Rhyme Epitaph Poems | Examples
These Rhyme Epitaph poems are examples of Epitaph poems about Rhyme. These are the best examples of Epitaph Rhyme poems written by international poets.
I’m dead, but did I ever live?
Nobody gives a damn
I had to take, I had to give
Not knowing who I am
So that was it, and what to say
Let me convey to you
You see life in a broader way
And in a longer view
So speak for me, what its about
What difference it makes
From living of a garden sprout
Since moment it awakes
To get a share of sun and moon
And rains and deadly snow
What its about, ends too soon
I didn’t have time to know.
JFK, he was shot dead
sixty years ago today
Camelot, it fell apart
America lost her way
______________________
In Memoriam - Nov. 2, 1963
I want to run from the grief,
from the crippling and the tears.
But that dread is a secret thief -
out to steal away the memories, the years.
I'll be damned if he'll get your names,
if I'll let him make off with your stories.
That's why you take up the wall with your frames -
why I must ever tell of your exploits, our glories.
Every time we weep, it is revisited love,
perhaps torn by loss, but nonetheless preserved.
Safe from fading away and the second death thereof -
from that feared fate of true oblivion, an end undeserved.
So, folks, value that pain and grip it tight,
for it means only that they are still alive.
Whether you sing, compose, tell, draw, or write -
you are the bearer of their tales, their living archive.
Evening shades are deepening
Peaceful hues and tones
In the darkness creeping
There’s a silence in the stones
Anonymous lies sleeping
Psalms praising the unknown
Heaven holds thee in its keeping
Sings the silence of the stones.
sagger maker’s bottom knocker from barnsley
one of the last of a now dead trade
famed for his skill and precision
where ever saggers had been made
forced to redundancy’s scrap heap
by world wide non demand of his skill
lack of money and self respect
made him tired and physically ill
took up dwile flonking in somerset
became a regular girter of the team
but regular skilled work remained
his great and longed for dream
flonked by a wanton driveller thrust
which he sadly failed to catch
led to his early demise
and an unfinished match
so take note passing stranger
of his sad demoralising tale
a tragic life so swadged short
by dwile flonking and real ale
he rests beneath this stone
his driveller in his hand
the finest sagger maker’s bottom knocker
ever seen in this fair land
sagger maker’s bottom knocker from barnsley
one of the last of a now dead trade
famed for his skill and precision
where ever saggers were made
forced to redundancies scrap heap
because of lack of demand for his skill
lack of money and self respect
made him feel tired and ill
took up dwile flonking in somerset
became a regular girter of the team
but regular skilled work remained
his great and longed for dream
flonked by a wanton driveller thrust
which he sadly failed to catch
led to his early demise
and an unfinished match
so take note passing stranger
of his sad demoralising tale
a tragic life so swadged short
by dwile flonking and real ale
he rests beneath this stone
his driveller in his hand
the finest sagger maker’s bottom
knocker ever seen in this fair land
Mine was a life well-lived
You all did agree
How did you know
You were not me
Epitaph for the Test Dogs
What you did for us, not many know,
because you did it so long ago.
Victoria’s reign to flapper days,
you lived in labs while other dogs played.
Pancreas removed from each of you,
you were, then, rendered diabetic too.
Were insulin shots something to trust?
Since they worked for you, they were tried on us.
They worked like magic when they were tried.
Type I diabetics no longer died.
To you, furry friends, this tribute we give.
You gave up normal lives so we could live.
Contest: How you live or have been healed from a difficult and challenging health condition?
If I cannot fly, let me sing
he who wrote almighty music
writes now in a place of nothing
or somewhere else the theater picks
1/24/2022
Below the vault of this cerulean sky
In this solitary grave, let me lie
In joy I lived and in joy I die
And wish to see no one cry
This you carve on my grave for all to see
“Here is some one, though a small fry
Had a heart as big as a mountain high
Who with songs of love, every heart did tie”
Placed First
A Strand(1069) Poetry Contest
A theatre legend - Mr Stephen Sondheim
an icon of Broadway, ahead of his time
smart lyrics, lush music, bold rhythms and rhyme
the curtain has fallen on a writer sublime.
// Stephen Sondheim wrote lyrics and/or music to West Side Story, Gypsy, Sweeney Todd, Into the Woods, Company, Follies, and many more musicals //
Written 1/13/2022
My Baby:
Don't be too quiet, yet don't be too shrill,
Don't be too restless, but neither too still,
Please grow up hardy, yet soft to the touch,
Not seeking too little, nor asking too much.
Years later …
My Child:
Don't be precocious, yet don't be too shy,
The middle-sized apple of you father’s eye,
Don't be too forthright, nor keep to yourself,
Don't be too daring; but care for your health.
Years later …
My Son:
Don't aim too high, nor get stuck in a hole,
Nor hang back if offered an uninspired role,
Please don't take the high road or even the low,
The main road is best ... not too fast or too slow.
Years later …
My Epitaph:
Here lies a man, who knew how to conform,
Who never left harbour, for fear of a storm,
Avoiding the hot and the cold for lukewarm,
In loving, but not too loving, memory,
Of your only son ... Norm.
I do not wish to speak out as a knave,
But the future I view is meant for a slave.
For most it will be bleak though some be brave
As government controls from cradle to grave.
The essential few will form the elite
While the rest will grovel around their feet,
Seeking a social score to stay secure.
Family freedom fiercely to treasure.
A world filled with cold cameras galore
Facial recognition, cookies and more
A grim reality none may ignore
Where daily living is to be a chore.
As rotting wheat buried by its own chaff
Freedom will molder without epitaph.
FRAGILE FREEDOMS
Lost in France,
Resting
'neath a simple cross,
Just name,nationality and rank;
Giving of life,was his loss.
At home,
A breaking,aching heart;
A sweetheart's pain;
Her emptiness
was another's gain.
In memory
fading go
As echoing years slip by,
And still her tears flow;
Vivid yet
her anguish sigh.
Forgotten,forfeit
and for what?
freedom frailties,fragile,
Such ideas still beguile;
T'was ever thus,
the peasant soldier's lot.
REPOST FROM 2007
Walking on His
good side,
each step was placed with care
My direction set,
intention met,
new words to light the air
Looking back
I said goodbye,
all strings there left untied
Hands firmly placed
in His embrace
—eternity inscribed
(The Book Of Prayers: September, 2020)