Best Requiem Mass Poems

You're a camera obscura, a broken bell's rings,
You made me dance slowly on sad phantom strings.
You always had the slightly off-color touch,
Your insensitive skin never softened up much.

Our meals were quiet with subtle trespass,
Off like a mispronounced requiem mass.
I corrupted your files, threw you askew,
You...

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"Dead Crush"



Oh uplift me woman
if we were to have a 
conversation would 
bees fly out of your mouth
or just mewling, simpering 
watered-down honey
not so pristine, just soft
and somewhat 
ingratiatingly tainted
you ply uplifting
romantic notions
like an air raid 
shelter bombing 
a numb audience
like rubbing an
alligator’s stomach
What life...

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"The Colour of the Breeze" 

Star Jasmine, 

orange blossom, 
pine leaves, and 
floating cymbidium

dipping oars 

into purple and white 
Agapanthus, drip off  
a lid on that day

exotic Nile lilies 
with lips of mead
drip potency

singing only
the sweetest 
memories

the tiger lilies roar,
in silence, cut up, bittersweet,
they...

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Dies Irae, Dies Illa:
Day of wrath and day of doom.
So begins the chorus 
Of Verdi’s Requiem Mass.
Taut vibrations of the violins
As drums roll in a crescendo of sadness.
It had to be so unfortunately, 
For we must all eventually die.

A tear falls down my craggy cheek,
I...

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Who'd  dare the exacerbation of the cloud
and cut the fire for the grave;
tell  the Epaulette he's a bum;
break the choking silence
and burst the truth for the street?

Night, night oh barbaric night
pregnant with cordite blood and brine
humiliate the essence of life and living
as the...

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The People will not forget me my convictions aren't uncharacteristic of me 
sympathy will be victorious and comfort me through my demise a requiem mass 
will welcome my day of death. Yes the suffering and turmoil the aggression and 
genocide I imply was righteous by...

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I.

On the right is Emily Bronte,
Bard of Yorkshire moor—
Her talented, tormented family
Wrote novels which still endure.

II.

On the left’s Christina Rossetti,
Who chastely did refuse
The goblin’s fruit of ecstasy;
Pre-Raphaelite recluse.

III.

In the center’s a filmy mirror,
Dusty-looking glass;
You rub it till it’s clearer
And see a skull-faced lass—
Yourself…at Requiem Mass....

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I heard the clangorous salvo,
heard its joints pivot and shear,
the hips of thick branches crumble
as it folded into the night.
There was a fibrous unclasping.
The ground flew up
over its rebounding shadow.

This morning thigh deep
in foliage and catkins, I listen.
There are death throes, a green surf ripples,
rustling...

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He tortured the bell 
Last call pub man bellows 
Get on your sick way 
You dastardly fellows 

All with breaking jobs 
Like I’ve got this dark dive 
All I want is gold 
And you’re too soon wived 

Drunk in Requiem Mass 
Won’t honor son, Johnny...

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his hair 
blown
back
by

the
wind
section
which he

had
doubled
like all the 
other sections

no mic
rophones
back in the
day but wood

made
strings
that would
abundantly

ring
ton
ality
sing

songs
from the
mad mind
though socially

refined and
an equally com
posed composure
defined as a conductor

conducting
electricity
from the
ether

sit in the center
of a cathedral as
his requiem mass
amasses as if from 

a Tesla coil
not to be fooled
or foiled as the...

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