Short Churchyard Poems
Short Churchyard Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Churchyard by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Churchyard by length and keyword.
a nun once had a hare-raising habit
chasing around the churchyard rabbits
she'd grab their tails of cotton
twisting until off they popped
and was never cured of the habit
crystal flakes twinkle
through autumn's bare canopy...
leaves sparkling in the dark
yellow the tree's hues
painting attic of churchyard...
like fall's innocence
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Skat's Autumn Haiku
10/23/2015
Cold fingers of mist draw ground ghosts
over churchyard graves.
It's a pretty scene and the underlay
of shallow bones
adds a musky flavone of finality
that seeps
from the green mounds.
A Pitbull on a leash
tugs at a pale hand
eager to dig and chew,
as if he knew.
Shall find some space upon this yard
It is just a matter of days,
The inmates here will give no room
For they are stubborn in their ways.
Fit in here is a task I must
Though I have not the faintest clue,
Of how on earth could that be done
But do know I am stubborn too.
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Rivulets of crimson blood
Ooze tantalisingly from the gaping wound on her neck
He drinks hungrily, savouring every salty drop
Dracula wraps his black cape around his shoulders
Fleeing in the moonlight to his crypt in the churchyard.
07~25~16
Crimson Contest Sponsored by Royal Ninja
I dreamed I saw the grave of Ernest Dowson
Bleakly set
In some forgotten churchyard corner,
Lone and wet.
The spectral London fog descended cold on
Sentry grass
Where seldom any visitors or pilgrims
Deign to pass.
And in my reverie I bravely scattered
Roses there,
And felt a frail and wispy “Thank you”
Warm the air.
Crystal dewdrop jewels pendent from leafless Hawthorne
over snowdrop pearls and early golden buds of daffodil.
A blackbird upon Sparrow, Peggy Gladys does adorn,
while morning light accentuates the name of Mitchell, Bill.
I look behind, my footsteps in the dew a path have worn,
past Throwers by the row, as well as Bunting, Jane. Stowe, Daniel.
The moonlight casts feint ghostly shadows
In the graveyard of All Hallows.
The clock strikes twelve high in the tower
And by the headstone stands a flower –
It’s Nature’s tribute and a sign :
These shades of John and Caroline
Who haunt this moonlit churchyard now,
Still faithful to their marriage vow,
Walk hand in hand eternally,
Forgotten by their family.
eerie uncanny
empty churchyard sinister
Owl hoots tu-whooo
November 4, 2022
Brian Strand's Haiku, Tanka, Footle Contest
Bitesize Poem 55 Poetry Contest
Sponsor: Line Gauthier
Sorcerer wearies of casting
Spells that nobody can feel,
Ghouls are impatient with fasting,
Death-knells no longer will peal.
Churchyard is grown up with wild weeds,
Marble tombs settle and crack,
Will-o-wisp dies in the marsh reeds,
Leprechauns never come back.
Vampires without an oasis,
Banshees with nothing to moan,
Ghosts who can’t find where their place is,
Skeletons, grave-less, alone.
Form:
Sorcerer wearies of casting
Spells that nobody can feel,
Ghouls are impatient with fasting,
Death-knells no longer will peal.
Churchyard is grown up with wild weeds,
Marble tombs settle and crack,
Will-o-wisp dies in the marsh reeds,
Leprechauns never come back.
Vampires without an oasis,
Banshees with nothing to moan,
Ghosts who can’t find where their place is,
Skeletons, grave-less, alone.
Fresh flakes come pirouetting down
To softly lie below
And cloak the peaceful churchyard in
A crystal bed of snow.
Young choristers in unison
Raise voices to proclaim
The dawning of redeeming grace
And glory of His name.
And once again this Christmas time
The Saviour’s love imparts
An everlasting gift of peace
To humble, contrite hearts.
01.12.19
F T I SPECIAL for advent : Brian Strand
something that was promised
in quiet moments when
night creeps on
toward its soft dawn bed
I wonder
why we agreed
so long ago
at this time to meet
who were we then before
blithe spirits silted
from our mortal coils
to lay in unknown churchyard
or battle field
what was our reincarnate pledge
as sudden as a lightning strike
some where beneath my ribs
you came to me all swirling words
and I knew you
The tombstones in the old churchyard
Stood as sentinels to the past
But eternity is not theirs to guard
To time itself their memory is cast
As the morning wraps itself in a mist
A raven perches on a sentinel
Its caws echoing in the midst
To the toll of a distant bell
As rain begins to fall
The distant bell continues to toll
Those guardians still stand tall
As if to watch over the departed souls
Seven beautiful lines contest,
Sponsor Constance La France
Posted 21/3/25
Through the auld Kirk gate in the churchyard wall
The rough green field where my ancestors lie
Woodbine and ivy around the graves sprawl
With Rosemary and rue growing nearby
Where wild rabbits mutter when screech owls cry
Safe in the shadow of granite tombstones
A jewel I loved, my grandmother’s bones
Teenage boys smoke marijuana in their Backyard,
The Priests make the smoke from incense grace the churchyard.
Harlots woo their clients like lovers,
Preachers spread God’s word in street corners.
Cops battle gangsters and fraudsters,
Angels battle demons and monsters.
A Pastor is on the Pulpit serving God’s Meal,
A Rapper is on stage keeping it real.
The D.J feels the club with Jive,
The Choir Hymns make the Temple come Alive.
Old souls once loved and grieved
long forgotten all they achieved.
Laid to rest in an old churchyard
With a solitary tree standing guard.
Eternally sleeping peaceful and shaded
names they once had, long since faded
Memories entombed behind a dry stone wall,
with the soothing chirrup of a sparrows call.
Overgrown grass, dead flowers rot
as these old souls are long forgot.
Now distant echoes of another time
Slowly disappearing as weeds entwine
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Love knows-
no division,
an open decision,
adversity matters-
not, love seizes the-
opportunity. God's-
heart, an open-
playground.
The world ... His-
grand churchyard.
Empowered are those-
who know this, remain-
willing, live to show this-
be honest with themselves.
They know, peace is not fleeting.
In the offering love is abounding.
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