Seeking life among the dead
living like the dead among the living
a ghost haunting city streets
chasing the void--
the dark places/
between the stars and neons
A return to Normalcy
As night comes, all are at ease
We return to slumber
In the electric comfort
Of artificiality that is our lives
We revel in the false sense of our own
Modern conveniences
We forget the thin veil between
Our electric life, truth of nature’s brutality
Of our existence, we believe we are
Immune to the real world, harsher realities
Till only a loss of electric life or death, finite
Our comfort zone is rot, lost, and won
Something jars us back to reality
Of the world so frail
So it goes for everything n anyone
We are wrapped in ourselves
We are ignorant of the truth, in flesh
We hid in the comfort of our arrogance
We whitewash our history
We tell ourselves one thing
We miss direct our attention
With glamour, illusions, n media broadcasts
Peel back the thin layer of civility
See the bones of mortality
The flesh of humanity
The blood of our souls, vanity
We are primal and dangerous
Everything foretold, lost
We are comforted by our excesses
We fear what we cannot hold
And believe all we are sold
As we turn in for a much-needed reprieve
A needed night's rest, we are in our woolen
Wilds and slumber in our hypocrisy.
Doctors and morticians
do not exactly work in opposition.
The first do their best to keep you living;
the second do likewise but not breathing.
a curtal sonnet
Each obituary I read is mine;
husband, wife, son and daughter abide where
the records of their lives do still exist;
motality belongs to time's design,
stitching out each minute without prayer,
and you are simply helpless to resist
the imagination of the Weavers~
when will Atropos become the slayer,
and with her sharpened scissors give a twist,
putting all your plans to naught as reavers
take your soul for grist?
In gratitude for mercy, I softly tread,
For all that we cherished, the words left unsaid.
Comforted by knowing you held me so dear,
Our laughter still echoes, though you're no longer here.
As I sit in reflection, the memories flow,
The weight of your absence, a heavy undertow.
Yet in sorrow, I find strength, a promise divine,
That one day in paradise, we will pick up the memories we left behind
Where death holds no power, and love knows no end,
In that radiant place, I'll reunite with you again
Never forgotten, your essence will remain,
In the smiles and the stories, through joy and through pain.
Until that sweet moment when our paths cross once more
I'll carry your love, forever I'll adore.
My Daddy
Life has an odd habit
of making you miss
old street curbs and
stop signs.
The street I miss
the most, though,
has to be the cross
street between the
crab apple orchard
and my friend
Jacksons
house.
Something about that
place felt infinite. And
something about sometimes
friends feels greater than
sometimes.
Would I go back?
Absolutely not.
Because it was by my
old elementary school,
and going there would
only remind me of all
the times being a kid
was enough.
I think it stopped being
enough when I got to
the ending of "Stand By
Me." And I realized that
River Phoenix was dead.
Or maybe it ended when
my brother got a girlfriend,
and I developed a bad habit
of sleeping in,
to ignore the fact
that I was undesirable,
and that my brother didn't
want to play games or talk
to me anymore.
I miss my brother.
I miss Jackson.
And I miss that green
park that was right behind
his house.
And I especially miss
that old crab apple orchard
where I wasted whole
afternoons reading up on the
adventures
of Tom Sawyer
and Huck Finn.
Tell me,
are there any
street curbs you
miss?
Within a circle of emerald peaks
Where memories stretch a million miles long
Whistled through bright black plumes and golden streaks
Wherever life exists, it sings a song
Blessed Kaua'i, where the 'o'o reside
Lonesome haven for that endemic race
A frail and fertile ground for doom to ride
Pestilence brought forth extinction's embrace
Those wooden whales passed on a host of beasts
Cats and dogs and gnats with ravenous eyes
The helpless 'o'o now their scrumptious feast
All but one bird met untimely demise
His broken duet wailed then through the shores
Then it fades, and the 'o'o sang no more
Shes been called home
A mother a grandmother a great grandmother
Shes been cleanse of all the pain
The sky has gained a bright star
A light like no other
She was the oldest and some may say the wisest
She took care of all she loved
An angel like no other
With a pressence no one will ever forget
Kind hearted and gracious
She showed so much strength so much resillance
A hero to all we will never forget you
We all will cherish everything you brought to the table
The christmas memories and every memory in between
Run wild run free like the westerns you enjoyed so much
Take care and we will see you again
With Love we will miss you Ruth Grasby.
when i was a kid i used to draw a blue line near the top of the paper
that was supposed to be the sky
it started off being thicker in some places than in others
but as the time passed i started to add clouds
and draw inside the lines
the older i got,
the more realistic the sky became
then i started adding rainbows when i heard about heaven
i wanted to make it pretty and happy for all those who have died
specially those who died alone
and those who died without love
i haven’t drawn the sky in a while
i no longer can,
not now that i have people who i’ve lost
i wouldn’t know how to make it pretty enough
—painting the sky
Just how long does a steaming lobster sob?
How terribly do boiling limbs and guts
burn? Like a million simultaneous cuts?
When does its sweltering heart cease to throb?
On who’s authority do humans rob
that creature of its life? Have we the rights?
—the rights to cook a living being? Nights,
(countless), have I questioned this brutish job.—
Yet, even still, I meet no day when not
a hungry shopper comes to claim a kill.
And for the taste of murdered, smoldered meat,
—(we sear our ethics inside that same pot)—
they beg me: “I can’t bear do it, but will
you?”. — — I’m sorry, truly, crustacean…”treat”.
You asked me a question without saying a word. Could I ever love again?
I couldn't find the answer. should I ever want to? The words that escaped my mouth. then you asked them to show you things you already knew to be true. So I obliged. No deflections or misconceptions to lead you astray. The ways of a slippery tounge. Should I just show you the wrong side of a key? Let all the memories melt away. Twisting and rolling like two serpents wrapped in lustful irresponsibility. Laying half naked beneath floors. Should I take another by her hand. Blowing on clouds, foolishly trying to piece myself together with a bag of broken shards? Smoke rings and endless possibility. Don't get lost Staring into the gaze of a gazers stare. Looking through the eyes of what you wanted to see. All the while burning with a torch every memory of you and me.
I can feel it crawling underneath, underneath my skin today.
Why should I even care now? its murder in the first degree.
You, you're not the person i thought you claimed to be.
why should i even care now? Its murder in the first degree.
Now i can hear it calling for me. From the land of makebelive.
why do i even care now? Its murder in thed first degree.
Time it stops the hurtting thats what they said to me.
why should i even care now? its murder in the first degree.
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 the silent hill
Where candles on graves light not for sadness
But remembrance as lanterns of hope
Lighting their souls to heaven's home
Let the God of destiny hear my sadness
As I can't hold my tears to fall
Mix to the waves as additional salting
My intermittent gasping is my deepest sympathy
To my memory to my lost loved ones.
~ PALATIAL ESTATES ~
ponies… waterfalls… rainbows…
... pickleball... wrecked... all
Doomsday’s dismal dawn, in the deep distance,
Is our dusk, the diadem of decadence;
Daunting and depthless, a dark and doleful dirge
Deems this dungeon of demons due for death
Specific Types of Obituary Poems
Definition | What is Obituary in Poetry?