Best Deceased Poems
Among the market greens,
a bullet
from the ocean
depths,
...
MOTLEY I count the only wear
That suits, in this mixed world, the truly wise,
Who boldly smile upon despair
And shake their bells in Grandam Grundy's eyes.
...
When I die
I don't care what happens to my body
throw ashes in the air, scatter 'em in East River
bury an urn in Elizabeth New Jersey, B'nai Israel Cemetery
...
When the 'arf-made recruity goes out to the East
'E acts like a babe an' 'e drinks like a beast,
An' 'e wonders because 'e is frequent deceased
Ere 'e's fit for to serve as a soldier.
...
METHOUGHT I saw my late espoused Saint
Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave,
Whom Joves great Son to her glad Husband gave,
Rescu'd from death by force though pale and faint.
...
AFRICA
I will sing you a song of Los. the Eternal Prophet:
He sung it to four harps at the tables of Eternity.
...
I guess it was my aunty's fault
That before I was six years old
It were my looks that made me happy
She just never stopped praising me
...
Primitive
I ate my fill of a whale that died
And stranded after a month at sea. . . .
...
The black snow runs down from the rooftops;
A red finger dips into your brow;
Blue snow flakes sink into the empty room,
They are a lovers’ dying mirrors.
...
The Last Winter Storm
Every year, at the scheduled arrival of March,
Mother Nature became seasonally enraged,
...
Vicisti, Galilæe
I have lived long enough, having seen one thing, that love hath an end;
Goddess and maiden and queen, be near me now and befriend.
Thou art more than the day or the morrow, the seasons that laugh or that weep;
...
I lay here on this grassy hill
Looking up at the sky
There's a cloud shaped as a daffodil
And a spotted hound up high.
...
I.
That idol, black eyes and yellow mop, without parents or court,
nobler than Mexican and Flemish fables;
...
XIV
When Faith and Love which parted from thee never,
Had ripen'd thy just soul to dwell with God,
...
There can be certain potions
needled in the clock
for the body’s fall from grace,
to untorture and to plead for.
...
There was a certain gentleman, Ben Apfelgarten called,
Who lived way off in Germany a many years ago,
And he was very fortunate in being very bald
And so was very happy he was so.
...
You that do search for every purling spring
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;
...
Written by a deceased friend.
NOT for the promise of the labour'd field,
Not for the good the yellow harvests yield,
...
When Reuben Pantier ran away and threw me
I went to Springfield. There I met a lush,
Whose father just deceased left him a fortune.
He married me when drunk. My life was wretched.
...
In the wake of the corona virus pandemic that looms round the world
transporting many to doomsday's waiting room
leaving the diseased deceased's bereaved in gloom
I send my prayers to all affected and afflicted.
...
-Darkness
6 years struggling in the abyss of darkness.
Sleepless night laying down on the bed middle in the ocean.
Surrounding by walls, that might look like my own fortress.
...
I remember that dreadful morning,
Waking to the beast,
Time had stopped, the news reckless
A beautiful boy amazing but deceased
...
Time is a wonderful thief who steals everything from us?
Shining spring comes through the fallen leaves
And the willy-nilly flowers bloom merrily.
Famous birds sing and the deep rivers flow quietly.
...
When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never,
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God,
Meekly thou didst resign this earthly load
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever.
...
Sky, a cold steel blue, patchy dark grey clouds,
the part sunny day, holds no happy smiles.
Unseen go warming sun, the joyful faces;
sadness rules this now discontented soul.
...
Smell of corpse
Half burnt and undisposed
Dead and deceased
Ashes strewn all over
...
Now it is not good for the Christian's health to hustle the Aryan
brown,
For the Christian riles, and the Aryan smiles, and he weareth the
Christian down;
...
A worthy Matron of unspotted life,
A loving Mother and obedient wife,
A friendly Neighbor, pitiful to poor,
...
Who am I to say to you
what I say to you?
I was not a stone polished by water
and became a face
nor was I a cane punctured by the wind
and became a flute...
I am a dice player,
...
By duty bound, and not by custome led
To celebrate the praises of the dead,
My mournfull mind, sore prest, in trembling verse
...
A thing 'at's 'bout as tryin' as a healthy man kin meet
Is some poor feller's funeral a-joggin' 'long the street:
...
Father today I come to you with a heavy heart, a heart that is saddened and crying out for your help. Father this week a family is in great pain, for they have lost a loved one in such a brutal way. A hard working woman of 40 years old, walking home from work, minding her own business, but she didn’t make it Lord. No my Father, she didn’t make it, she was followed, beaten, raped and murdered. A mother of 5 sons, working hard to save money to send to the Philipines for her sons and husband to come to Canada to live a better life. Oh Father, now she ‘s not here any longer, taken by a ruthless, heartless killer.
I’m told Father that I should pray for this killer, forgive me my King, this I can not do. Maybe another time perhaps, another day when I can think clearly. Today I focus my prayers on the deceased woman and her precious family.
The pain will be heavy and hard to deal with but with your help Father anything is possible. Please Lord put the blood of Jesus over them and give them the strength they need to move forward. Father over these next few days and weeks, their eyes will fill with tears, their minds filled with questions asking why did this happen. Only you can pull them through Lord, only you have the answers, only you can soothe them and give them your heavenly love.
Father the perpetrator beat this poor lady so bad, that the family couldn’t indentify her so it would definitely appear that she suffered tremendously. Father I want to believe that you took her to be with you long before the brutal blows were landed, that she was already sitting by your side.
...
[In Memoriam of Islamabad Tragedy]
In a typeset that just shrieked “40”
there were other boring stats about
...
And live I still to see Relations gone,
And yet survive to sound this wailing tone;
Ah, woe is me, to write thy Funeral Song
...
The wheel-cart idly rolls laden with golden straw
—the late-noon sunshine fades
The birds: black, blue and brown—flap their wings
in the cellar of the corn field
...
Screeching tires
Halting onlookers
Camaraderie
Is dubious
...
If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl Death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shalt by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceased lover,
...
Like a withdrawing Lilly
Devoid of its substantial charm
I recoil into the asylum
Of an imposed isolation
...
I don't want to wait until I'm dead
to tell people I love them.
Don't want to be deceased
...
BE frank with me, and I accept my lot;
But deal not with me as a grieving child,
Who for the loss of that which he hath not
...
His Remedy for Love
Since to obtain thee nothing will be stead,
I have a med'cine that shall cure my love,
...
The polka is a Central European dance and also a genre of dance music familiar throughout Europe and the Americas. It originated in the middle of the 19th century in Bohemia. Polka is still a popular genre of folk music in many European countries and is performed by folk artists in Poland, Latvia, Lithuania, Czech Republic, Netherlands, Croatia, Slovenia, Germany, Hungary, Austria, Switzerland, Italy, Ukraine, Belarus, Russia and Slovakia. Local varieties of this dance are also found in the Nordic countries, United Kingdom, Republic of Ireland, Latin America (especially Mexico) , and in the United States.
Month of February finishes
And March comes
...
As I sit with peace the sun is out
Very few people walking about
The trees to the music of the wind are blowing
The birds are singing, the crows are crowing
...
“The only happiness is solitude.”
Schopenhauer
...
Do not follow me into the chambers
Of my highly guarded silence
And evoke the desire to hum
The sad tunes of a forgotten song
...
Oft we embrace our ills by discontent,
And give them bulk beyond what nature meant.
A parent, brother, friend deceased, to cry--
...
'Twas in the year of 1888, and on the 19th of November,
Which the friends of the late Ex-Provost Rough will long remember,
Because 'twas on the 19th of November his soul took its flight
To the happy land above, the land of pure delight.
...
'Twas in the year of 1888 and on the 17th of January
That the late Rev. Dr. Wilson's soul fled away;
The generous-hearted Dr. had been ailing for some time,
But death, with his dart, did pierce the heart of the learned divine.
...
Alas! the people now do sigh and moan
For the loss of Wm. Ewart Gladstone,
Who was a very great politician and a moral man,
And to gainsay it there's few people can.
...
Rosy mirror: an ugly image
That appears in the black background,
Blood weeps from broken eyes
Blaspheming plays with dead snakes.
...
The song of the spring rain is dark in the night,
Under the clouds the showers of rosy pear blossoms
Trickery of the heart, chant and insanity of the night.
Fiery angels who step from deceased eyes.
...
The stillness of the deceased loves the old garden,
The madwoman who dwelled in blue rooms,
In the evening the still shape appears in the window
She, however, closes the yellowed curtain -
...
Father, Don’t Let Me Forget You, Ever … Please!
This Prayer, Comes To You, On My Heart’s Knees
With Utmost-Soul, Consciousness Pleas
Should I Forget … May My Own Throat Squeeze! …
...
Sister once of weeds & a dark water that held still
In ditches reflecting the odd,
Abstaining clouds that passed, & kept
...
Silently shrill
a scary chill
has run down the spine
of our blue planet windmill
...
There was a strife 'twixt man and maid--
Oh, that was at the birth of time!
But what befell 'twixt man and maid,
Oh, that's beyond the grip of rhyme.
...
I might be Jim Morrison’s
Killer on the road,
A derelict you’d like to forget,
But don’t look into my eyes,
...
I Her sons pursue the butterflies,
Her baby daughter mocks the doves
With throbbing coo; in his fond eyes
...
It's a mystery to see me--a man o' fifty-four,
Who's lived a cross old bachelor fer thirty year' and more--
...
Those rotten volumes of eulogies and odes
With a stink far worse than of toilets rank
Causing earth to split, which Providence forebode
Causing company of angels to blush in the heavens
...
O, lest the world should task you to recite
What merit lived in me, that you should love
After my death, dear love, forget me quite,
For you in me can nothing worthy prove;
...
Alas! the people's hearts are now full of sorrow
For the deceased Professor Blackie, of Edinboro';
Because he was a Christian man, affable and kind,
And his equal in charitable actions would be hard to find
...
There was deep sorrow in his eyes
He looked at me and said
-We tried it all; I speak no lies
The baby was born dead
...
The poet awakens,
As sceptics depart in an hour,
As the light fade on the tomb;
In the quirky stage of isolation
...
Kaum ist's vorbei mit dem Trara,
So ist der Wühler wieder da.
When all is quiet, as before,
...
You that do search for every purling spring,
Which from the ribs of old Parnassus flows,
And every flower, not sweet perhaps, which grows
Near thereabouts, into your poesy wring;
...
first the death notice
and then comes the funeral
Charisma's present
as the deceased can draw tears
...
A -BRI'S INTRODUCTORY POEM:
It's mid-September and the pressure is mounting,
‘cause I KNOW, on me, Bri, you ALL are still counting to place joy, nay, rapture amidst your dull drudgery,
...
Ill busi'd man! why should'st thou take such care
To lengthen out thy life's short calendar?
When ev'ry spectacle thou lookst upon
...
I saw a war, yet none the trumpet blew,
Nor in their hands the steel-wrought weapons bare;
And in that conflict armed there fought but few,
...
That blessings lost, though hard to bear,
Are light when weighed with carking care, -
Some ill whose ever-goading spite
...
I can stretch my heart
like taffy dough
and try to reach yours by extension.
but will have in the stretching it will become
...
The river is no more,
No flood, no splash, no roar;
A solitary portion, a king missing his throne
Kowtows to bemoan the hard fate that left him forlorn.
...
someone is dressing up for death today, a change of skirt or tie
eating a final feast of buttered sliced pan, tea
scarcely having noticed the erection that was his last
shaving his face to marble for the icy laying out
...
There lived an old man named Brett-
Doctor’s delight and hospital’s pet.
He got convinced;
It’s better to be deceased,
...
Many years ago, after a hard day at work
and not getting much sleep the night before
because of kidney stone pains in my back,
I found myself standing in line to view
...
The wan light of a stormy dawn
Gleamed on a tossing ship:
It was the In Memoriam
Upon a mourning trip.
...
You shot me with those frozen bullet eyes
which at first ice-berged the center of my soul
but I didn't die.
...
When I heard the terrible news, that Myris was dead,
I went to his house, although I avoid
going to the houses of Christians,
especially during times of mourning or festivity.
I stood in the corridor. I didn't want
to go further inside because I noticed
that the relatives of the deceased looked at me
with obvious surprise and displeasure.
...
[1 is missing]
2
Dark interpretation of the water: forehead in the mouth of the night,
...
It was a Cemetery of Hearts
laid out in neat rectangular squares
tombstone engravings of individual stories;
of loves lost and betrayed,
...
She collected the deceased from the mortuary
She washed the body down seeing the body peacefully free
Then she dressed the body in what 'The family' had chose
Now dressed so bright, holding a RED rose
...
Wanton play of politics
(What a pity! What a shame!)
People are dying day by day,
...
Now through Alcides' pass and Tempe's groves
Pompeius, aiming for Haemonian glens
And forests lone, urged on his wearied steed
...
In deepest dream towards Rosemonde's palace
My barefoot brain inclined for the evening
Like a naked king the walls are waking
Beaten flesh and fresh-cut roses
...
I am a scribbler a far relative to Apes,
And sorry for this unsolicited letter.
I'll be free at weekends most probably
And voluntarily willing to stay in one of your vacant cages
...
Time hast gone with it all jiffy marks of life.
A dead self of anabolism deceased and decayed reclaims not the warmth of living.
Fleeting mind, restless mind over the fretting
Sense of makeshift dream and stupefied.
...
Pressed flower in a book
The Easter corsage that
My deceased fiance' bought me,
And tenderly pinned on my blouse.
...
When I hear an obituary announcement
Over the Public Address Equipment,
I no more feel keen to know who passed away;
I just accept that it must be one of us
...
GOOD MORNING ON THIS JUNE 1,2019 at 7: 35 am in the morning Dutch Time
The same as West-European Time.
Please, take a bit time to read this Ordinary News for SPECIAL PEOPLE AROUND THE WORLD.
...
Ba(ar) ck in Hamtramck, which a city surrounded by Detroit,
(Detroit was the place the Nation of Islam was formed) ,
I was perusing my sister’s books;
Pat was an avid reader,
...
ARGUMENT.
Conlath was the youngest of Morni's sons, and brother to the celebrated Gaul. He was in love with Cuthona, the daughter of Rumar, when Toscar, the son of Kenfena, accompanied by Fercuth his friend, arrived from Ireland, at Mora, where Conlath dwelt. He was hospitably received, and according to the custom of the times, feasted three days with Conlath. On the fourth he set sail, and coasting the island of waves, one of the Hebrides, be saw Cuthona hunting, fell in love with her, and carried her away, by force, in his ship. He was forced, by stress of weather, into I-thona, a desert isle. In the mean time Conlath hearing of the rape, sailed after him, and found him on the point of sailing for the coast of Ireland. They fought: and they and their followers fell by mutual wounds. Cuthona did not long survive: for she died of grief the third day after. Fingal hearing of their unfortunate death, sent Stormal the son of Moran to bury them, but forgot to send a bard to sing the funeral song over their tombs. The ghost of Conlath comes long after to Ossian, to entreat him to transmit to posterity, his and Cuthona's fame. For it was the opinion of the times, that the souls of the deceased were not happy, till their elegies were composed by a bard.
...
In Bethel he had seen the gate of heaven,
and by the sight had truly been beguiled:
the patriarch returned there with eleven
young sons, plus Rachel, who was big with child.
...
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5/2/2025 6:42:20 AM # 1.0.0
