Short Wake The Dead Poems

If one Mourn'

If one Mourn' should I wake up dead,
        Bring feather quilted, 
          for to lay my head....

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getting to that age
where I just may
wake up dead

version 2:

getting to that age
where I just may
wake up death...

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beware halloween don't wake up dead
down deep in a cold dark earthly bed
don't turn your back to the night
there are things that claw and bite
no one heard her scream is all they said...

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The greatest invention since sliced bread
We've invented many things as onward we tread
Like flush toilets
And shoe eyelets
Meatballs with mashers hope I don't wake up dead...

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When you hear such words…
It’s like if you were told,
I don’t love you for who you are, change it.

And then you wake up dead,
spitting blood on somebody else’s words
as the reality licks off your pulse from the knife.

Choke....

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Wear a wristwatch, for you may die in your sleep,
a timepiece, one with an alarm you can set.
Best not to wake up dead still locked into that last dream,
for sleep is just death pretending to be coy.
Try to dream of being at least partially alive,
aware enough to double-check.
          if death is asleep or not....

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One grave thing I truly dread - 
Some day I will wake up dead. 
Dont cry, darling, let it slide, 
Once upon a time lived I.
After all death is a fact, 
Born from birth as a life pact. 
My faint fancy from above - 
I still make you laugh, my love! 
One more thing I fear to face - 
You and I - in the dark place. 

February 6, 2023...

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Little kids who go to bed
Very often wake up dead
Around their necks the blankets wrap;
While they sleep, their necks go, "Snap!"

Wake up choking in the night
Find the blankets tied on tight
Yank and pull the awful noose
Die because you can’t get loose.








From the ongoing series Lucifera's Questionable Daycare Poems & Stories....

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Shapes in my dreams
They follow where I go
I come apart at the seams
Running and screaming, “no”
No place to hide
Sweat stuck to my sheets
A bad carnival ride
And demons to meet
Pain comes like a knife so sharp
Piercing through with dread
Waiting for angelic harps
Before I wake up dead
My life a nightmare, no escape
Don’t let this sickness be my fate....

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The demons scream inside my head
Trying to wake the dead,
But the dead cannot hear
For they have eyes, but no ears.

Their voices vibrate in the air
Blending to become a nightmare,
A nightmare of dark desires
That flare up, like a fire.

Scream,scream,scream,scream,scream,
I wish this was all just a bad dream,
The echoes pound in my head
And I'm afraid they might wake the dead....

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SPOOOOKEEEE

Lost in the woods
On All Saints Night
Chill in my blood
Moon’s a fright

Its ring around
Is red as hell
And distantly
The doomsday bells

Eerie bongs
Tis truly said
One short    two long
Will wake the dead

Hark those strains
The dies irae
Tell of pains
On judgment day

Oh where to go?
At last I fear
The rooster crow
No more I’ll hear

Dave Austin...

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I didn’t wake up dead this morning,
my back is no worse than yesterday.
A few customary moans and groans
as I reach the breakfast table.
My spouse is as cheerful as ever,
she hops around like a song sparrow
while I glower.
A cup of dark Columbian
I have to admit that those ordinary miracles
Ordinary miracles are on their job
and I am thusly blessed to be
Gods special little guy....

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An early morning run across a misty lake
comes in, fades out of view with every stroke I take.
With pace that ebbs and flows from tunes within my head,
I hope the rhythmic rowing will not wake the dead.
I try to focus on the things that Austin taught,
but mostly, in the moment, I’m enraptured, caught
up in this misty morning ‘cross unknown expanse;
time and distance slip away in other-wordly trance…...

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I didn’t wake up dead this morning,
my backs no worse than yesterday.
A few customary moans and groans
as I reach the breakfast table.
My spouse is as cheerful as ever,
she hops around like a song sparrow
while I glower silently.
After a cup of dark Columbian
I have to admit that the day
might turn out okay.
Ordinary miracles are on their job,
and I am thusly blessed to be
Gods special little guy....

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Now I lay me down to sleep
With tired back
And achy feet.

Today I've been to Hell and back
And still can't seem to hit the sack.

Problems, problems in my head
Heart pounds loud enough 
To wake the dead.

House is silent as a tomb
All around is doom and gloom.

Feel so alone at this late hour
Oh God, if it be within your power
Please let me sleep for one good hour.


Josette Davis Key          2014...

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Oozing greens, 
Dressed-up teens,
Headless people, there are few,
Witches on broomsticks, what are you?
  
Knock on the door,
Candy galore!
Every kind,
And then some more! 

You might wake the dead, 
They might steal your head,
Fodders, Ghouls, Goblins, and Ghosts,
Mess with them and you'll be toast!

Get to bed,
Before the dead,
Stay inside,
where you can hide,

And don't be seen,
On Halloween......

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Back pain, ankle strain, brain drain 
Wake up dead no pain, no strain 
Positive thinking eyes are blinking
Sun moon and stars red rosy mars 

Negative thinking my feet are stinking
Just want this day to slip away 
Friends and family gather round 
Sun is shining on the ground 

Beach and ball memories for all
Children playing always hurrahing
Peace and prosper only proper
Best is yet to come before I’m done...

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They danced in circles spinning round,
And moved so fast they seemed to fly,
Their feet could hardly touch the ground.
As folk collapsed I thought they’d die;
But others kept on whirling by.

I thought they’d dance throughout the night,
Their faces painted, dressed in white.
The chants and cries could wake the dead.
A whir of people - what a sight !
And then they stopped. ‘I flew,’ one said.

Jack Horne for Nette’s Let’s Dance contest...

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I young,bearly talk.
Exploded head laying in my bed.
Worst sounds turns into the best.
Like listening to a heart beat in somebodies chest.
The rest of her life rest upon my hands and melts like snow.
Oh so cold.I cant feel my nose as my chin hits the floor.

I cant let go.
I lay her body down and watch her wings grow.
Stearing at her soul sore into the white smoke.
I try to hold on but these hands cant feel,these hands cant hold on.
To a man thats real....

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Silent is the night
as the demon awakes 
from his restless  sleep
cursed of love and ridiculed of hate
he crawls on the floor of the earth
weeping the sorrows of the lost souls
choking back the tears that don't fall
with the screams of salvation from the innocent 
its his beauty they don't call
the meek will inherit the grounds we walk
by turning the other face to face
as he howls to wake the dead
and march on our tormentors
and their very lost souls ...

Brooke Dylan...

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