Grave Prose Poetry Poems

Jubilant soul hopes above firmament
vibrant faith soars midst trials
radiant heart reverberates
melody of hymns, serenely triumphant
to silence chaotic angst
while exalting God Who makes life wondrous
as love-conquered...

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Mr tambourine man played a song for me 
Why does Mr musician play a song for you ?
I'm crazy 
Crazy people need a tamboriner .

I...

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O Will you be ready when the last trumpet blows?
Could the USA's 47th President's second terms'
Of office be, in realty, the last trumpet to sound?
Before...

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When I am no longer in this world

if you remember me, pray, don't cry...

I am no longer here...

I am not in the grave, I do...

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* My take on the theme of my contest. Just for fun. 

A canopy of silvery stars speckle the ebon expanse above me, at once...

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All on a sudden getting awake in the morning, I got stunned seeing, the whole earth had become a great graveyard. Each house was, as...

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You say, Love is nearest God!
Then I say Faith is as necessary,
only able to know God by such
warmth of ignorance – by such
blessed sense of...

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In Canada, the First Indigenous Communities sadly watched as the ground 
penetrating high-tech equipment searched and found the unmarked graves
of residential school children. These children...

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I kiss this cigarette and it's killing me
But I admire the beauty of its smoke
Like flying into space without a helmet
O hands tickle core and...

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The forest was usually clean of dangers, but today was different.
White stag sensed a new evil in the oaks to the east. He ran to...

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Even the ghosts have faded now,
splashes of gray like shadows
in a child's diorama.
They slip in and out of mortared cracks 
in my mind,
seeking a validation
I...

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I think form in poetry
(in all sorts of writing) 
is akin to math: without meaning
until we are talking the likes of
apples and oranges; buildings
and their...

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The grave is outgrown,

replaced by pastel pink -

changing rooms and hearty laughter;

Her eyes gleaming -

w/ joyful abandon,

w/ towel in hand, She sweeps back

Her slick, golden...

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crawling back -

into their tomb,

pulling close

--- for a second time ---

their moldering grave clothes,

mere Western money-grubbers

play dice w/ a world

not theirs to put at risk....

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Will you come?

Will you come?
To quest,
Knock my door
Come and play the flute 
Unforgettable memories,
And forgiven melancholic throb
Now shrouded in mist.

Those nights, all perfumed in lavender...

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