In Memoriam Poems | Examples of Poems In Memory of Someone Who Has Died

NOVEMBER 2022 Rightly so, the poppies flood Early in the winter sky Merrily stood in field, and this Existence of mine has passed by Maybe they'd watch us contend But are authorities ever sober? Early now, in Winter's sky Realise how they owed her Unwillingly ignorant to the loss, they'll be Scorching their retinas, a veil of red...

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One step away from waves that play. In that fresh light, he let go that night. I thought back then, that was all it had been. I stayed to see each wave hit me. With heart shut tight, no stars in sight. My hands let go, they moved so slow. Each night I'd fall inside the call— the thoughts so loud, the cries unbowed. Maybe it's me who made him flee… But how...

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Ole’ to the bland bated solid baby blue-hued sky viewed Left handed white arrows stacked pyramid left side two points up north? looks cool, Forever almonds eyes slanted aligned with cheek triangular faced, Vivid stares in graced sitting tail staged right tipped black on end looks cool man Sitting in on rippled lined white background represents layers of...

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–A Tribute to Michael Jackson They said you danced like thunder cracked— But your rhythm was more than blood and bone. You moved through dimensions unseen, Where silence whispered in dream-tones alone. You were no man of mere flesh and fame, But a vessel of light in a trembling frame. From moonwalks born of stardust tides, To screams that split the veil of...

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There was a young Lady who followed a Prince, then became a Princess when she kissed a frog, I don't know why — perhaps she's Di. This same young Lady married the dog, not a hog to marry a dog, she married the frog to catch a King, I don't know why — perhaps she'll die. There was a young frog who...

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#Thank_you My hat is off, gratitude to the table. Lemme put on my dancing shoes, this is a call for celebration. Pop the ink out, Painting brush, firm on my right hand, Toss closer the rainbow colours Wanna pour my heart out, on this poetic board. Drip of smile, drizzle of love and some dash of happiness. See the driping joy...

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Loitering around at the expense of my parents back, I too wish to be at the resemblance of hardworking thumbs, those same fingers that sewed the futile grounds back home, my mother’s yuca farm, my father's dying crops, dance taking their final waltz with the tumble- weeds in direction where my ancestors sleep while their bones continue...

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Story of pat, Can you hear the sirens? The old mans values engulfed with burning lust of minors, Patrick’s family left in suspense & deprived, Waiting to hear news, if their son is alive. Peter 5:8 of the bible reads the devil walks among us, I have met him in a house on fifth street living just behind us, Across the road...

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A Night of '89 Footsteps at midnight the knock no one dared answer. Dogs howled in silence. Charred Bodies on the road, eyes still open to the sky. The crows never ask. Posters on the wall by morning, the faces fade. Smoke curls from tire pyres . Mother lights a lamp. Her son's shoes still by the door. She dares not whisper. Gunfire in the dusk, then a scream...

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Dreams were shattered like glass shards, As innocent lives were pushed into the jaws of death. Some doctors, engineers, accountants, and bards, Extinguished were the candles of their breath. A wife was on her way to meet her spouse, While the daughters and sons aspired to study abroad, Alas! Fate destroyed someone's beautiful house, As the passengers were destined to embark...

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Quarried figures who guard the shore Dead eyes linger on a world before ...

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Warm Summer night’s fun Grill smoke permeates the air Missing you lingers ...

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( in loving memory of JPR) Nowhere to go, is this a bonus feed Maybe a curse, although it’s too grandstanding Born into nothing, I’ve got nowhere to proceed As if I fly too high to care about the landing In fact, it was much simpler in reality Dystopian curators were too lazy And too corrupted to maintain the trad brutality Corruption...

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“Death can never separate us. Each time you feel a gentle breeze, It's my hand caressing your face.” By Mary Lucas The first bell intoned its dreary dirge. The feel of emptiness spread all around. I was not afraid. I felt tall and steady. Night began to obscure the light of day. I began my lonely trek around...

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A heron watched me from painted rushes, brush-stroked by a man who lived in a wagon lacquered with stars and road-dust and wind, who sometimes drank too much and thundered. They say he wandered for years, trading canvases for bread, for gas, for silence— until his heart gave out beneath a turquoise sky. His wagon still sat out back, faded scallops of red and...

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