Best Tod Poems
As death creeps out of the darkness,
A mother becomes the rope in a (Tug of war.)
A child reaches to help its’ mother in her weakness,
And stares death in the eye with abhor.
The rope falls limp in sure defeat,
Yet the child pulls on the strength of heart.
Against the evilness and deceit,
Fighting with the will to not be apart.
The hooks of death on weary knees,
Shackling the arms, exposing vulnerability.
Screaming and crying the words of “please”
The mother rests with peace and tranquility.
A child left to battle life’s groans,
Preparing for the encounter and all its’ lour.
For one day she will meet Mr. Bones,
And she’ll be the rope in her child’s (Tug of war.)
__________________________________________________________
Inspired by Brian’s Picture Poem’s Contest
Käthe Kollwitz, Death and the Woman (Tod und Frau), lithograph, 1910.
http://www.mmoca.org/mmocacollects/artwork_page.php?id=31
Categories:
tod, art, death, lifemother, child,
Form:
Ekphrasis
The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog
The hound takes no notice and sleeps like a log
The quick dog jumps over the lazy brown fox
The tod is dog-tired—had a fight with the ox.
Categories:
tod, animal, dog, farm, nonsense,
Form:
Rhyme
Mujhe rehne do sapno me
Ki jeevan jeene se darr lagta he
Mujhe rehne do sannaton me
Ayurbal ke shor se darr lagta he
Bahut saare padav abhi baaki he
Par path chalne se darr lagta he
Abhi Kayi log milne baaki he
Par pehle walo se darr lagta he
Ve paraye aaj apno se lagte he
Lekin apno ki yaari se darr lagta he
Naye logo ko aaj na jaane Kyu
Dost kehne me darr lagta he
Jeevan ki ekantata tod , Bheed
ka hissa banne se darr lagta he
Bina kisi ka haath Thame Ab to
age badne se bhi darr lagta he
Kuch log mere liye bhi Jeete he
Unka soch marne se darr lagta he
marne ki kabhi sochta hu to
Maa papa ke ansu se darr lagta he
(Parth)
Categories:
tod, care, fear, hindi, life,
Form:
Light Verse
Du Einsame,
in den Bergen getrotzt,
versteckt in den Wolken
getragen vom Geist des Inka,
hochgepriesen,
wie von Geisterhand
überragst du das
zerklüftete Tal des Urubamba.
Stein auf Stein,
gebaut mit großem Geschick,
geboren durch die Kraft
der Inkas.
Zufluchtstätte
der letzten Überlebenden,
verborgen vor den Augen
der Eindringlinge
aus dem so entfernten Spanien,
die Feuer und Tod brachten,
dich aber nie sahen.
Umhüllst dich noch heute
mit nebelgesponnenen Rätseln
wie neugeboren
aus tristem Gestein.
Deine Seele,
lebendig,
strahlt Erhabenes
und über deinen Mauern,
jetzt nur noch Heimstatt
der Götter,
zieht wie einst
der Kondor
seine vibrierenden Kreise.
---------------------------------------
You lonesome,
withstanding
in mountains,
hidden in clouds,
carried by the spirit of Incas,
highly praised,
as from ghostly hands
are you extending beyond
the rugged valley of the Urubamba.
Stone by stone,
built with spectacular craftmansship,
born by the power
of man.
Retreat
of the last survivors,
hidden from the eyes
of the intruders
from far away Spain,
who carried fire and death,
but never saw you.
You cover even today
in foggy-spun mystery
like newly born
from solitude stone.
Your spirit,
living,
radiates nobility
and above your murals
now only home of the Gods,
a condor is drawing as once
his vibrating circles.
------------------------------------------
Sitio solitario,
resistiendo en las montañas
escondido en las nubes
protegido por el espíritu del Inca,
egregio elogiado
como de una mano de fantasma
tu te levantas
sobre el valle hendido del Urubamba.
Piedra por piedra,
construido con gran destreza,
nacido por la fuerza
de los Incas.
Refugio
de últimos sobrevivientes,
escondido antes de los ojos
de invasores
del tan distante España,
que traeron fuego y muerte,
pero nunca te veían.
Te envuelves todavía
con enigmas hiladas por nieblas
como recién nacido
de rocas tristes.
Tu alma viva
brilla altura
y sobre tus murallas,
todavía sitio
de dioses,
gira como antiguamente
el condor
sus circulos vibrantes.
Categories:
tod, history
Form:
Prose Poetry
Zum Tod der Frau meines Cousins am 17. April 2011 / The Death of my Cousin's wife, April
17th 2011/ La muerte de la mujer de mi primo en abril 17 de 2011 (Kintaishi)
Ein ausgelöschtes Leben
Die Zeit vorweg genommen
Verschwimmende Gedanken
Wie Bilder, die verblassen
An annihilated life
Anticipated in time
And then almost blurring thoughts
Like some fading images
Una vida aniquilada
Anticipado en tiempo
Borrosos pensamientos
Desvaneciendo imágenes
Categories:
tod, death
Form:
Senryu
He had do fight all odds
A man of unbreakable idealism
Alone with his ideas
A mysterious death at high sea
The truth will never be known
--------------------------------------------------
Gegen alle Widerstände
Ein Mann mit ungebrochenem Idealismus
Alleine mit seinen Ideen
Mysteriöser Tod auf hoher Sea
Die Wahrheit wird niemand erfahren
-------------------------------------------------
En lucha contra todas probabilidades
Un hombre de idealismo irrompible
Solo con sus ideas
Una muerte misteriosa en alta mar
La verdad nunca será conocida
Note: Rudolf Christian Karl Diesel, 1858-1913, was a German engineer and the inventor of
the Diesel engine. He spent his youth until 1870 in Paris and surroundings. When being
extradited after the start of the German-French-War in 1870, Diesel and his family left for
London. He as a child travelled alone to Augsburg, Germany were he lived for five years
with his uncle and went to school there. He started studies of mechanical engineering in
1875 in Munich and applied for a patent of a „New and economical power engine“ at the
Emperial Patent-Office in Berlin. From 1908 on he developed the first functional model of
his engine with the financial assistance of the Krupp company. In January 1898 the first
factory for Diesel engines was built in Augsburg, Germany. A Diesel Engine Company was
inaugurated by autumn 1900 in London. The first motor vessels with a Diesel engine were
built in 1903. Diesel was at a state of bad health due to numerous patent-lawsuits. He was
not a good businessman and lost his complete fortune. On September 29th Diesel boarded the
mail-vessel Dresden to cross the Channel for Harwich to participate in a meeting of the
„Consolidated Diesel Manufacturing Ltd.“ in London. He seemed to be in a good manner when
he was last seen on board of the ship. On October 10th 1913 the crew of a Dutch
government pilot ship saw a body drifting in the water at heavy sea. As the body was
highly decomposed, the crew only got hold of some personal belongings (a pastille box,
purse, pocket knife and a spectacle case) which were later identified as Diesel's
belongings by his son Eugen. The real cause of his death was never clarified and his
dependants never believed in suicide, but in murder to steal Diesel's ideas. So his death
is still remains a mystery.
Categories:
tod, historydeath, autumn, body, death,
Form:
Tanka
See! Air is spotless. I give you its blood!
I impose Poetry´s Knife where you post
You who slept to kiss all and any Tod
A Prince for your home as a foolish host!
You had nerve to pull Arms against my Man
This Viking Armada waits your shoreline
It´s you who tried my song to scan
Go song! To Athen, London, back to Rhine
And when I wrote your Name in chilly air
I called you things you never really heard
Yet my melody hurts down to a hair
I´m no longer my tribe´s and line´s nerd
Sweden was a powerful Viking land
I take a blood-stained shield at my last stand
Categories:
tod, adventure, song-
Form:
Sonnet
If you want to share your realities,
With someone you like and so love,
But have no reason, none for sharing,
Then the outcome will be undefined.
You can’t divide something by zero,
The divisor should not be nill, absurd,
You can’t say your number system,
Outweighs the context of your friend.
But if you’re feeling real complex,
Such that you want to give an ear,
Or something small, a limit, a tod,
Then a vector space may hint a field.
That fraction brings another total,
To show the quotient as good,
A neat side of you will emerge,
And a more friendly personality.
You’ll even get dividends back,
From a dispute, the fraction bar,
If you were both colliding, that is,
And not just silhouetting proactively.
You can offer yourself bit by bit,
If you must, but this slow chunking,
Will only involve time for the place,
Which you could’ve got to instantly.
When you give a friend money, time,
Subtract when you could’ve enjoyed,
You need to watch your distribution,
Because the right truly ends with you.
You’ll know that interest is wanted,
When you’ve related, not just given,
Especially if your occasion, situation,
Is the greatest common divisor, topic.
But if you still feel strained, depleted,
By the kindness that you’ve shared,
And you can specify the remainder,
Then please hesitate and round up!
When you’re calculating and gauging,
In your mind the cost of helping, love,
Then the relationship, the quotient rule -
The dude’s terms will state the outcome.
Categories:
tod, character, giving, love, psychological,
Form:
Blank verse
In the end, it was the numbers that did us in.?
They lined us up into military rows and assigned us all numbers?
One after one after one after one after one….?
How many, nobody knows.?
You see, it’s a numbers game, it’s all the same
You’re not to blame, you’re not your name, you’re your numbers.?
Let me explain how it’s done, and how this game can never be won.
See, there are good numbers and bad numbers?
High numbers and sad numbers.?
Sometimes high numbers are good and low numbers are bad.?
And sometimes low numbers are good and high numbers are sad.?
It all depends on who is doing the counting.?
Not the numbers, they’re just numbers after all; ?
They can count on each other just not you or me
Because we are never free?
Of Big Numbers and small numbers,?
Negative numbers and imaginary numbers,?
You see, it’s a numbers game, it’s all the same, you’re not to blame,?
You’re just not your name, you’re your numbers.?
Let me explain how it’s done and how this game can never be won.
Prisoner number…Credit Score number…GPA number…SAT Number…Zip code number…Blood pressure number…Heart rate number…DOB & TOD numbers…House number…Phone number…Electricity number…Room number…Water number…Dog tags number…SocialSecurity number…Bank account number…Table number……Flight number…Apartment number…License number…Vehicle registration number…Alcohol level number…Height, weight and age get numbers
I hear you scream:?“I’m not a number, I’m a human being!!
”?Sure you are, now take a number, ?
It’s for your own protection, there’s safety in numbers.
Numbers can answer all of your questions:?
How far, how long, how deep, how high, how many,
?How often? Just not ‘how come’??
Anyone can count, but you can’t count on anyone.?
See, it’s a numbers game that can’t be won?
It’s a numbers game; it’s just how it’s done.
?It’s all the same, you’re not to blame…you’re not insane!
You’re just not your name, you’re your numbers.?
Now count to ten and start all over again.
Categories:
tod, anger, angst, anxiety, crazy,
Form:
Didactic
I don't know about Archbishop Justin Timberlake,
He’s jazzing up the church,
Making Jesus controversial,
Leaving life in the lurch.
It’s fine to have excitement,
About any religious thing or assumption,
But when you poke at liberal creeds,
You’re with the discontentment presumption.
The liturgy does not gel with Sankey hymns,
Which parishioners should not be made to sing;
Fundamentalism is on the way out,
Of Christianity’s credibility wing.
It is emotionally abusive,
To atheistic in-house kids who want to aspire,
To tell of the insanities,
Such tunnel vision requires.
Although I am glad of his enthronement -
It lets evangelicalism out the bag,
I hope to return to a more liberal clergyman,
For the future church ‘mag’.
Fundamentalists won’t admit to the speeches,
Given to their kids who are silent prey;
It’s not fair to live in a society,
Which allows only the understood to convey.
Pluralism is the glasses by which we all see,
Humanism, atheism, religion, and irreligion too,
And the Archbishop is therefore acceptable,
As a beacon of what fundamentalists do.
Freedom of speech and expression,
For some, will only come when we know such acts,
Societal change comes simply from people,
Who’s concepts and ideas become assumed facts.
He was not that successful at decking Wonga,
Anglicans can't quite compete,
With open market transactions,
Which have seemed to withstand the heat.
I don't validate high-interest lenders,
But the church should stick to God,
It should be more into caring,
For the elderly, all on their tod.
About the Archbishop of Canterbury Justin Welby, UK
Categories:
tod, faith, humor, humorous, religion,
Form:
Rhyme
At morning it starts with a day,
When everyone says yeah!
The milkman comes at the door and knocks,
And then the maid shocks.
I drink milk but before that I brush
Then I got a call of sparsh
I tod I am eating an apple
Then I will gargle.
Then I went to school
But when it's Sunday I swim in the pool.
After the school is over
I got a call for sleep-over.
I slept at night
And the next I flew a kite
Then I went to at treck
After watching the movie shreck.
I climbed the mountain with the help of a rope
I should not fall that I hoped.
It's the end of the day
When everyone are tired to say.
Categories:
tod, day,
Form:
Couplet
A simple French Carmelite monk
Into a most menial role he sunk,
A singular byway of life he trod,
Often alone and on his tod-
Practicing the presence of God.
Tribute to Brother Lawrence.
Categories:
tod, devotion, faith, people,
Form:
Narrative
She shot off her mouth
Just once too often
The last shot killed him
Right through the heart
--------------------------------
schoss sie ihren Mund von
Gerade einmal zu oft
Der letzte Schuss ihn getötet
Mitten durch das Herz
Categories:
tod, death,
Form:
Prose
This poem is not about what is written, but what is not written.
You can clearly see how much I used to love you.
But now, now I don't even want to remember your name!
Was it Scott? or was it Tod?
I had my dress all picked out for your amusement, but I guess I'll just let the leaves hit
the dirty floor.
At least you have that in common you filthy cheater!
I'll never forgive you!
If I could, I'd make your life hotter than hell and as wild as the open seas!
I'll stand here and wait for someone to find me or at least before I jump off the edge.
Your face is my hate, your successes are my failures, your highs are my lows.
Why?
Why would you cheat on me?
John Monteblanco
The Unwritten
7/3/11
Categories:
tod, confusion, girlfriend-boyfriend, life, love,
Form:
Lyric
that with you
I could die all deaths:
Without you, live no lives.
How can I give without love?
How can I love without giving?
Why are those sincere feelings
when one has to avoid hurt?
Farewell my Friend:
My dreams are so completely
destroyed.
But not my love.
So innig liebe ich Dich, dass ich
jeden Tod mit Dir sterben moechte.
Ohne Dich, hat das Leben keinen Inhalt.
Wie kann ich mein Herz verschenken,
ohne zu lieben?
Wie kann ich lieben,
ohne Dir ganz zu gehoeren?
Warum fuehle ich mich so ergeben,
wenn ich den Schmerz der Trennung
ueberwinden muss?
Lebewohl mein Freund!
Meine Traeume sind in alle Winde zerstoben,
doch meine Liebe ist fuer immer
Categories:
tod, devotion, children, love,
Form:
Free verse