To be old and foolish,
Is to perish mindlessly.
A grave of pride and shame
A flicker of doubt
Haunting this permanent spot
The gift of knowledge and thought
A hollow lifetime spent without.
"In the garden built on a graveyard. The death of every flower added a little more life to the hearts of the corpses, buried deep inside."
~ Akshay Vasu
graveyard vines grow
death below life
necro neglect
White Headstones
by Bob Moore-14/09/20230
Until you see those white headstones
all standing, row by row,
until you feel the silence
then you will never know,
just what it was, these young men,
thought, as they marched away,
never thinking they may not return
to their families one day.
They marched away, into the fight,
not knowing what may befall,
they knew it was their duty,
to answer their countries call,
to fight against an enemy,
who would take, what he knew away,
and turn free men, into slaves,
and make us live their way.
So you stand in silence
and think of these brave men
who marched off, to fight for you,
and did not return again,
the fathers sons and brothers
who gathered in this place,
the families who still love them
but will never again, see their face.
And the ones, who stayed behind,
and waited every day,
for their loved ones to come home,
could only hope and pray,
the wives and mothers, sisters too
with emptiness within,
now look at these white headstones,
and think of what may have been
Born two centuries yesteryear
A young pair who passed through Ellis
Built a frame home with rose trellis
Intertwined blooms like them bound dear.
Last roses on their headstones rest,
Grandparents by whom I was blest.
Bitesize Poem no52 Poetry Contest
pink granite headstones
white cross above resting bones
down with Davy Jones
ashes thrown to the four winds
places death’s journey begins
where their spirit is
under massive pyramids
led by Osiris
not toward the Pearly Gates
where just Saint Peter awaits
stored in a grotto
angels singing vibrato
chanting staccato
entombed under earthen mounds
where their artifacts are found
still and decaying
all said to be awaiting
the Second Coming
coffins into the ground thrust
the next stage in dust to dust
plywood windows dusty streets faded graffiti
Following are a number of funny headstones
“Don't forget to feed the cats" but she doesn't like bones
Or, “Damn it's dark down here”
Hope you can find the beer
“Think I'm running on empty” another hilarious stone
A lattice of vines covers this resting place
Some headstones fallen, lying in the grass,
That I drift back into hedges of t i m e,
Where markers seem to hum life’s stories.
This quiet glade, an archive on a ridge,
keeps secrets untold where stones are marked~
As a cloak of vines protects all those gone by
remembered not by any living heart.
I wonder if those reposed could share their tales
Before crumbling away as nameless dust;
Their sorrowful mysteries so hidden
Entwined now, with the vines’ languishing blooms.
To leave this place ~ where silent souls abide
Is to be aware of my unknown days,
For when, in dimming light, inscriptions crack
Will I be forgotten, like these old headstones?
------------------------
Overgrown With Vines Contest
Sponsor: Broken Wings 10/3/2016
I've walked up and down the rows; skipped a few, then went back to look
Since I was seven, this ritual continues; A routine going on more than 51 years
A sad silence as I look across the grounds, always the rush of tears
As I read each name, I wonder who they were; what their story was
A World War II Veteran, a mother, father, grandparents, daughter or son
A teenager on the brink of life, an innocent baby with life just begun
Some headstones are neglected, no flowers or sign of care
Everyone wants to be remembered; not forgotten like the release of a dove
Some graves have monuments as a tribute; to show the endless love
I say a prayer for those gone before me; brother, sister, parents, aunt and others
A whisper soft breeze moves my hair, a gentle presence that doesn't last long
I think of this fleeting brief life; We're here for a moment... and then we are gone
A peaceful feeling surrounds me as I recall precious memories, happy times
I place the flowers down and turn my back to walk away
I whisper my promise to come back again, another time, another day
The headstones,
At their
Silent graves,
Whisper to
The windless caves
six writers in a cemetary
each scribbling at the ears of the others
focusing through drunken desire
what could be better?
these casscadeing lines,
broken sonnets
shouted into fields of dead
cracked headstones & unfinished thoughts
Where have i been?
so many years squandered
i've sat here before,
in this very spot
& felt that somehow,
it must be my own
i've read these lines before,
never quiet giving them life
now with the sound of name-dropping poets,
listing every friend, financer,
first love, & false start,
i realize
someday we will be the name-droppers,
recalling the first times
we spoke, read, felt
these words
or that line
never quite finished
with the list of beginings
first times
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