Long Death knell Poems
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" (Two roads) diverged in a yellow wood and I choose the
the one less traveled by and that has made
all the difference. "
Quote by - Robert Frost
Ha... ha... have your rabbits got three legs? Okay we agree,
This was how my friends fooled me for my ways uniquely free;
When all answered, I' am fine - for the question 'how are you?'
I said: Alright or keeping well... though these meant the same too;
They stopped a bit; looked unblinking; as though something was wrong,
Don't, yet, birds of every species has a divergent song...?
Does, when a rivulet diverges from the river, rebel?
Can an inaccurately rung Angelus turn death-knell?
To turn a rebel a rivulet should chose her own path,
On such choosing she might, sure, earn many a rotten wrath;
Could any seed, frightened of death, ever resuscitate?
Could any chick failing to spread wings reach the flying state...?
Taking a new path is like Socrates choosing hemlock,
Nay, choosing an untrodden path is not such a deadlock;
Thinking out of the box or looking through another glass,
It's when I say a grass or lass an ass death comes, alas!
Discovery and invention, lo, stand in united,
Yet, to shake hand with a person, uniquely far-sighted...!!!
08 June 2024
The once raging fires
Have been stilled
The joy of relationship
Nearly killed
Somebody needs to
Constantly prod the grate
Before it is too late
She does make efforts
A crackling sound heard
And then
A deafening silence
Not a word
Stoking a dying fire
Who’s truthful?
Who’s a liar?
Never easy to decide
Now uneasiness rides
She doused the flames
She accepts the blame
Result- the dying embers
So now, frantic efforts
Naturally, all hers
But sadly
There’s nothing left
To recover
It’s either
A constant dwelling
In the exhilarating past
Or a hopeless hope
For the future
Or just wait!
Maybe too early
To sound
Life’s death knell
Tomorrow
Anything can happen
Who can tell?
As long as the embers glow
There’s still a chance
Whether high or low
It started in three thousand BC
When for survival, warning sounds were key
These utility communications
Building sender-receiver relations
Secular signs, religious ritual
The use of bells became habitual
Calling to worship or tolling the hours
Announcing events all from bell towers
Locating bells for pet rabbits and cats
For goats in the hills and cows on the flats
Such animals of all manner and form
Even the lead camel in a sand storm
What news of the ship in faraway seas?
Lutine strikes two as it sails on fresh breeze
Westminster must keep to the where and when
By the hour bell of the great clock, Big Ben
Times have changed, we live in this modern place
Technology seeps and invades our space
Now digital gizmos replace the bell
All that’s left is to sound its own death knell
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
2nd place in the Bells premier contest. Sponsored by Kim Rodrigues. Contest Judged 12/12/2023.
The sequel to this poem is Bell rings which you can find in my poems.
I want to write a poem but I have no way of knowing
If it’s coming or it’s going; how it starts or how it ends
Should I try to make it funny; sickly sweet or bright and sunny
Write of sex and lust or money, or about the latest trends
It could be environmental or of something detrimental
Something medical or dental; something set in outer space
About dying; about living; about taking; about giving
About hands upon my body or the sun upon my face
Perhaps I’ll write of you and me, or maybe civil liberty
A holiday, a prison cell, the sounding of a distant bell
Of certain fate - a precondition, or a man with no ambition
The tolling of one’s own death knell and of one final truth to tell
Theres food, there’s wine, there’s coffee, tea… or how about some levity
Perhaps some words to make you smile, a bucket kicked once in a while
Or words of much significance, penned with a nervous reticence
Or words with which I might beguile; I haven’t done that in a while
Yet presidents and queens and kings and life on Earth - and all it brings
An old stray dog, a mangy cat, my muse - a tune that’s sounding flat
It seems I’ve failed to quell my need to write some lines for you to read
But when I read these verses back, I find I’ve done… precisely that!
Twenty six people is all there would be
Between Mr Julius Ceaser and me
Twenty six lives laid end to end
It’s a notion akin to making time bend
Let me explain what I’m ranting about
That history’s short when you segment it out
First take a lifetime, let’s call it L
Apportion a value to it as well
Not many folk would be happy with less
So Eighty to me seems a fairly good guess
So when Mr Ceaser drew his last breath
If a baby was born at his time of death
And grew up to live a life that we’ve called L
And at eighty years he passed as well
At the end of that life that we’ll call Man one
On that day the life of Man two had begun
Man two lives his L and on his death knell
Man three is then born for an eighty year spell
And should this continue, with L upon L
each starting when one visits heaven or hell
The thing that might shock you, like I was astounded
Is how many Ls there would be once they’re rounded
Stabbed in the back in B.C. forty four
It’s hard to believe that the number’s not more
It’s a notion akin to making time bend
If twenty six lives were laid end to end
For twenty six people is all there would be
Between Mr Julius Ceaser and me
We've woven Samson's hair, into Emperor's clothes
From the tangled web, that enough of us chose
We try to find our way back, while the drawbridge is closed
As the portcullis crashes on the cry in our throat
If we could but match it, with sincerity's tear
We might fashion a shield, and a mantle to wear
But if we cling to the cloak of the silk that's been woven
By the dance of the golden hooves of the cloven
We'll be trampled under, that stampede of lies
In the gathering storm, as it darkens the skies
It won't echo and thunder, as our epitaph
But a death knell our legend, as history laughs
At the folly of thinking, "We're better than that."
Swept into the dustpan, or under the mat
Placed at the bottom, of a yellowing page
In some forgotten tome... of enlightenment's age
An unearthly fog thickens nocturnal’s peaceful aura.
Scents of lamenting petrichor mix with slick, decomposing leaves.
A disharmonious death knell calls to me,
Untying the red strings of fate from the celestial loom.
My heart weighs heavy against a faltering ribcage,
Standing in front of the wilderness of mirrors.
Disembodied voices duplicate—
Head spinning, whiplash ensues.
Reflections distorted, coated in soot—
I've become both saint and sinner.
Looking down at my hands, veins darken,
Burning from within—realization strikes:
I’m the ashes, the smudges obscuring judgment’s view.
The Death Knell
(COVID-19)
Written: by Miracle Man
5-3-2020
The death knell that changed the game,
once under subjection, lives won’t be the same.
Change is constant, we must adapt to survive,
To some, change decreases, while others thrive.
Many may detest what each new day brings,
the landscape changes, making paupers of kings.
When change is gradual, most rethink, and cope,
but a pandemic is sudden and many lose hope.
For many businesses it’s been the omen of death,
for many individuals it’s stolen that last breath.
I pray for those lost jobs that may never return,
and for workers of prominence, I’m given concern.
But the actions of protesters I’ve grown to deplore,
while swarming the beaches they choose to ignore.
Some view this pandemic as a road to something free,
many hardened hearts feel, “it won’t affect me.”
Battle scarred, zealous, victorious,
tested through terrains too inglorious,
unfazed, unconquered and laborious,
I am now home bound!
Unheard amongst many voices screaming,
love locked in heart with desires yet dreaming,
walking amongst dead with hope yet beaming,
to home safe and sound!
Rushing forward into loud hail of hell,
blood, bricks, flesh amongst ruins of crushed church bell,
soul shattered and ears ringing with death knell,
On way to home ground!
Across the seas with your thoughts your image,
yearning for your touch, body in a rage,
for warmth of home and your love to engage,
to have your arms around!
‘Tail rhyme stanza‘ contest
N/A
Sponsor Emile Pinet
Written 22/08/2020
LAST STAR
Death knell at night,
Laid out in illusory beauty —
My world out of sight.
Heaven’s clean and transparent.
The mesmerizing snow melts red —
Carry me away O Knight-Errant!
But alas I’m all alone in life,
Amidst the creatures of the night —
The beast wielding his hunter’s knife.
My eyes long to see you once more!
In my repetitive dreams of shallow breath,
I draw you to the warmest cling of my core.
My eyes blinking, salty tears stinging —
I feel you are within arm’s reach yet late.
Darling, the death knell is swelling, sore ringing!
Kiss my forehead, Sweetheart! Love me from afar!
Oh, look with me. See what I see!
As I close my eyes...there…the last star.
11/30/2018
Silent One’s The Last...Poetry Contest