a black dress
an open casket
friends and family all around me,
trying to reach me
i couldn’t hear them, not at all
the only thing i could look at
was the face i once knew, the face that was my lifeline
laying lifeless in front of me.
Casket by Adejola Joseph
Casket
Six feet deeper
Deeds of man is questioned
How did you live your life?
Time to give account
Every man will die
Surely, every man will taste death
But death is not the end of a journey
It's a transition to the unknown and to the unseen
Casket
I rejoice at the day I see my casket
It's a homecoming
Glorious homecoming
Casket.
Laying in this casket, buried deep under
Dark skies; raging with lightning and thunder
There’s no coming back, I’m staying under
Time to waste now, just idling my time
In my right hand I’m turning my last dime
Gone to soon, I’m still in my prime
Laying in this casket, buried deep under
Dark skies; raging with lightning and thunder
There’s no coming back, I’m staying under
Days and nights thinking of a life I could’ve had
If only I had stayed good and never gone bad
Plenty of time to think about it, no point in being sad
Laying in this casket, buried deep under
Dark skies; raging with lightning and thunder
There’s no coming back, I’m staying under
The stench in here is rotten: I could do with some fresh air
If I ever get my life back, I will do better next time, I swear
I continue to recite and repeat my forever wishful prayer
Laying in this casket, buried deep under
Dark skies; raging with lightning and thunder
There’s no coming back, I’m staying under
Laying in this casket, buried deep under
Dark skies; raging with lightning and thunder
There’s no coming back, I’m staying under
One might call it a 'guitar',
But, sadly, I have to call it my wooden casket with strings,
No offence to the instrument,
Its not that bad of one really,
It's just something with me,
A personal grudge,
I have been playing it for more than 3 years now,
I am not great at it,
HECK I am not even good at it!
I have an older brother, also plays guitar,
Better than me in every way possible,
Because he enjoys it, I don't!
A twin sister, a better pianist and singer,
Only because she enjoys it, I don't!
My family hired a guitar teacher, recently
And now it is too much work!
I used to love music,
Before being given this casket I hate to play!
I am just in 7th grade, but this thing comes and ruins my day!
Well, for now, I have this machine of doom,
My only wooden casket with some strings
THEY RATHER LIFT YOUR CASKET THAN YOUR DREAMS
Dreams are made
just like beautiful caskets.
Dreams can be waylaid,
even in reality outskirt.
Dreams do come true
but death has only one rule:
that is, the inevitability of death.
With colossal demands,
a dreamer rules the earth.
Despite your reprimands,
your corpse is lifted up
only to later undergo a drop.
To lift the casket of a corpse,
it takes 6 to 8 people max'.
Now, fathom the possibilities
and probability of the visiblities
of those 6 to 8 people,
eradicating portentous evil
in a man's life when actively alive
and save a soul about to starve.
Let's lift each other's dreams in life
rather than wait for the coming of death
to lift our casket while dissipating wealth.
Vick Manuel Poetry {VMP}
Form: Rhymes
Copyright ©? April 10th 2023.
(Elizabeth II 1926-2022)
Are we - crow, blackbird, sparrow -
aware of what's occurring?
We cannot tell, they assume,
but gape and gaze from up here.
This is a land with a departed monarch.
We - sparrow, blackbird, crow -
flit or sit above the richness
of that marching red regalia.
Thousands of arms stretch, sinews strain,
cameras are held aloft
to catch the start of this queen's obsequies,
such elegance, such grace.
We - blackbird, crow, sparrow -
observe orb and sceptre on the magnificent pall,
witness the splendour, the spectacle,
delight in the sound of vocal souls.
Millions have viewed that coffin.
We - crow, blackbird, sparrow - see them gaping, gazing,
with its eight pallbearers, in their blood-red flame,
as this Abbey welcomes what they carry.
(Sep 2022)
(You may wish to see also "Trooping the Colour" of June 2022 and "Coronation for a King" of May 2023)
A losing struggle over his life,
Cancer to make no mistake
Of a blunt knife;
Its image takes as The-At-Stake
And the ongoing struggle Stark Strife!
A death helped by a Hurrying Disease
Lewis’ blasphemous anger at his unease:
“Then, God does endorse The Sadism
Worse than Unholy Nudism”.
A bitter quitting of Britain for a discarded village
And helpless reoccupation of a farm ridge:
A final instruction to close friends
About his preferred casket
Curses raining on friends-turned-fiends,
Who some other choose at the market.
Silent
is she whose
sharp mind
unraveled;
she died.
This woman,
friendly,
loved to gab
and laugh.
Unsmiling
in her
casket now. . .
her face
is strangely
beautiful.
May 13. 2019 for the 'Charlieku New Form' Poetry contest of charles messina
Poetry form description: The poem must be 15 lines long and the syllable count must be 23232,3232,323,23,3 Also, it must be 5 lines, 4 lines, 3 lines, 2 lines and 1 line.
The Casket
I saw a coffin the church
Didn`t see the body
The casket was bare
No flowers
They are wasted on the dead
I have no religion
For me, death holds no sting
It is merely the end of life.
Come to me, my pretty thing,
For killed I was and dead I’ve been.
The flowers strewn about my grave
I bring to you this lovely day.
Draw not back, my little lass.
Soon all your fears will leave and pass.
Your love I seek to give me life;
I’ve come to take you for my wife.
The coffin, Dear, is a lonely place,
And no one there can know my face.
The rattling bones of those I see
Are not a dead man’s company.
You turn away, you turn to go,
My beatless heart has sunken low.
My casket calls me with a sigh…
I’ll have to wait until you die.
I raise the lid so slowly,
My hand on soft satin;
I hear the creaking hinges
As moonlight seeps within.
My bleary eyes encounter
The dank and wooden floor,
Time to appease the hunger,
Not once but ever more.
I turn the ornate doorknob
And what a sight I see,
A river of flowing forest
Down to the endless sea.
Village homes a light with candles
To push away the dark.
But they won’t see me coming
Until I leave my mark.
The moon is slowly fading
As the years roll into one.
The darkness loves to hide me
But I long to see the sun.
The pink touched dawn is coming;
Shall I burn away this sin?
But I close the lid securely
And sleep on soft satin.
For My Daddy with Endless Love
decide … phone people … arrangements need made …
cannot pick … call who … where … when … oh, casket …
my world just stray-shattered fully dismayed
and pain’s pall stretch-burns me like thin plastic
BLUE MORNING - just took Dad …
hued my fragile blunt-sad --
my brain’s left its launch pad ~
no thoughts compose ~
tears fully oppose
planning-time throes.
in Dad’s home, his feel has not yet strayed ~
my known hangs in vague creases of tragic ~
whisper-feels from clothes, Daddy-scent-clad …
bring him to me via my grieving nose
Cute Casket Now Fill
Did drive dangerously taking a spill;
Died and my cute casket I now fill;
In bright sun baking;
Then heaven taking;
Premium membership never paid bill.
Jim Horn
The kids need a toy box.
So spacious, padded and erect.
Embrace the future!
The casket in the livingroom
With toys to the brim.
there’s nothing in my head.
there’s nothing in my head.
why don’t i care about the right things,
and leave every word unsaid?
i wear rose tinted glasses,
carry petals in a basket.
looking to buy a tiny house,
but settling for a casket.
there’s nothing in my head.
there’s nothing in my head.
my eyes are opened
but my mind is dead.
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