Eulogy Prose Poetry Poems | Examples
These Eulogy Prose Poetry poems are examples of Prose Poetry poems about Eulogy. These are the best examples of Prose Poetry Eulogy poems written by international poets.
You gave me magical words this morning.
I should have stopped everything I was doing –
to go write them down.
Words are precious fleeting, living things
And when ignored, do not stick around.
I knew the words were important
A Devine missive was given to me.
But life can get so busy
Disrupting,
Distracting,
Interrupting our thoughts.
The day’s plans and appointments’
Easily dissolve precious thoughts and words
Into a fog of forgetfulness
Lost and scattered
Fading…
Leaving me, regrettably
the knowledge -
That you whispered an image Devine
Given me in a moment–
And I was reckless…
I did not pause to acknowledge
or save it.
12/02/2020
When mirrors crack they shatter all illusions as rainbow’s end quick fixes lie in tatters on the floor.
A plot for every dream and every dreamer engraved with stirring mottos bound to fade.
For those who lost the plot a final resting ground,
while soul survivors live to bear the scars of unplanned residue.
An angel returned to heaven today
deployed to erase gluttonous hate
from envy's grasp love is pulled away
To bring order to disarray
supplying hope while replacing sloth
An angel returned to heaven today
Armed with beauty, charm and compassion
pride is now faced with a trained assassin
whether with song, a smile, a shoulder or ear
greed, anger and lust is sent running in fear
An angel returned to heaven today
after years of service in the field
from the mission never did she stray
In our hearts she will forever stay
so, let us remember, let us rejoice
cause our angel returned to heaven on this day
I’m not good at long goodbyes
As a matter of fact, I’m not good at goodbyes at all
But watching you slowly slip away from me
Is the longest goodbye I’ll ever endure.
I want to grab you and pull you back
But its grip is stronger than mine
And I fear it is winning
How could this be happening?
As I lie next to you at night and count every breath
I wonder what it will be like
When I reach over some night to touch you
And you’re not there.
Will I feel your presence or will
There only be an empty spot
And a cold pillow in your place?
Something that is too horrible to imagine
How I’ll miss your laughter
The warmth of your body lying next to mine
Because you filled an empty spot in my life
That was only reserved for you.
Remember that night at the White Barn Inn
When we sat at the bar
Our eyes locked in loving silence
Oblivious to the others around us?
Now that you are gone
I think about you from time-to-time
Warm memories, our memories
But please forgive me for moving on.
Hubert awash was a Josh for his Bonn,
he was in a toss at the ton and never knew his cons,
say today that was interest and wand, that he could only shoot his lawn-
he never needed but had all his own knots for the fawns.
We say we can’t imagine how they feel.
To make it real, let’s imagine
The same happened to me and you!
Then we too, would feel the way they do.
Surly they appreciate our sincere sympathy;
But they must despise our continuous apathy.
Let none of us again be made a fool;
Next time could be our children’s school.
1
O, e’er she cometh and calleth me from the barren wolds whereupon lieth the first palpitation of the laconic exchange of bashful glances;
O, whensoe’er thy dulcet voice wafteth o’er the hummock, and thy throat trilleth for none but me, mine eccentric euphoria is celebrated by nature;
O, in the untrodden tryst wouldst thou palliate the passion of mine? I pray you, do love me, fair damsel, only because I really love thee.
2
Prithee, my ladie, my beautie, tell me wouldst thou fain love me? Knowest thou I am fain to gain thee, and hope I thou art so. Once hither thou camest and didst canoodle me, wert thou fearless and didst enrapture me. Thou , undaunted, snuggle’dst, kiss’dst , embrace’dst a swain. E’er thou wast fain to have me lain on the lovers’ crimson bed. And when dost thou bestow upon me the ancient ecstasy, and sleek is the cheek of my kingly belle, feel I relieved i’th’ glaring tryst, my sweet love !
For Dead Poets Who Yet Live
The earth swallowed you—
spitting out seeded words
to linger like dusty books;
pages yellowing on rotting shelves.
Like your blood,
your ink well has dried—died.
Tomorrow
we go in search of mangers—seeking
the resurrected word—crying out.
Old poets—at last—die; but
their words are reborn
in the pregnant minds left behind.
Once More…
(Apropos Orlando)
Once more and again
bigotry spreads
like a keloid of shame
across the face
of the promise land.
Once more
liberty and justice
proves to be
only for some—
serving Satan
in the name of God.
Once more
eschewed minds
flake death
to the tested innocent
living out
the tried truth—
their being
who they are:
children of the same God
blasphemed with desecration
of name.
Shades of a Colored Man
The signs use to read:
“For whites only”—
“Colored fountain”—water
clear as day.
If you’re brown
you may stick around;
but blacks must get back.
Today is equal opportunity employment
but your equity has been revoked;
job’s been passed on to another colored yoke.
Beside, you’re over qualified;
the shade of skin is not why you’re denied.
Then in the heat of day, you screamed and cried:
“Give me liberty or give me death!”
Your demand they granted immediately:
Today we dig your grave.
Sharon why do you come?
Sharon you were not my
Confidant nor my peer
Could you be some long
Transcended
Ancestor ?
You are the only
One who has come,
More than one time.
Met you in this lifetime,
When you were here.
My spade partner
Sometimes.
It would seem likely.
Family would look in..
But it's Okay, that it's you,
You're the only
One that has
Made it known.. that
Every goodbye
Ain't gone. One day
More will be revealed
As to the meaning
Of your communication;
As you seem the most unlikely
Too attach yourself to my soul station.
“Sharon, I think I now
Know why have you come"
THAT FRIGHTFUL DAY
It was a Tuesday,
The world was told.
Terror filled the skies,
Murder cold and bold.
Americans are secure,
Our world is safe, we said.
We work in total comfort,
Rest securely in our bed.
September is a lovely month,
Along the Eastern shore.
With turning leaves and autumn breeze,
Shouting peace forevermore.
The eleventh day began the same,
Warm winds and shining sun.
Our dreams were real, our hopes were high,
In the year twenty double o' one.
What were these planes doing in the town,
Why were they flying so low.
The world's twin towers would soon come down,
Then all would surely know.
New York will never be the same,
Nor will the U S A.
People now stand hand in hand,
Because of that frightful day.
Americans are now united,
Our newfound faith must stay.
You and I will conquer,
If we take the time to pray.
God gave His son to guide us,
With a message of Peace and Joy.
With love and understanding,
If His Glory we employ.
RAYMOND V. MORGAN
A moment
to catch a breath and sigh;
A moment
to pause and shout a cheer;
A moment
to just smile and cry;
A moment
to welcome the healing tear;
Yet, it remains a moment
that’s not without lingering fear.
While the symbolism of racist bigotry
may have disappeared;
So many of its ghostly practices
still remain adhered.
So, don’t forget that flag’s history;
but remember its legendary praxis.
I know this is hard and some promises are hard to keep we said goodbye I watched as you wept. From this time forward please be strong this darkness wont last long our boat will make it through the worst of this weather. If you find yourself lost and unable to carry on just remember the words to our song and know that one day I'll return to you. Until then remember my embrace the way my hands caressed your face I love you always until then.
Who is my reader? My reader is my guest
In the secret of his corner of host
He welcomes me as an instructor or tractor
In the sector of her golden mind
She listens to me as minister or tax collector
Who is my reader? My reader is my leader
My reader is my adviser, my redeemer
Transports me from writer to author, messenger
Elevates me from speaker to preacher, immortal
Promotes me from player to director, instructor
My reader is my uncle, my reader is my anchor
In the dark street of his solitude, altitude
He accepts me as nephew or follower
In the cold corner of his addiction, condition
He sings along with me as inmate or soul-mate
Fight me with ,his muscles brown, wrestler
Read me with her avid eyes full of tears, lawyer
Who is my reader? My reader is my listener
In his mental imagery, he scans me between lines
He portrays me as storyteller or fortuneteller
Scrutinizes me between my words, inspector
Who is my reader? my reader is my provocateur
Who is my reader? My reader is my challenger
My reader is my mother,my reader , my mentor
my reader may be a writer,my reader is my printer