Death Imagism Poems | Examples
These Death Imagism poems are examples of Imagism poems about Death. These are the best examples of Imagism Death poems written by international poets.
Please take me home
to where the pink flowers grow;
brush my cheek
and inspire mortal desires.
Cast the dark away
allow a light's afterglow
to meld my spirit back,
to life's eternal fire.
Yes, please carry me home,
to where the Pink Flowers grow.
spray-painted
flowers
wither unnaturally
like a butterfly
landing
on an imbecile
When This Direction Be The Vector
The death found in this valley’s shadow
A path with destination known
Attracting the frequency of the unknown
A deer, caught in this head, lights
Picture's these frozen moment in time
The reason why “X” marks the spot
From which all Abundance flows
contrasts
take advantage
of seeming separation
to create images
imaginings of life
and of death and
sometimes the
imagining of the
emptiness of these
contrasts
I noticed a smell of soft decay
autumnal moment arrived.
Last rose on dying bush,
dandelion clock waiting to be blown.
Grey clouds the sun slipped away-
nature is silent, drier time of year.
Wood smoke rises from chimney
Summer no more.
I felt nothing
though I noticed
blood
a faint trickle
from my pinky
down the side
of my hand
along with
a slight
swelling
thought
unworthy of
my attention
His mind lay prey to mumbled threats within,
drawn to perch upon a twig-thin edge
slung between a gauze of blatant dreams.
Like some homeless bird come to make a nest,
it yanked discarded bits of skin and hair,
from bins of vain memory's hoard,
then joined to form a place where
a brain might rest and preen.
Once settled, he drank
Not from the stilled rummaging
but the distilled rum in his hand
and sang discordant notes that clanged
above the cough of fractured words.
“The mind is myth. And so am I."
An inferno of thoughts and chaos
No one sees that the smile does not reach the eyes
A fortress built by betrayal
When the words are pronounced,
they can no longer be withdrawn
A devilish and poisonous voice sings to me
the influence of the words is decisive
Impossible to fight this dark force
In his presence
a putrefaction, stench, fire and dark smoke
A glimpse into hell - is a fact
09.03.2023
Sun :) - A-L Andresen :)
Copyright © All Rights Reserved
Hell Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Robert James Liguori
8th place in the contest
Trust is an oak tree with shallow roots.
so very treacherous in windy weather.
I feel as though I'm glued to the floor;
pinned like a moth to an insect display.
I wish to leave this horrible evil place,
run far away into the cold, dark night.
In the flickering shadows of mankind
sympathetic words are a honeycomb,
sweet to the soul; healing to the heart.
Dreams rise and fall like lunar tides;
engrossing thoughts flood the brain;
as blood through old varicose veins.
Flotsam strewn about dying fields as
jetsam falls from darker, foggy skies.
Face rises to the sun, a sallow pallor.
Vultures perched, perversely hawing;
a flag is folded in presentation style;
roses tossed onto a shiny new casket.
The eve of one's quietus has arrived.
The wails and shrieks
of a banshee
warn of death;
hidden amidst the chaos
of a whiteout blizzard.
While skeleton trees
rattle bare bones;
as Winter's wrath
pummels them
with fists of snow.
Blue skies are obscured
by a flurry of snowflakes;
white on white.
And temperatures drop
to freezing;
as a ravenous cold
slips free of its leash,
snarling like a rabid dog.
Nipping and biting,
at any exposed skin.
This winter storm comes
Without emotion, intellect, or care
Blowing its dry freezing air
Puffs up fallen leaves
Floats them up into the gray sky
Will it leave death in its turbulence
Trees uprooted?
Animals' den not warm enough?
Homeless humans without shelter frozen?
Are we above this emotionless storm?
What are our values?
Do we have the right to judge?
What storm will it take to awake us?
The one with snow up to the rooftop
Or maybe water so deep we can't float
Maybe electrical constant flashings
Or maybe a storm in a desert
More intelligent than the storm
Mankind has figured them out
Why can't we figure out humans
Get our mortals back on track
War on a chessboard, cutthroat and intense,
Vicious attacks and desperate defence.
Battle of wits with such a charming thing -
The Queen has upper hand over the king.
He has the crown yet as the game moves on,
Too often at the mercy of a pawn.
All King’s men go through ephemeral fame
‘Til sudden savage death at the endgame.
Game of thrones - power plots, schemes, strikes and strife,
Once hooked, one’s royally intrigued for life!
March 5, 2022
For sixteen hours the angry sea tossed us like unstuffed cloth dolls.
We were at her mercy, as she flipped us and tossed us.
Most of us were preparing ourselves for death.
Sending home good bye texts. We recognized our demise.
I did not expect to wake up in the morning.
Neither did the others. We said our good byes last night.
A star came through the storm to greet us in the wee morning hours.
This was my first inkling that we might survive the sea’s wrath.
On the hill, a mother
is desperate to nurse babies
who have gone still and silent,
with milk they'll never take
She knows they are not sleeping
but cannot bear to leave them,
so licks their tiny faces,
that they might come awake
She thinks if she can warm them,
then Winter will not want them
and Spring will find them happy
and hale, and furred, and free
As sorrow overwhelms her,
she curls herself around them,
soon dreaming in the way of
all creatures such as she
of fish in rippling water,
of game and earth. Of watching
her mate at play in powder,
unmindful of the chill
And when the Winter claims her,
she's chasing stars with children,
reborn among the flowers
that bloom upon the hill
a teeny-tiny
insect-type
smudge
smeared
on a
bathroom tile
the killer
walked away
free