When time immortal has passed me by,
and under the ground I shall lie,
who will remember me?
What faithful person shall it be?
I lived a life of little note.
A few mediocre poems I wrote.
Oh life wasn't always kind.
I left precious little to remind.
Yet I feel from here to eternity,
I left room for thought, to some degree.
Some deed done with a contrite heart,
some valiant gesture in which I played a part.
I fear that my time will not be forgotten yet,
by folk I loved or even some I just met.
Will the presence of my smile, linger a while?
I set no fashion trends, never one for style.
I have always told stories, ever since my youth.
Quite often been known to embellish the truth.
I never liked to be beholden to anyone.
I was quite partial to the way I got things done.
I guess a one never really knows how much,
depth of feeling to those whose lives you touch.
Will anyone lay fresh flowers on my grave?
Is there any one in life I had the chance to save?
My body will slowly disappear.
There will be less of me from year to year.
Will my soul be here from now to eternity?
Will it linger endlessly? Will it still be me?
Poignant grey stain hued,
bleak month spawns limp mood,
ashen mists dispatch,
gold, pink, purple gulf,
illusive bridge tween,
bright easel and gloom
spoiled harvest’s glum cue,
winter squash, squashed bloom,
staple fireside chat,
rank odour repast,
lurch to bland essence.
yet dewdrops shroud faith
One moment warmly expressed.
Next, coldly hushed up.
So does memory at last
That, Time-bound, pack in.
Pages of life having turned
As one book so lies.
A hard cover! Author's name
In gold lettering.
One life lived with energy
Another with lethargy
When all is said and done
~ Both end in penury
Written: September 28, 2026
**********
Not by deed or name we claim the earth,
but by the weight of seasons spent under its sky—
the furrow brows that learned its sun and thirst,
the roots that reached where other roots drift dry.
I carried seeds in pockets, words in folds,
a language etched in wind and light and rain,
while foreign soil remained aloof, then cold,
and whispered through my veins a refrain:
You are guest. The ledger does not bend—
for those who walk with careful, borrowed tread.
But in the end, when journeys find their end,
the ground accepts both living and the dead.
So let me sleep where sun and shadow meet,
where grass recalls footprints, deep and small.
Not by the name I gave or roads I greet—
but by the dust that answers to my fall.
For earth remembers not what flags we flew,
but how we knelt to plant a single shoot—
how wounds we bled became the morning dew,
and how our silence learned the root's salute.
We see them drop the bombs, hear them boast of victory,
It's time to raise our voices, do not forget your history!
We see cities wreathed in flame, children choking in the haze,
We hear the bullets fall like rain, lives destroyed beneath cruel gaze.
"We are God's chosen!" I hear them cry, but can't forget the empty eyes,
The soulless laughter of evil deeds, when will humanity finally rise?
Soldiers laugh and mock the dying, while parents grieve a child lost,
If you have never suffered, how can you know the cost?
How can we bear to watch, but we cannot look away, For the cruelties of next year, began in steps today.
Cry for the sorrows of our brothers, for the blood that stains our hands,
Cry out for Justice here and now, across every nation's lands!
Do not protect the wealthy, make them stand before our courts!
They defy our laws and mock us, so let Justice run it's course!
It is time to take accounting, for what each of them has done!
Hold them all responsible, let them now face the gun!
Until every human is free, we are all of us enslaved!
as they
understand and
drive snorting
oxybenzene not
greatly unawares
of lightheaded
reflective breath
a spiteful
zombie confronting
again brainwashed
beret sociopath
unfalteringly abusive
handicap boloney
that parade
marches gloatingly
gutenberg freebee
would gratify
faulty ghost
with nonsweet
buttercup ooze
always demonstrate
rinse towel
you encounter
this reschedule
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 21–27, 2026)
Written: September 25, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Nette Onclaud
Verified by HMS.COM: 5 - 5 - 5 - 5 - 5 / Syllables
**********
Beneath copper sky,
One red leaf trembles
Upon Mother's grave;
The wind lifts its edge.
I reach to hold it—
Her hand slips through mine.
Whither shall I go—
Shall I haunt the willow
Drag my nails 'cross thy dewy window
Push the wicker chair to and fro?
These are all terrors that I know
What do the newly dead do
When there is nowhere
We would venture to
Or care feel despair
Or shed boo-hoos
Should I wait in the broom
Closet for you
Radiating gloom
Waiting to shout "boo!"
What do the newly dead do?
They said it would be fun
To watch the frightened run,
But so far that just isn't true
And maybe a little mean
From the little I've seen—
But hey, I'm new;
Maybe just one of the few
Who wishes there was something better
To do
Than scare another bed-wetter
Or ruin a new hairdo—
It's just all so boring
We sit 'round till morning
Then some awful cock crows
Ringing thro' fields and clear 'cross meadows
And everything just turns black—
And it's cold
And there's a smell—
Like putrid mold.
Well,
I guess it's better than hell,
But who the hell knows
Walking Cane
Senryu
My walking cane
leading me to my
cold grave
Shared atmosphere vapor trails in blank stares across a room so crowdedly desolate.
Always there, always filthy. Slideshows flicker like the magnavox eyes shuffle lid to lid, moment to moment as time fleets like dust shimmering in my heart. Always filthy.
Brought out of the infectiously swollen cardiac arrest, through the waters, so thick drowning with due care. Peeled back potential baking like hot glue amongst the weight of glory that was never there.
Love against the glass ceiling swimming above while the sharks swim below. Sinking into the black and blue that ensues carbonated lungs scream alone in the waves below a somber rock a bye into the phonetics, into the pride less afternoons wasted in silence.
Alone in the drink as all the hands let go awaiting always filthy waiting to sink out of mind and out of sight.
The grass is so green,
so very very green,
the trees with the shadows
are glowing.
today is the day,
my very last day,
soon I will be going.
those mountains so high,
so very very high,
the glaciers as they flow
are singing.
today is the day,
my very last day,
soon I will be going.
the Sun and the moon,
night morning and noon,
with the beautiful stars
are shining
today is the day,
my very last day,
soon I will be going.
memories and thoughts,
of love and sweethearts,
the many in my life,
I would be missing,
today is the day,
my very last day,
soon I will be going.
the rights and wrongs,
learnt through prayers and songs,
that many after me
will still be learning,
……
today is the day,
my very last day,
soon I will be going.
Born frail
Through my wonder I wander and become pained
and rover subtly these days
Time polishes my brain,
Wisdom lies in the grave
The monument was stone --
actually marble, somewhat
more affluent. The writing
was calligraphy, carefully
chiseled by a fine hand.
The occupant was dead -- All the same….
The stature of the oak tree
Measures holiest if judged
By natural proximity to sky
But will never reach heaven
And thus by ego of man,
That which extends beyond
But not upon highest
Must be leveled to uplift mankind
Axe to trunk yields the great length
The most capital for human venture
To build the path he may climb
Faith in founded access to sky at last
What we know of uplifting oak
Begs us to recall the sequence
That while man constructs the stair
Too is oak in which he will be buried
For the sacrifice of dear oak
Who was exalted in godly breath, light
Promises that thou who dare tear down
May be buried low, below root, below feet
And when river rise, when mankind pride
In terrain built higher still
It is man who shall sink deeper
As oak, most faithful, did not defy own nature.
Grave Categories
Definition | What is Grave in Poetry?
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Related Poetry Forms
heavy, subdued, sage, quiet, earnest, sedate, sober, dull, dignified, deadpan, dour, grim, leaden, meaningful, no nonsense, ponderous, sad, saturnine, solemn, somber, staid, thoughtful, muted, cold sober, grim faced