To grieve is something extremely difficult, we don't even know how to begin to grieve, and I don't know how you can be taught to grieve.
quote by Charlotte Rampling
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ain't Gonna Grieve
by Bob Dylan
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Come on brother, join the band,
Come on sisters, clap your hands,
Tell everybody that's in the land,
You ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Brown and blue and white and black,
All one color on the one-way track,
We got this far and ain't a-goin' back
And ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
We're gonna notify your next of kin,
You're gonna raise the roof until the house falls in.
If you get knocked down get up again,
We ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
We'll sing this song all night long,
Sing it to my baby from midnight on.
She'll sing it to you when I'm dead and gone,
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more.
Well, I ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
Ain't a-gonna grieve no more, no more
I ain't a-gonna grieve no more
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Should Die
If I should die
and you should grieve
my soul would weep
I do believe.
And knowing this
is hard to bear.
For leaving you
there is no where
to cover gloom.
But in your heart
there still is room
for memories
of how we were.
So please, my love
I ask of you
'Do not grieve
for we're not through.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The dead in heaven is too happy to grieve for indignities to his corpse; the dead in hell has too much else to grieve for.
Grieve Not
grieve not
for what God has taken away
from you
grieve not
for what you will miss for another
hundred days
God knows each missing lock of
the hair
and for love God replaces what was
missing
with a thousand loves
For how can God ever
see a tear falling from your eyes
without giving it
a replacement of a rain of joy
sometime
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Farewell
GOOD-BY: nay, do not grieve that it is over—
The perfect hour;
That the winged joy, sweet honey-loving rover,
Flits from the flower.
Grieve not,—it is the law. Love will be flying—
Yea, love and all.
Glad was the living; blessed be the dying!
Let the leaves fall.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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C'mon C'mon
On another day c'mon c'mon
With these ropes I tied can we do no wrong
Now we grieve cause now is gone
Things were good when we were young
With my teeth locked down I can see the blood
Of a thousand men who have come and gone
Now we grieve cause now is gone
Things were good when we were young
Is it safe to say? (c'mon c'mon)
Was it right to leave? (c'mon c'mon)
Will I ever learn? (c'mon c'mon)
(c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon)
As I make my way c'mon c'mon
These better nights that seem too long
Now we grieve cause now is gone
Things were good when we were young
With my teeth locked down I can see the blood
Of a thousand men who have come and gone
Now we grieve cause now is gone
Things were good when we were young
Is it safe to say? (c'mon c'mon)
Was it right to leave? (c'mon c'mon)
Will I never learn? (c'mon c'mon)
(c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon)
Is it safe to say? (c'mon c'mon)
Was it right to leave? (c'mon c'mon)
Will I never learn? (c'mon c'mon)
(c'mon c'mon c'mon c'mon)
And know this day these deepened wounds don't heal so fast
Can't hear me croon of a million lies that speak no truth
Of a time gone by that now is through
song performed by by Von Blondies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grief makes the beloved proud.
You were taken off my embrace.
I grieve and deeply grieve on your loss.
In grief, I experience solace.
It soothes me like your grace.
How proud you can be to notice!
As you are alive, taken of me,
I shall let you know this.
The dead are grieved over by survivors.
The dead have no recourse to surmise.
But you can. A gift to you, my beloved.
05.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Everything Is Exactly Inexact
at the end you weigh me again
i lack some points on the scale
a shortage of what you put in there
from the very start, i grieve
but it is late, i try to justify that
everything when they end
is exactly inexact by reason
of some unexplained feelings
and overspent emotions, yet
you are not convinced and you
shake your head and you said
'next! '
i grieve yet it is too late, at the
end there shall be no more
forgiveness that i once had
on this place of this earth
regret always comes late.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Pass On
You grieve
for burst body
wilted will
soon rot
forgotten beneath
broken ground?
Do you grieve
for fossil fingernails?
You discarded
flush forgotten
down tidal toilet
after manicure trimming.
Yet once filed painted
with meticulous care.
Do you grieve
for fame styled
fresh cut hair?
Was streaked
washed dried
in salon sequence.
With trendy celebrity
professional tender care.
Before being shaped
trimmed in fashionable style.
Residue now lies
scattered shorn forgotten
guillotined to be swept up
disposed of as shed waste.
Yet you grieve
for carcass carrion
spent in purpose
of hostage housing
an immortal soul.
Central core cannot die.
All must needs
pass on.
To rudiment
regenerated.
Greater housing.
New spiritual embodiment.
Graduating this life
continuous purification
of an immortal soul.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Wife A-Lost
1 Since I noo mwore do zee your fe{'a}ce,
Up ste{'a}rs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{'a}ce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.
Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippèn wet;
Below the ra{'i}n-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.
Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your va{'i}ce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.
Since I do miss your va{'i}ce an' fe{'a}ce
In pra{'y}er at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad va{'i}ce vor gre{'a}ce
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-w{'a}itèn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.
poem by William Barnes
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We Grieve And Go On
WE GRIEVE AND GO ON
We grieve and go on
Life takes us to somewhere else-
We don’t know who we are
We go on.
Loss is real-
But life more often more real-
When you and I die
There will still be the sky.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Wife A-Lost, The
Since I noo mwore do zee your fe{"a}ce,
Up ste{"a}rs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome ple{"a}ce,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.
Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippèn wet;
Below the ra{"i}n-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.
Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your va{"i}ce do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.
Since I do miss your va{"i}ce an' fe{"a}ce
In pra{"y}er at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad va{"i}ce vor gre{"a}ce
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-w{"a}itèn vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.
poem by William Barnes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Carlo, Do Not Grieve
do not grieve
over a woman
she is just a flower
and like a flower
it will not take
a longer time
she wilts and then
you will be free?
shall you be free
when that flower wilts?
can't you be at least
a busy bee?
she is not the only flower
in this garden
there are so many more
don't grieve my friend
be a man
man is reason.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Shadowed Life
Winter nights & summer days
A frozen meadow with shallow graves
I sit and grieve on this leather weave
For the great love that once was
We rise and fall like the path of the sun
Six feet up to six feet down
We observe our demise with great surprise
Gone when the sun’s in the west
If we accept death as a better place
And pleasantly live our lives
If in death we move closer to the light
Then why is death a world of shadow
Whether were in a concrete jungle
Or a tree-top city
Life always has an end
And death has no pity
So as I sit and grieve on this leather weave
For all of those who have passed
In a blink I begin to think
That life goes by so fast.
poem by Logan Fulk
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The Wife A-Lost
Since I noo mwore do zee your feace,
Up steairs or down below,
I'll zit me in the lwonesome pleace,
Where flat-bough'd beech do grow;
Below the beeches' bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't look to meet ye now,
As I do look at hwome.
Since you noo mwore be at my zide,
In walks in zummer het,
I'll goo alwone where mist do ride,
Drough trees a-drippen wet;
Below the rain-wet bough, my love,
Where you did never come,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I do grieve at hwome.
Since now bezide my dinner-bwoard
Your vaice do never sound,
I'll eat the bit I can avword,
A-vield upon the ground;
Below the darksome bough, my love,
Where you did never dine,
An' I don't grieve to miss ye now,
As I at hwome do pine.
Since I do miss your vaice an' feace
In prayer at eventide,
I'll pray wi' woone sad vaice vor greace
To goo where you do bide;
Above the tree an' bough, my love,
Where you be gone avore,
An' be a-waiten vor me now,
To come vor evermwore.
poem by Ingeborg Bachmann
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Grieve Not
Grieve not for me that I, have stepped outside the pale.
Man's death is not a void, a thick congeal of night.
The ground whereon I stand, is just beyond the veil;
A firmament of soul, illumined by the Light.
Grieve not for me that, I transcend this human dream,
For I ascend above, the tumult, din and blare.
Come visit my gravesite, as often as you deem,
You'll visit my remains, but I will be elsewhere.
Death is disunion, a spiritual flight, of soul from sense.
(An Alexandrine)
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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I Grieve
It was only one hour ago
It was all so different then
Theres nothing yet has really sunk in
Looks like it always did
This flesh and bone
Its just the way that you would tied in
Now theres no-one home
I grieve for you
You leave me
so hard to move on
Still loving whats gone
They say life carries on
Carries on and on and on and on
The news that truly shocks is the empty empty page
While the final rattle rocks its empty empty cage
And I cant handle this
I grieve for you
You leave me
Let it out and move on
Missing whats gone
They say life carries on
They say life carries on and on and on
Life carries on
In the people I meet
In everyone thats out on the street
In all the dogs and cats
In the flies and rats
In the rot and the rust
In the ashes and the dust
Life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Its just the car that we ride in
A home we reside in
The face that we hide in
The way we are tied in
And life carries on and on and on and on
Life carries on and on and on
Did I dream this belief?
Or did I believe this dream?
Now I can find relief
I grieve
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Agnostic
The chapel looms against the sky,
Above the vine-clad shelves,
And as the peasants pass it by
They cross themselves.
But I alone, I grieve to state,
Lack sentiment divine:
A citified sophisticate,
I make no sign.
Their gesture may a habit be,
Mechanic in a sense,
Yet somehow it awakes in me
Strange reverence.
And though from ignorance it stem,
Somehow I deeply grieve,
And wish down in my heart like them
I could believe.
Suppose a cottage I should buy,
And little patch of vine,
With pure and humble spirit I
Might make the Sign.
Aye, though I godless way I go,
And sceptic in my trend,
A faith in something I don't know
Might save me in the end.
poem by Robert William Service
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Those Who Betray And Lament
At THIS hour of the day.
And with time allowed,
Over the years to slip away.
Someone sits not to forget or forgive,
Those who intentionally took steps to offend,
With a doing of it they went ahead to inflict.
And at THIS hour of the day,
It would not matter who said what to have what's been done...
Wished away,
To acknowledge what took place.
Since what took place can not be erased,
From the mind of the one this misdeed continues to sit...
Long after it was considered someone's fun!
And at THIS hour of the day...
Wishing for a way to turn back the clock,
To prevent what should not have happened...
To have it stopped and blocked from a doing,
Is not on the mind of the one who is visited with memories...
At THIS hour of the day,
When one witnesses images from a distance...
A payback paid to those who betray and lament.
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Now, O Now in This Brown Land
Now, O now, in this brown land
Where Love did so sweet music make
We two shall wander, hand in hand,
Forbearing for old friendship' sake,
Nor grieve because our love was gay
Which now is ended in this way.
A rogue in red and yellow dress
Is knocking, knocking at the tree;
And all around our loneliness
The wind is whistling merrily.
The leaves -- - they do not sigh at all
When the year takes them in the fall.
Now, O now, we hear no more
The vilanelle and roundelay!
Yet will we kiss, sweetheart, before
We take sad leave at close of day.
Grieve not, sweetheart, for anything -- -
The year, the year is gathering.
poem by James Joyce
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