandon to the
Mercy of erosion masterful hand of destruction.
Hear the sounding clanging of bells, whom ring in
Silences of troubled waters abode, it is the cracking
Of doom, beware thy young lad, he whom seeks fortunes
Favor abroad, for only fools test the might of the sea,
Against thy own grit and survive.
Thus thee shed a tear for the fallen, dear lad,
For no other will on the dead’s behalf, in thine
Cemetery of the graveyard of ships. no passages
Return tickets are given.
BY: CHERYL ANNA DUNN
SPIRITUAL-HISTORICAL
02-03-2914
On the fateful day before Halloween
Dressed as a vampire queen in green
I passed through the graveyard
With all my senses on guard
When I heard a rustling mean
In horror I turned around to see
Who had the audacity to scare me
Saw an old man bending low
Chiseling his name in a row
Looked to be a veteran escapee
I told him not to disturb the grave
When he started to turn and rave
His family didn’t spell him right
And he with his might
Had come out his name to engrave
Here forsaken souls are gathered;
Gathered in night’s cold wrap of woe.
Woe to those who now are treading;
Treading the paths that lead them here.
Written June 7, 2015 by Andrea Dietrich
For the "Four Lines Only" Poetry Contest of nette onclaud
Based on visual number 3
You wanted me to look inside
Deep into my soul
Down there I must be careful
Not to fall into that hole
Face all of my shortcomings
Be honest and be brave
Digging up my demons
From their shallow graves
My demon of addiction
Who once possessed my life
Slain by a warrior princess
Which soon became my wife
His evil brother hatred
Conceived from child abuse
Whose vengeance was my anger
We finally signed a truce
Many other demons
I will not call their name
The nature of their heinous deeds
Now buried 'neath the shame
But demons really never die
Of this you are aware
So around my memory garden
Moderation now grows there
I also planted flowers
With beauty of all kinds
Some are gifts from wisdom
They give me peace of mind
Fertilized with tolerance
Watered regularly with love
I hired me a gardener
He tends it from above.
September 19 2016
Gazing into the heavy eyelids of the sun
In the sacred silence of the dusk
Through a route obscure and lonely
I walked on until reached before a grave yard
My thoughts curled round the forgotten tombs
Where the dead remain anonymous as dust,
And sleep dreamless through years,
Where wind whistles through heap of bones.
Here, Death sits on his imperial throne,
Mocking at the relics of human glory
Zealous with the task of clearing out the old,
To make way for the incoming ones
Marked by moss grown grave stones
Here each life is a volume closed down,
To be cast aside and eventually forgotten,
Or locked forever in the annals of time!
‘Round that colossal decay’, I stood sad
Thinking of Shelley’s Ozymandias!
__________________
~Placed Sixth~
June.28. 2022
2022 Poetry Marathon Mile.5.Poetry Contest
Sponsor:Mark Toney
THE CHURCH AND THE GRAVEYARD
The Graveyard stood behind the Church,
Perhaps they are mysteriously compatible!
Through the front door of the Church you enter,
And with time, through the rear door you exit
and go ;
Forever mingling with Life’s eternal flow!
In the Church marriages are solemnized,
New born babies are christened and baptized.
Hymns and sermons are heard on Sabbath Days ,
And people kneel down in silence to pray.
Some to repent and confess ,
To seek salvation, and are blessed!
And when the older generation pass away ,
In the Graveyard behind, they are forever laid !
Yet amidst death, Life goes on......., -
With the peel of bells and chorus songs!
The world of the dead is surrounded by Life ,
Our younger generations live and thrive ;
For the Epitaph cannot bury Life’s song!!
Green grass grows around the dead,
And trees showers their flowers from overhead !
Bouquets of roses on cold marble slabs ;
A drop of tear the fond memory sheds,
In loss of the loved one, now in the world of
the dead!
While Life surges, swirls and flows all around,
As the dead lie in their graves in silence, -
without a sound!
New Life sprouts, and memories slowly fade….. ,
The Graveyard lies in the Church’s cool shade!
-By Raj Nandy, New Delhi .
whistling past a graveyard
Devil may care, but I have no regard
I walk among granite tombstones
six feet below are boxes full of bones
I find myself in a dark, dark room
only to realize it's a witch's tomb
gravedigger has bodies to retrieve
on this night, Saint Hollow's Eve
Derelict tombstones lying at death’s door.
Contest: Six words Sponsor: John Lawless
02~22~16
The lighting - it was over-bright
above the table where she lay,
her skin dead cold but lovely white.
The lighting -it was over-bright,
He loved work best alone at night.
With corpses he could have his way.
The lighting - it was over-bright
above the table where she lay.
Written June 19, 2016