Mourning Poems - Poems about Mourning

Am I crazy if it’s been five years and I still expect you to walk through the door? If I can’t give away your clothes because you might need them? Am I over the line if I fantasize that your treatment worked and you never died at all? And I laugh with you over breakfast while we sip coffee as we always did? I’m afraid to...

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Silence mourning, you who've borne no children; mute derision and bear it no longer. Beg not for mercy if you are barren for barreness may prove you the stronger. Your fruit lies in the way which you conquer scorn - apparent un-productivity. Another's offspring - your proclivity. Teach them truths which bearers fail to mention; teach self-discipline as necessity. Deliver well, mothers...

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A gaping wound pierces my heart in the shape of my be- loved. Someday it will scab over. Someday, far, far in the future, it will turn into scar tissue. I will rub it and it will be soft and smooth and comforting. It will be with me, in the shape of my love, for as long as I live....

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Oh greatness, the king of days You look so tired and stressed Are there no maids in the race? You acquired so much torture in quest They violated you for your good ways Great man full of honour, and no stress You began encountering their riotic pace Who killed the your power to test You had believed in acquiring grace Now that...

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Take good care of your precious pain. Wrap your strong arms around it. Hold it against your warm chest. Rock it gently, telling it softly that it is loved. It is needed. It is important. It makes perfect sense. And love it, just as it is, in all of its agonizing beauty....

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You left 1884 behind, 1961 came you misused it 1972, you were doomed 1990, it seemed like joy but no 2016 your people smiled in their death see the homeless, fatherless, widows now bury their husbands, heads rolling in roads that are gutters People roasted like fish yet it never mattered to you, only drinks and women did See the troubles your children face, many bellies...

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I used to be able to outrun my puppy, not anymore, not anymore Moving with arthritis in both ankles is a drag; I am kind of a bore I am seventy-two, but some days I feel ninety-four, and I’m not kidding The devil will probably come by to see if I will do his bidding I am closer to...

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Just as the eve has come The joy of mourning has become undone We tell ourselves each day is one Expectance is the claim of none A harrowed trail of battled drums The humming sum of rains to come Acceptance is the aim to some While rejection feints the cause of shun Epiphanies are all but done The roar of morning has just begun Harrowed...

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I long to lie like a sunrise sky upon the sea my flame a tender torch for your gasoline tide freedom fire to burn the brine from my eyes fluid movements our soft inferno in sorbet shades ~m ~e ~l ~t ~i ~n ~g ~ blushed in hush of dawn like fevered lovers my soul a bleeding rose...

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My moon, w i t h o u t your delicate fingers stroking the claustrophobic chambers of this nocturnal heart, I search for macabre metaphors to feed the midnight monsters lurking in the cold crevices of darkness, like enemies befriending my suppressed trauma, masking infernal intentions with serpentine allure and diamond daggers, playing tricks on the soul of twilight. As in your absence, I am l o s...

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Atop my mom's grave Lighted candles and flowers Mourn beauty I see....

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The stars dance across the sky A nightly recital of spinning and whirling They’re in the spotlight here But I know they’re invisible to him Playing hide-and-go-seek offstage I scream his name to the cosmos In some sort of harrowed cry Or desolate plea for redress It comes out raspy, choked The faraway stars have no reply The echo returns not I’m left standing in the...

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Echoes of the Silent Shore ...

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My daughter Louisiana where did it go wrong ? Why have you become so greedy Greedy that you feed on your own offsprings Intoxicated by drinking the blood of your own children Your sister’s wombs are cracking with terror Because of what you do to their children Isn’t America the peace maker a woman who every man...

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I am a Jew, but I am enthralled by the luminous figure of the Nazarene. Jesus is too colossal for the pen of phrasemongers, however artful." He further added: "No man can read the gospels without feeling the actual presence of Jesus. His personality pulsates in every word. No myth is filled with such life...Theseus...

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