Planh For The Young English King
If all the grief and woe and bitterness,
All dolour, ill and every evil chance
That ever came upon this grieving world
Were set together they would seem but light
Against the death of the young English King.
Worth lieth riven and Youth dolorous,
The world overshadowed, soiled and overcast,
Void of all joy and full of ire and sadness.
Grieving and sad and full of bitterness
Are left in teen the liegemen courteous,
The joglars supple and the troubadours.
O'er much hath ta'en Sir Death that deadly warrior
In taking from them the young English King,
Who made the freest hand seem covetous.
'Las! Never was nor will be in this world
The balance for this loss in ire and sadness!
O skilful Death and full of bitterness,
Well mayst thou boast that thou the best chevalier
That any folk e'er had, hast from us taken;
Sith nothing is that unto worth pertaineth
But had its life in the young English King
And better were it, should God grant his pleasure,
That he should live than many a living dastard
That doth but wound the good with ire and sadness.
From this faint world, how full of bitterness
Love takes his way and holds his joy deceitful
Sith no thing is but turneth unto anguish
And each to-day Vails less than yestere'en,
Let each man visage this young English King
That was most valiant 'mid all worthiest men!
Gone is his body fine and amorous,
Whence have we grief, discord and deepest sadness.
Him, whom it pleased for our great bitterness
To come to earth to draw us from misventure,
Who drank of death for our salvacioun,
Him do we pray as to a Lord most righteous
And humble eke, that the young English King
He please to pardon, as true pardon is,
And bid go in with honoured companions
There where there is no grief, nor shall be sadness.
poem by Ezra Pound
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London Stone
WHEN you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bring your flowers and lay them down
At the place of grieving.
When you come to London Town,
(Grieving-grieving!)
Bow your head and mourn your own,
With the others grieving.
For those minutes, let it wake
(Grieving-grieving!)
All the empty-heart and ache
That is not cured by grieving.
For those minutes, tell no lie:
(Grieving-grieving!)
'Grave, this is thy victory;
And the sting of death is grieving.'
Where's our help, from earth or heaven,
(Grieving-grieving!)
To comfort us for what we've given,
And only gained the grieving.
Heaven's too far and earth too near,
(Grieving-grieving!)
But our neighbour's standing here,
Grieving as we're grieving.
What's his burden every day?
(Grieving-grieving!)
Nothing man can count or weigh,
But loss and love's own grieving.
What is the tie betwixt us two
(Grieving-grieving!)
That must last our whole lives through?
'As I suffer, so do you.'
That may ease the grieving.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Dolour Of The Human
Dolour of youth heartaches the world,
With so much flesh and bones that crack.
My mount especially found the raise
Of youth, the significant blush, and one to reclaim.
The dolour of the intermediate stage
Of human suffering and age created a coup d’etat,
To shorten the phrase, a blameworthy man is not woman,
Sudden plucking of feathers are for the birds, not words.
Dolour of old age make homo sapiens a master race,
As bold as nature itself, then this dolour of youth is final.
To improve one’s land is like the garden for the gardener,
And dolour of human strength resides in all ages.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Question of Philosophy
When evil strikes
In fire and flood
Or untimely death by dread disease
We sometimes wonder “What of God? ”
The ancient Greeks
Long before us
On this very same question reflected.
Wise Epicurus put it thus:
“If God is willing but not able
Such evil to prevent,
Call Him ‘God’ still, if you will,
He cannot be omnipotent.”
“And if He’s able but not willing
Such evil to prevent,
God He may be, but I say
He is malevolent.”
“If God is able and willing, too,
All evil to prevent,
Why in the world should pain and death
Afflict the young and innocent? ”
poem by Pete Crowther
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Will There Be A Chance
Is there for me any chance,
That in my life...
I might witness,
A world in peace.
Is there for me any chance,
That in my life...
There would be people,
Living in harmony.
And is there any chance,
I might not have a need...
To suspect,
I'm deceived.
Or hated...
For who I am!
Or what it is I believe.
And will I hear rejoicing,
From voices surrounding me.
Is there any chance that people,
Will live in respect to give...
And receive.
Is there any chance,
People will awaken to see the light.
Any chance,
People one day will end all their fights.
Any chance.
And chance.
Any chance,
People will awaken to see the light.
Any chance,
People one day will end all their fights.
Any chance.
And chance.
Any chance!
Will there be a chance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Grieving Mother
The patriots celebrating the war has been won
But the grieving mother weeps for her dead son
Who died a young hero in a war far away
His twenty third birthday it would be today.
Out of the young war dead war heroes are made
This morning she did not go to watch the parade
Instead she placed flowers on the grave where her son lay
And knelt on the grass for awhile for to pray.
She sees her son's death as a waste of a good young life
He never had the chance to make the young woman he loved his wife
He surely would have made a wonderful dad
One of the joys in life that he never had.
Today had he been alive he'd have been twenty three
Her son was a brave man none braver than he
She wept at his grave whilst through the streets of the town
The patriots did proudly parade up and down.
poem by Francis Duggan
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With A Lesser Chance To Be Evil
Giving 'in' wasn't enough.
I had to give up and walk away,
From all that 'stuff'.
All that teasing 'bling',
I just had to touch...
With a belief I needed,
To sit on a throne as if I were king.
Giving 'in' wasn't enough.
Giving foolishness up I thought would be tough.
But...
When I did my heart felt free.
Renewed I then became everything...
I was meant all along to be.
With less chance to feel evil.
Or romanced wishes I had turf that would never be taxed.
So glad I gave up thoughts like that!
Oh,
Those delusions I did have packed and stacked on my back.
With chips on my shoulder to create my own Central Park.
Paved and tree lined with unforgiveable misery.
I removed a greed from me.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I felt victory released to free.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
Darkness chased away from my side.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
Not within me will it reside.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I rid myself of fantasies.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I learned to take deep breaths to breathe.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
Giving 'in' wasn't enough.
I had to give up and walk away,
From all that 'stuff'.
All that teasing 'bling'.
Blinging me too much.
I rid myself of fantasies.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I learned to take deep breaths to breathe.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I learned to take deep breaths to breathe.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I learned to take deep breaths to breathe.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
I learned to take deep breaths to breathe.
With a lesser chance to be evil.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Evil Against The Good
The game unquestionably harsh
Started the day we were born
Out of me God created the best
Out of me evil wants
To recreate the worst
An infant between life and death
Not yet time to escape by losing breath
The game just began for the young one
The game unquestionably harsh
Dark streets and rough childhood
Experience of an adverse neighborhood
Got him trapped under the belly of the beast
Evil encounters sinking in the young head
Thoughts of the good lad decaying
The game heading for the climax
The game unquestionably harsh
Thought I would be good forever
Evil troops changed me for a sinner
Got addicted to the harmful world
Young days of ours full of madness
Got my own demons and so fearless
The game has ambushed us under stress
The game unquestionably harsh
Work of the young man is to daydream
Run the best imaginary world as possible
Managing mind tries the impossible
Fantasy world will never be reality
Perhaps the dream just a prophesy
The game plays tricks in the young mind
The game unquestionably harsh
It is play on the day we are born
Even before us it was playing
As we see more days we get played
Evil rules the planet earth
Good rules the purest heaven
The game is on until the end of times.
***The Book of End of Times
poem by Young Church
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What old sadness can I let go of by sharing it today
How can we measure the grief we feel and and how we could put up with it. Doesn't the grief of death weight a ton or more. Doesn't it strenth out to a month a year or still longer. Is the grief of failture lighter then then the grief of empyness. Wheather we try to ingore or make light of it our grief like a ton of feathers or a ton of rocks is all the same to us. This much is sure if we lock our grief it will weight more on us. Andlengthen out if we open our hearts with weeping and words others will help carry it away. written and Posted 1/1/10
poem by Susie Sunshine
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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At the End of Spring
The flower of the pear-tree gathers and turns to fruit;
The swallows' eggs have hatched into young birds.
When the Seasons' changes thus confront the mind
What comfort can the Doctrine of Tao give?
It will teach me to watch the days and months fly
Without grieving that Youth slips away;
If the Fleeting World is but a long dream,
It does not matter whether one is young or old.
But ever since the day that my friend left my side
And has lived in exile in the City of Chiang-ling,
There is one wish I cannot quite destroy:
That from time to time we may chance to meet again.
Feeling the rath of Evil
Feeling Evil
Evil on a night like this
Evil tasting like a twisted wish
Evil paralized upon the ground
Evil tates the tears of fear
Evil tainted sounds of cheer
Evil dripping down; your blood of hate
Evil tearing down your helpless fate
Evil swears that by the night's end
Evil won't say it was all pretend
Evil because Death will follow you
Evil until full content
Evil pleasured to full extent
poem by Kelsi Gray
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Their Muscles Twitch
There is no reason for you to wait.
Or wish to have your bitterness,
Reflect upon the faces...
Of those who laid obstacles,
On your path to detour your fate.
Those evil bitches need not burn at the stake!
Or have one driven through their hearts,
To make what they've done wrong...
Righted in your eyes.
Those evil bitches now have minds on fire!
With guilt that shames.
And sitting in pain that will not for them subside.
Rid yourself of that bitterness.
Their muscles twitch!
Twisting them into fits!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Feeling Evil
Evil on a night like this
Evil tasting like a twisted wish
Evil paralized upon the ground
Evil tates the tears of fear
Evil tainted sounds of cheer
Evil dripping down; your blood of hate
Evil tearing down your helpless fate
Evil swears that by the night's end
Evil won't say it was all pretend
Evil because Death will follow you
Evil until full content
Evil pleasured to full extent
poem by Elena Helms
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Great Grief
William's son, named Hamnet,
died in 1596,
aged just eleven and a half
when Will was thirty two.
Will's great grief
made greater grief
to compensate for loss.
It mixed a wild concoction,
made grieving man go mad.
Hamlet given no relief
relieved sad Shakespeare's grief.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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Quotes 3
Quotes
Death is not death
if you kill me
with your kisses, is life in a dimension
and death in a sigh from love
♥
May love and peace
conquer our grief,
for bitterness and hatred die
in the mist
♥
What to do with my life,
when my
life is my child, and he dies little by little
by the blindness of dark.
poem by Elenushka Toledo
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Stones from Heaven...
Joy died.
The Spinster sends the
text Message which the Flirt reads aloud
in the Gathering of the Living. It says:
Dear Flirt,
I cannot answer all of your messages.
I am grieving over the death of Joy.
I refrained using words. But this i must tell you
I am in grief, I cry all day,
and sometimes I think that when Joy died earlier
than expected, I think, she must be lucky,
as the Living Them brought the Niche,
decked with assorted flowers, and
garnished with evening prayers.
I wish I had the same death.
I heard this in the Gathering of The Living,
and I joked that I am praying for Spinster's early death
and I will be bringing flowers and some followers
to recite the Usual Prayers.
Flirt says, If the Spinster hears this
There will be another ten months of Non-Speaking Terms.
Well, I admit, there is more plasticity always going on
in the Gathering of the Living.
Meanwhile, to lighten the Moments of Grief
the Bad Guys are playing
Cards, drink their rum, smoke their cigars,
and you say it correctly
They always find Joy in polluting this
Innocent World
Deprive it with Fresh Air and claim that they are
are the proper residents of the
Gathering of the Living.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Day Of Mourn (Maguindanao Massacre)
11/26
The sun rose early behind the mountains
But never shone its rays on the face of the grieving
Darkness cloaked the land below my feet
Shaken the world with great terror and anguish
11/26
It’s a morn of mourning; a date of grieving
A day to unite and pray, for the departed victims
Come! Join us…… simultaneously, we shall light a candle
Come! Join us……. in unison we shall utter a moment of prayer
Let the candle’s wick burn until justice is serve
Let the grieving souls find tranquility on their grave
Let us all pray for JUSTICE name
Let us all pray and stop this demonic game
Come! Join us…..light a candle for this mournful day
Pray for the victims and make the perpetuators pay
26th of November,2009
poem by Catrina Heart
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Hope in Heaven's Day
Grief be mine, I ask you so,
If not for you, I wouldn't know,
How life once was and then be still,
How so precious, that death do steal.
Because that grief, won't go away,
Learn to let it have its way.
The link to love, a precious one,
Is met with grief and still not done.
The days do come, and nights do go,
Grief will stay as time is so.
And so a loved one passes on,
And grief comes in and carries on.
Does grief get better, I will ask,
It's hard to say, while at its task.
There is grief to help us cope,
There is God to give us hope.
Grief will surely go away,
On that glorious heaven's day.
But while its here, there's just one thing,
Pray our Lord, for peace he'll bring.
poem by Arlene Dery
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