Churchyard Poems - Poems about Churchyard

There once was a sensitive vicar, who said, "I'm not one to bicker, but the peal of that bell, makes me feel quite unwell, and plays merry hell with my ticker." An incensed old soul by the spire, preaching incense-igniting to the choir, exclaimed, "There is but one catch, when striking a match, don't set your surplice on fire." A parson spoke from the nave, "Spend...

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Walking through the churchyard, eerie midnight, Totally overcast sky, didn't want any spooky fright! Always considered myself tough and brave Why getting a shiver looking at the graves? Why is mysterious moon shining so bright? Are those ghosts and goblins…wandering in sight? Hear werewolves howling, and gnashing teeth, I want to run away, I hardly can breathe! Never...

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eerie silence at midnight… walking through an empty churchyard, ...

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eerie uncanny empty churchyard sinister ...

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This high, half-hidden, churchyard Where coldness and rain find a home And the nightfall is welcomed at twilight's end. The lament of the deafened, defining the dusk, And complecting its blanket, a chilled shielding shroud ~ A poet lies sleeping alone in her cot. But verses are silently wrested away Brilliantly noiseless not rhyming nor free: And how the wind whistles here all...

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Ah! To be buried in an old English churchyard With the dark green ivy and wild roses Where the sweet nostalgic aromas hill the air And the church bells ring their clear tolls My soul with the LORD in heavenly glory While my aged weary body rests Under the soil of my ancestors in England or Wales- Sweet peace with trees and...

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Crystal dewdrop jewels pendent from leafless Hawthorne over snowdrop pearls and early golden buds of daffodil. A blackbird upon Sparrow, Peggy Gladys does adorn, while morning light accentuates the name of Mitchell, Bill. I look behind, my footsteps in the dew a path have worn, past Throwers by the row, as well as Bunting, Jane. Stowe, Daniel....

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The Churchyard Dark and brooding yew trees stand In silence, watching those who come To view this hallowed, ill-kept land, Feared by most, still loved by some. Headstones worn, unkempt, askew, So tired from years of gross neglect. Names forgotten, except the new, That stand in corners, proud, erect. To where did all the souls depart Who once placed flowers newly grown? No sign of guilt...

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Thrilled to the depths of my body and soul, Time and wind had passed unseen, Like an ice detached from a glacier, It dwindled like a battered scream. I'm befogged, benumbed and enfeebled, An unalloyed ennui crept over me, Leaving an eternity of silence to unnerve my marred frame, My tongue inched for utterance. Writhed in awe like a pariah lost in Antarctica, Suddenly,...

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Hullo, folks! Do you hear me? You didn’t hear me when I was dying. At least hear me now, when I’m dead and buried. I am, as you know, Jinesh, Buried here—in this churchyard at Poonthura, Buried on Sunday— Like Solomon Grundy! I did hear you when you were crying— During the recent floods, Rushed to your help, Saved more than a hundred...

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in a churchyard the pink dogwood sheds it's blossoms...

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Shall find some space upon this yard It is just a matter of days, The inmates here will give no room For they are stubborn in their ways. Fit in here is a task I must Though I have not the faintest clue, Of how on earth could that be done But do know I am stubborn too. ...

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Sitting snugly on a smooth,soft slope Surveying a stretch of sea eternally still That moment memorialised in my mind As the sun- sinking silence soothes the trees Stand the monuments to shrunken lives. The plots define within strict limits The tales of beings whose remembrance Provides what amounts to no more Than their names ,ranks and serial numbers, Their joys and...

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The dainty hills surrounded a level slice of earth Where cocooned in times’ misty distance Ancient gathering concluded that this flat gift Would provide home for their number. At the physical, but no longer spiritual centre, Of the village, was an old country chapel A monument to a bygone age Sparsely populated by gently ageing folk. I am here for a special...

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Twas darkness upon the quietly residing heath... And deathly was the sullen red sandstone tower... Standing gloomily inside the masons dry-stone walls Amidst toppling granite slabs and the faded, wilting flower. Solemn was the chime of the hollow, mournful bell When tolling out on midnights grimly sombre hour; And thinly the swirling, unearthly mist Did so wend abouts her silent, melancholic...

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