Memoriam Poems - Poems about Memoriam

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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By what I've been reading Bond is a thing of the past. So I had to write a song about it, You think you have everything going your way You lived through danger and called it a day You think you can put down that licence to kill But I know you never will You think you'd be happy down...

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I see them still, in the hollow hours, Familiar images etched against the fading sun, Their laughter spilled like water over stones, Now stilled, forever caught in time's cruel snare. Once we stood, shoulder to shoulder, Carrying a weight we dared not name. We believed in the dawn, Even as the night stretched its fingers, Pulling them silently into its depths. I speak their...

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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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So many friends came to say goodbye Remember the good times, not going to cry You were such a part of everyone you knew A special someone for everything that makes up you Hard to accept that you are no longer here Keep waiting for the moment when you reappear It really hit me, hearing the songs you wrote Nobody else could...

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Been raining all week. This morning started off with a bit of sun and it got me reminiscing. About my youth. About you. Next month marks one year since your passing. We spent the last seven months of your life visiting, chatting after a thirty plus year estrangement. As time passes rough edges begin to...

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Standing here by the shore Far beyond my long gaze I see the earth and sky closer My memory turns into quiet sea That reflects through generations Every thoughts I have is all For everyone I dearly love whom Like dew on grass - pure, sincere And filled with light but now long gone Time slows down to let me whisper To my ancestors in...

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I have to come clean as I return to see your ashen corpse and dried leaves My survival became more important than yours but now I feel badly. Humans choose to love their own selves More than anyone they choose to love Don’t believe what they say in their poems I loved you because you would tempt...

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this is a true if near impossible contest how can you write a poem about mourning and honouring the ones deceased in a war without it being somewhat political you do not have to be a feminist and as a man I hope to be one to know that the personal is political and the private is a very public sphere making decisions...

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