Long Epitaph Poems
Long Epitaph Poems. Below are the most popular long Epitaph by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Epitaph poems by poem length and keyword.
it twas evereth the 14th
and ladle had stilled consequence
perceptive decorum and froth's
constable would, could naught
cold heart and battled fart
bequeath to thee
a brothersome free
door and locksey
leashed a board in mercy
a wait, as bait, beside boyhood fate
to undress against
shallowed peasant
four returned to Ireland
bedside and tired
blankets paging in grass
ant's weary temperment at gas
a home a key
a star left he
the all might and his coward
to run the knights
round to Britain
i and i only minors scribes
have told in telling
of poor bottoms swelling
I'm the cells cavern
An orchestrated advance
The corridor the call
The snip the fall
Interior design in might
Out of castled walls flight
Terror in known streets
Publication and ceremony in defeat
They will have had we Rome
And no thing at door
Battle as framers wools
The third wall of a fine ants parish
Forward the Chinese admiral
Delores Mireles
1907-1923
I gushed forth eight months after his death,
My natural father, a rascal named Roscoe.
My mother, next to me here,
Shall remain unnamed and acquitted,
Even in anonymous death,
For she was not innocent, nor he,
That brazen wolf who found his sniffing way,
Through sneaky vines and groping flowers,
Their brazen squealing passage to mad love,
Of strange probing games in the dark,
With eyelids closed in shuddering tempests.
It was her delirious heart he seized,
And her slithery soul too.
And there, let it be known,
He found an open gaping curtain,
And Dianthus’ skin a quivering,
Concealed through a sheer façade of silk,
There, my mother’s priceless treasure room,
And in the midst thereof,
Her innermost well of warm moist yearnings,
Her inner sanctum of curious desires,
I emerged on a naked winter’s evening,
Shivering in my mother’s room of ice!
Luella May Poland
1907-1922
The ocean sings my sad refrain.
Sings as the lapsing afternoon
Turns to twinkling twililight.
It sings the polyphonic notes and harmonies
Of a life at once wondrous and magical
And then tragic.
The soft but harsh music of ebb and flow
Of loving, living and then, simply dying.
It sings masterfully the pleasing chords
Of desire and curiosity and fantasy.
It sings the distant aloof music
Of forgotten memories in the gloaming sundown,
Of lost minutes in the stunning shadows,
With the only boy I ever kissed,
The only boy whose trembling touch I allowed
Upon the small of my back,
There in the caressing shade of infinite arousal
There in the absconding darkness of thrilling intimacy!
Indeed, the ocean sings my sad refrain.
It sings now and forever.
It sings the soft music of the stars.
The magical wondrous harmonies
Of ebb and flow,
Of wind and time and space.
It is finished.
Joan Didion was an accomplished American writer
Wrote “The Year of Magical Thinking”, portrays a true fighter
Her first book -“Run, River”, her last -“Let me tell you what I mean"
Fiction, non-fiction, plays, screenplays, awards ~ much loved writing queen.
02.03.2022
(She was born on December 5, 1934 and passed away on December 23, 2021. In 2005, she won the National Book Award for Nonfiction and was a finalist for both the National Book Critics Circle Award and the Pulitzer Prize for "The Year of Magical Thinking". She later adapted the book into a play, which premiered on Broadway in 2007. In 2013, she was awarded the National Medal of Arts by President Barack Obama. Didion was profiled in the Netflix documentary "The Center Will Not Hold", directed by her nephew Griffin Dunne, in 2017.)
For Michelle Faulkner's "A Celebrity Epitaph" contest
Harry Boatman
1879-1916
It is true my friends.
A man thinks of many things
While on his deathbed.
A man remembers and reflects and responds.
He responds, as with a child, to
The insistent pleadings and proddings of the wall clock,
Responds and obeys, as with a woman expecting, to
The cosmic commands of the moody evening tides.
The incredible colossal circling globe, of
Spasm and sequence, of eyes opening and shutting.
And there it was my friends!
My last orgasmic breath!
My final desperate inhalation!
My final impeccable embrace!
And when it happened,
When my closing eyes saw sable night at noon time,
Two black and yellow butterflies,
Mating mindlessly in the side garden,
Took me by spirit
High above the wanton walnut trees here,
And at last, I saw
The soft benevolent eyes of sweet Jesus
Beckoning me to join him, there!
From the blinding masticating center
Of the rising resplendent sun.
Grant Olmstead
1868 – 1899
Just once.
Just one single sublime moment of love
Is all I ever desired.
All I ever reasonably wanted in life!
Was I not a man with a river of passion
Raging through me, raging with rushing torrents
Rushing madly through the deepest gorges
Of my manly soul?
Was I not a human being with gazing probing eyes
Cursed with blinding sight,
Cursed with confounding appetites for flesh
And incredible intimacies in the dark,
Intimacies even the gods of Olympus had access to
Tons of minutes ago?
And so I ask: What good is a windmill without the wind?
What good is a man’s tongue without words to utter
Words of deep intense longings
To the faces of patient pulchritude?
What good are a man’s prayers to a dead god
In an empty universe?
Now I’m here in Clark Cemetery,
Still thirsting for one woman’s touch,
One woman’s thrilling embrace!
Instead, I am tasting the kisses of a thousand worms
Here in the sheets of my bed of death.
Amen to lost love!
people afraid to think are people too afraid to live.
what do you say at an agnostic wedding? do you take this person to be your lawfully wedded? uh....I don't know.
a little tip for the ladies. repulsive men a lot of the times are the only ones you can trust and they tend to be smarter. watch out for handsome devils. so there.
people say Dan why don't you get you get married. i say I'm married to myself. but i am thinking about getting a divorce. so i can say i have a split personality.
there are 3 types of people in the world. if someone is crazy but not an a-hole that is o.k. if a person is an a-hole but is not crazy that is o.k. but no one can deal with a crazy a-hole.
I may be arrogant but at least i am not arrogant about being arrogant.
even a-holes have to put up with a-holes.
Elton Porter
1907-1924
(An Ode to Luella and John)
My best friend John Molina, and I
Spent many a carefree afternoon on bareback,
Astride the furious gallups
Of our sure-footed steeds;
Barefooted in summer and bundled up in winter;
We rode and ranged over the northern foothills,
Ablaze with mustard blooms in spring,
In search of squirrels and sunsets.
We roamed and roved like Crusaders,
Over those imposing heights,
Awash in winter mud and debris,
Seeking the Holy Chalace of freedom,
But still rich in grace,
Rich in impetuous youth.
And we both talked at length,
About Luella, the girl we most admired;
Certainly not for her obvious beauty, no.
Certainly not for her alluring bashful ways, no.
But instead, for her sublime singing voice.
Ah, I remember it well!
That day in this cemetery long ago,
She sang “All Or Nothing At All” by the front gate there,
And lo, the Muses all gathered in spirit roundabout,
Gathered to christen our surging hearts to the gods,
With a soft embrace,
And a simple kiss.
Grace Thompson
1894-1917
At the timbered railroad depot,
On lower Philadelphia Street,
Across from the lumber yard and the state school there,
I spent many an erstwhile afternoon,
Sitting and worrying and waiting,
Like an expectant Ceres,
For the returning equinox,
Like an agonizing Penelope,
For her long lost love,
From the ancient shores of Ilium,
Waiting and hoping in the spring rain.
And I thought a thousand thoughts,
About life and love and finally dying.
And I also thought much about my wonderful father,
My gentle fitful father,
A wayward, kind soul he was,
Who, out of the blue,
Left the town and our family behind,
Left to find greener pastures as he said,
And who promised to return,
When his oats had at last been wildly sown.
And I waited and waited,
Praying and hoping,
That the next train would at last bring,
His lovely humble smile,
His relaxed eyes, and handsome hermetic brow.
But my endless patient waiting,
Came to a halt that day in cloudy April,
My last day alive,
When again, the tremulous train arrived,
There at the timbered railroad depot,
Across from the state school and the lumber yard,
And once again, he was not on board.
And so, here I am now,
Still waiting patiently, expectantly,
In my dusty forgotten grave,
Waiting for just a single simple flower,
From the only man I absolutely adored,
To be placed upon my single simple tombstone.
I didn’t choose to leave you
For here I don’t belong
But Heaven is my home now
So please my love be strong
I know you cannot hear me
So I'm sending you this prayer
I need for you close your eyes
And feel that I'm still there
When no one’s there to hold you up
You don’t know what to do
When your legs will walk no more
I will carry you
When you stumble down and fall
Take my hand and rise
For when you cannot find your way
I will be your eyes
So lift your eyes when nights are long,
And whisper out my name,
For love like ours can’t fade away,
A love, not even death can change
Know that when you’re crying
I will wipe away your tears
When dreams are there to haunt you
I will fight away your fears
When loneliness surrounds you
And covers you with fear
Know I’m standing by your side
Know I'm always here
When you feel you can’t go on
When pain is just too real
Know I’ll never leave
Until your scars begin to heal
When dark descends upon you
And sleep no longer comes
I will lie beside you
Till you see the rising sun
I’m only just beyond the sky
Not very far from you
Though you can’t see or touch my hand
My love will pull you through
I know you’ll keep me in your heart
Even though I'm gone
For time cannot erase our love
In you, it will live on...
By Raina Hutchins