Death Prose Poetry Poems | Examples
These Death Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Death. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Death poems written by international poets.
The Christian who preaches
death and destruction, End
Times, is little better than the
Tyrant who says, do as the
state says, or suffer the consequences --
we are no good to heaven if we
arrive there for fear of damnation.
No sane father, beyond the years
of a child’s early development, wants his child
to fear him. Love but not fear. Love
and fear cannot coexist. Sin wants
us to fear. Love does not. Dropping
bombs or dropping damnation are one
in the same. It is man’s way, and not
the way of our nurturing God. Love
is the Light and Way of a harmonic
universe....
We fought with monsters and became monsters fighting the insane acting out in strange displays dancing nonsense in a cave imprisoned by a thousand lies we designed to contain a willful child, and with hammer blows and the whips we made ourselves better slaves then the slaves who came before with fevered dreams drunken prose spoken lost and broken noses, broken skulls, broken bones tore through flesh, the fear, the fear, I miss my friends, those younger days, it seemed to me we would never grow old, tired. VIXI.
Poem 17 Note. . . vixi liber et moriar: "I have lived free and I will die free"
A TRAVELING ADVENT EVENT
Traveling,
I got lost.
In faith,
I journeyed onward;
My trust
Put in God:-
With circling
And squaring,
I soon got back
On my route:-
Looking back
On all this,
There’s a powerful
Message within
The time spent:
Christ’s birth, death,
Burial, and rising,
To navigate us onward:-
When time springs forward, and light prolongs the day
When insects like bees, mosquitoes, and wasps, gallop
into Spring, armed with weapons to annoy and sting
When birds fly North, and bears awake to hunt
When the chilly winds of Winter grow quiet,
And the Spring Season shouts for joy
When darkness fades for fear of the light
When hidden shadows are clearly exposed
When roaring thunder and frightful lightning
Give way for the entry of clear blue skies
When war and conflict succumb to calm and peace
When dastardly death unequivocally bows to life,
And cries of "Crucify him!" are replaced with the
more subdued sounds of, "My Lord and My God".
We are shocked and in tears
But the mirror doesn’t see our sadness
Here but not here
Gone but not gone
Today we pray and lean on those closest
Wanting to cling as close as the Holy Ghost is
Wanting to say “hi” one more time
Or to even have a chance at saying good-bye
Dottie had been looking past the relatives for sixteen days
Staring out the window, at the pasture, seeing angels
They motioned for her to come, but she was never alone.
Her daughter did not understand the death process
A parade of people came in to check on her
Some had so much perfume, they caused coughing
One did not understand Dottie’s appetite was long gone.
This visitor ate a pound of marshmallow fudge in front of her.
Finally, on Wednesday afternoon there was a lull.
Eight minutes between visitors.
Dottie’s soul soared out the window, through the farm gate
Toward her forever home, accompanied by her angels.
Jim had only glimpsed the gorgeous merwomen once
But he never forgot her gray-eyed stare
She had bored pinpricks through his surprised eyes
Was her hair real or imagined?
Jim recalled coral, starfish and pearls at her crown.
Had she been a mirage, or had she been real?
His boat returned to Dolphin Bay each year for thirty-six years
He hoped to get another glimpse of the beautiful siren
We old-timers knew the story
Jim had told it in every tavern and restaurant down the coast.
Some figured he met with the merwomen upon his death
Unsure, I sincerely hoped that this might have happened for him.
M A I D in Canada
Assisted death debate U K
Sweden Switzerland initials
( S S ) ?? Its in sitiu.'
Covid 19
Each offers!! A (solution flows)
Ya'know?
Same book, different pages.'
Gram’s natural delight is plain to see
She gets excited about babies
She loves seeing her grandchildren
She plays games and laughs her petootsie off when she loses.
Does she ever get sad?
No
Mad?
Not that we know of
She always has that smile
Nothing keeps her down
Divorce did not worry her.
Death does not mean anything to her
She has a faith stronger than most
She lives her truths and loves her loves
Showing delight in simple ordinary things.
How many Gazan women have Israelis raped
How many Gazan hostages is Israel holding
How many Gazan babies has Israel burned alive
How many Gazan parents has Israel killed
right in front of their childrens' eyes
The answer is None, of course
There is one side in the Gaza War
trying to commit genocide
That side is Hamas
And if not stopped
We will see October 7 repeated
over and over and over again
~ Coming soon to your neighborhood
the phone rang during supper.
No one wanted to get it.
We were devouring butterscotch pie.
My favorite with graham cracker crust.
My mother called my name
Said “get the phone”
I jumped up
An old lady said “Is your mother there?”
I made fun of the old lady’s voice as I handed the phone to Mom.
Mom yelled “DICK!”
Dad jumped up and grabbed Mom before she hit the floor.
She had fainted.
It was my grandfather on the phone.
Not an old lady, just a crackly grief-stricken voice.
My mother’s mother had died that day.
I could not face butterscotch pie for fifty years after this.
The imperfect walk of man, cared about in recklessness,
careening for the wall of death, can’t be protected -
no longer in his mama’s womb. Womanized, dehumanized,
faithless…AnD cared about. Those left behind, want to rewind
their watches, but the truth is they couldn’t fix him. All his ills
in his bushy beard, behind it a smile, a hug, a shrug. Darkness
was upon him and in his circle of conspirators…can you believe
the music coming out of them - great big curses, whispers
mixed with praise music…the daring beast brought down
with determined gentleness. They flee from the Spirit’s power.
Still I hope and hope and hope, if this is the end, as it seems,
that somehow, by the skin of his teeth, he made peace with God.
headlight came out of the dusk
heading straight down the middle of Highway Six
He is going to hit us!
The motorcycle drove through us
A ghost cycle
Our son
He played the piano the way he did everything – incredibly well.
He’s a maestro, his mother told everyone who stopped by.
They did not doubt it, he was busy too, always composing.
Writing screenplays, creating operas and musicals.
When will he publish? Some of the noisier ones asked his mother.
That’s not important, she told them. That he is living with me is.
He lived with mama until her death, which delighted both of them.
His creations were genius, we discovered after his own crossing over.
I do not care if this is a dream
or if I am awake or not
I do not even care if I am not me
I am someone, and I am flying
I have wanted to do this for a long time
to my right I see a spirit guide
she is dressed in pink and lavender chiffon
I know her name is Maisie, although we do not speak
we are heading toward an orange and yellow burst
past it I spy a castle in the sky
is this death?
is that heaven?
I feel a sense of coming home
It matters not if it is real or not
For it feels real, and that is more than enough.