Long Headstone Poems
Long Headstone Poems. Below are the most popular long Headstone by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Headstone poems by poem length and keyword.
The heart of our star, a ceaseless furnace, begins to wane,
Its hydrogen spent, its helium core the final grain.
The ancient balance, a dance of fire and gravity’s pull,
Now falters, as the life-giving light rises less than full.
The core contracts, a desperate, conclusive, fiery breath.
The outer layers bloat and swell, embracing cosmic death.
A Red Giant structure, a monstrous, ruby, burning sphere,
Swallowing Mercury, then Venus, as the end draws near.
Our own pale dot: the earth, is scorched, its oceans turned to steam,
A silent cinder in an extended forgotten dream.
In this last act of defiance, the solar winds will roar,
Shredding the star’s own self, a shell of gas and dust no more.
A beautiful, sad dispersal, the stellar guts unfurled,
A vibrant, glowing nebula, a shroud around our world.
Central to the spectacle, a tiny, dynamic light,
The Sun’s remnant, a White Dwarf, begins its eternal night.
No longer fusing elements, just cooling, growing dim,
A silent headstone to the star that once filled every brim.
And in that stardust, scattering, advancing far and wide,
The iron in our blood, the elements where life could hide,
As it yields to the universe, a legacy of grace,
It is a part of the endless cycle, both time and space.
The star is gone, its children are the proof it shone so bright,
Our atoms bound to wander in the everlasting night.
Your headstone glistens neath the sky
this breezy, chilly, autumn day,
as dead leaves swirl in circles now
while falling, landing where you lay.
This tree that guards you- soon must sleep;
once lush with earthly, verdant green,
lies dormant while its leaves decay,
and roots face their long, wintry scene.
Now, with these roots, asleep you rest.
Although the sky is clear and blue,
I dread this force, known as decay-
felt deeply neath this tree with you.
Yet- from decay, new spring is born-
from death to life, the cycle goes.
This truth I feel- so, as I grieve-
know life has sprung from your repose.
September 21, 2020
Contest: Writing Challenge - Decay
Sponsor: Constance La France
There walks warriors in that graveyard,
holy men and medicine women of ages.
at night you can see their spirits dance,
setting fire to history's pages.
In that far corner up by the stream,
far from the eyes of publicity,
she plays on the shore, beautiful Raylene,
catching poly-wogs, in silent lucidity.
In silent lucidity.
Brittle now, those fine bones,
deep beneath the snowdrifts of winter,
beneath the memories of her lifeless body,
down rivers and streams of remember.
A broken woman kneels in prayer,
a heavy weight and burdened mind,
somewhere deep in what could have been,
what was for a moment in time.
The grayness of her frail body lingers
in a dead winter of the unborn,
page 49 in a family album
and a baptismal gown never worn.
Together they dance, the woman and the child,
their soft footfalls pounding out the sorrows
of many days at a worn out headstone,
many dances to come, many tomorrows.
Together they dance The Woman's Dance,
their hearts as one,
the woman and the child.
It is cold among the shadows, where heavy tears belong
Behind the gates, and iron locks, where sinking headstones dwell
Where names that time erases, are deeply etched with tales
One walks here in the dim, gray light, where the ravens weave their spell
There are legends, told in secret.. from deep below the earth...
In whispered tongues, they wonder,...does the raven wait for death?
Black ebony has circled. Is a feather just a quill?
Or...do the stories hold some merit...are they illusions of the chill?
A moss covered headstone crumbles, and tumbles with a touch
A raven's gaze seems evil, has he brushed the devil's wrath?
A voice of anguish rises, with an echo from the mist
And the silence comes, and all is still,.....or are legends simply myths?
Black heart, no shame.... a moth to flame
A caw cries out, , ..."how great the cost!"
They perch and watch and find a nest, among the webbed design
The lilies and the laurel...a tangled garden climbs
entwining over markers...that only wither on the vine
A raven waits, as nightfall comes, as fog and returns again
Another night, another life, will end again on time
______________________________
Inspired By Kelly's Contest: The Raven (Poe)
10/4/14
they lowered his casket six feet down into the cold ground.
They shoveled him under as I wept-
and then the green grass grew over.
I planted pretty flowers around his headstone
and they soared high in the summer sun.
One year, five, ten years and still I keep coming back
to this place of tears,
to weep. And then I lay
on the green grass over him
whispering my love
to brittle bones buried six feet under. I am frozen
in this past sorrow . . . and then, and then, and then.
___________________________
April 14, 2017
Verse/And Then
Copyright Protected, ID 892441
And Then
John Lawless
Fifth Place
And in my reverie, I rode a black horse with a long flowing mane,
he carried me through a dappled forest where birds sang me songs;
oh, so lush and green was the grass I wished to rest so he bowed down,
sliding off him I lay in the green, I felt like I was sinking down;
down into the earth and it was cool and I felt I was to be in this place,
in time flowers grew over my resting place, purple, white and blue;
a headstone was engraved with only my name, the name of a poet,
and in another realm I dwell and wander the forest until the hour before dawn.
____________________
June 26, 2017
Lyric/Beauty
Copyright Protected , ID 915726
8 Lines Of Beauty
Rick Parise
First Place
"There are things known and things
unknown and in between are the Doors."
Quote by Jim Morrison, Lead singer of the Doors
(American singer, songwriter and poet)
____________________
Jim Morrison, lived a melancholy short life brilliant,
he left us suddenly and is still loved to this very day;
he was the lead vocalist for the rock band The Doors,
oh, they created magical music with amazing instrumentals.
And always, always the haunting beautiful voice of Jim Morrison . . .
He was only twenty-seven when taken and his father had inscribed,
on his headstone- True to his own Spirit- in Greek, how fitting;
still there is a constant shower of flowers at his grave site.
in Pere Lachaise Cemetery, Paris France and visitors still gather round.
The life of a rock star is chaotic, mind-bending and outlandish,
and stressed- Jim left us with notebooks full of his poetic words;
and The Doors most beloved song ever- Riders On The Storm,
so beautifully haunting and soothing although truthfully dark.
Rest in peace, Jim Morrison, thrown into this world and,
taken from it way too soon . . . and missed forever.
John 14: 2 "In my Father's house are many mansions; if it were not so,
I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you."
___________________________
April 23, 2019
Poetry/Elegy/Rider On The Storm
Copyright Protected, ID 19-1136-969-02
All Rights Reserved. Written under Pseudonym.
Written for the contest, Writer's On The Storm
sponsor, Chantelle Anne Cooke
First Place
Kneeling at your headstone.. I place
my lonely head upon it.
Our granddaughter, Jane, is here,
picking fresh, yellow daffodils.
Because, Brian, you must know how
very much we do miss you.
In fact, all of America admires you,
when an Air Force jet is in view!
For decades you kept our country free!
But at dawn, Brian, at breakfast, now
so very still...it's just only me.
Brian,~'Airman and Eagle' of my soul.
To be with you in God's heaven is my
most heartfelt goal!
August 31, 2020
1:30pm PST
Dedicated to Robert Hinshaw, Poet and Patriot
who served this country well, thank you!
Panagiota
Wanted : The return of a transparent Silken White Veil
Ecrued edges due to the sands of Lost time : Lost LOVE
No charges filed, no questions asked I have repaired the damage done
The Memorial Garden For my late WIFE LENORE is in full bloom
the shredded Portrait has been replaced ; Thank-YOU Jacque Charbonneau
Lenore's bust, now a polished Marble Emeralds for her eyes
Eyes (I longto see again)Speaking to me from atop Her Headstone
Now You may think me Eccentric, Vain Even Materialistic (maybe I am)
You see this Wedding Veil is the beginning of my Eternity
With My LOVE , My LIFE ,My WIFE LENORE
P.S.I have all of her Handwritten Original POEMS (Noterized) in a bank vault
Still I would like the CD's back
Come quickly, let us tempt the fading mists
we ghostly shadows of a graveyard tryst
ashamed - not of our deed - but of our sin
fulfillment of the dream of now, not then.
And so among the silent headstone hush
we lie beneath the tangled thorny brush
endure the sting of freshly bloodied lust
defile the silence of a graveyard trust.
Thus do we share our love with those long past
a challenge to the lies of ancient caste
to walk away and hear the tombstones sing
as winds of change the frozen church bells ring.
We will embrace the now, we two, as one
while walking through the graveyards others shun.
©11/13/2019
I Want To Fall In Love With A Sonnet Poetry Contest