The Last Shower
The radio, first chattering companion of the day,
timed its cold shower of the mind with lethal precision
reminding as I stepped into the warmth of water
of those who stepped into the ‘shower’
and never stepped out
those many past numbering
but each one a one
and a gentle Scots Quaker voice
conducting this Holocaust Day memorial
to the indescribable
spoke the phrase
‘the dignity of difference’
offering the heart some way to walk
the path of grief with human hope
the dignity of difference –
an empty form of words
like poetry,
like grief,
poised between nothing and everything
waiting to be filled
with tears and joy
with love and sorrow
with memory and hope
with prayer and promise
with mercy and resolve
with humility and lawfulness
with life and the memory of death
with the memory of death, and life
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Another World
I was so low
People almost made me give up trying
Always said no
The I turned around saw someone smiling
I stepped into
I stepped into
Into another
Into another
I stepped into
I stepped into
Into another
Into another world
There was no light
I was going to all the wrong places
Like day from night
Suddenly I saw a thousand faces
I stepped into
I stepped into
Into another
Into another
I stepped into
I stepped into
Into another
Into another world
song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Empty becouse of her
As I open my eyes and I cry,
Im all alone in my quit room,
My words are a whisper from the past,
My arms are empty because of her,
Everyone can kiss my but,
My heart is empty and now im starting to feel the tears form upon my cheeks I still wait upon the dead,
So that I can have her kisses,
I wait for her return home so that im no alone,
But 1 thing is that it’s hard loving a memory,
Loving a memory is allot easier than hating a memory,
I live my cousin’s memory with all my heart,
Everyone should know she is why my life has start,
She was and still is a very important girl at least she is in my world
poem by Gary Hicinbothem
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The Day Of Grief And Sorrow
The day of grief and sorrow was yesterday.
Another friend of ours had passed away.
It’s impossible to express in words how our hearts pain,
But we all swear, the memory about him will remain.
He was reliable and life he loved so passionately,
Up to the end he was faithful and friendly.
He was his family support and our coach
Without fear, without reproach.
He could be friends with dignity,
His death for us all is a big calamity.
They say that sky takes the best.
Goodbye forever and let your soul be blessed,
You have found the eternal rest.
Let your soul rest in peace,
The prayer we say and the last bow is on the knees.
Without you here will be less sun,
No more songs you have sung.
Vale of suffering, grief and separation,
There is no one who could be your cogitation.
But death doesn’t ask our permission.
It stops the fuss and makes its own decision.
It’s not in our power anything to change.
With death we can’t take revenge.
We can now only pray and ask God to forgive his sins.
In another eternal world his soul’s life begins.
God! Bless him on the way to the love undying!
God! Clear the sky for his soul flying!
©Larisa Rzhepishevska
January the 30th,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Love, Grief, Death, Peace and Life Make War
Love, grief, death, peace, and life make war.
Within the grasps of victory, here lies grief.
Striving to keep a soul alive, thriving for life
whispers of sanity fade from the sight of death.
An outstretched limb pleading for a touch of peace
as a memory of happiness fills the heart with love.
Controlling senses fester upon a long lost love,
breathing in deep, it’s the smell of a war.
Muffled cries creep into your soul, pleading for peace.
You lick your blood stained lips, tasting the bitter grief.
piercing voices thunder upon the ground, accepting death
as a memory of loneliness fills their heart with an absence of life.
Tears of blood come forth into a dimension of twisted life.
The air, heavy and hot, hover over you ridding the land of any former love.
A chorus of saints and sinners sing to you, singing the song of death,
”O come ye child, come into my arms and rid yourself of this war.
Gather your mind and venture to the morrow, leaving behind this haunting grief,
for it is not your fault that this world does not know peace.”
You close your eyes, feeling the sensation of eternal peace.
You can not move any aching limb, within an inch of life
you follow the scent of reigning mud, caking itself to the world’s own grief.
Wandering past the forgotten lives to seek the one true love
that carries upon it’s shoulders, a burden of war.
This land can no longer hold itself with peace as all the peace has turned to death.
Forging itself upon your spirit, the lies no longer live, now it is only death
that caresses your body like a mother so tender, illuminating the one and only peace.
Taunting you to go and be afraid no more, taunting and taunting, this is war.
With one last plea, you beg and cry for the voices to take your life
as you know that the searching prisms of hope will find your love
and they will abolish the need of any misery and any grief.
Once more do the saints and sinners sing of your grief
only this time, there is no mourning of war and death.
They’ve come to pour into your heart, a sound so divine. It is love.
”Dear child, dear child, no more shall you weep, we are here, we’re your peace.
Come with us to a land so pure, where love is eternal and death is not near. We will give you life.
With a trust so deep, take our hands and no more, no more, shall this be your burden of war.”
In times of sorrow and fear, lost is the value of love and peace.
All is forgotten while caged by grief and watching the slaughter of life.
You watch your fallen brothers, reaching for help, you hear the despair in all their voices.
You’re the saint and sinner, giving them hope.
You cease your thoughts, you must fight on.
You aim your gun, praying for death. This is war.
poem by Mason Letoto
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Without Our Gift Of Memory
What would we be without the power to recall?
Without our gift of memory we'd be little at all
To those who lose their memory confusion is their lot
The faces of friends and family by them even forgot
For the children and kindred of alzheimers sufferers life must be very sad
The memory loss of a sibling, uncle, aunty, mum or dad
Though 'tis a natural instinct for us to cling to life's breath
In a choice between death and loss of memory I think I would choose death
I am a lucky fellow my gift of memory I retain
And I hope till my last breath of life that with me it will remain
To the great gift of memory I will gladly drink a toast
In that sense I am lucky far luckier than most
Life would not be worth much without it the great gift of memory
I am sure at what I say here that most with me would agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A Dead Friend
I.
Gone, O gentle heart and true,
Friend of hopes foregone,
Hopes and hopeful days with you
Gone?
Days of old that shone
Saw what none shall see anew,
When we gazed thereon.
Soul as clear as sunlit dew,
Why so soon pass on,
Forth from all we loved and knew
Gone?
II.
Friend of many a season fled,
What may sorrow send
Toward thee now from lips that said
'Friend'?
Sighs and songs to blend
Praise with pain uncomforted
Though the praise ascend?
Darkness hides no dearer head:
Why should darkness end
Day so soon, O dear and dead
Friend?
III.
Dear in death, thou hast thy part
Yet in life, to cheer
Hearts that held thy gentle heart
Dear.
Time and chance may sear
Hope with grief, and death may part
Hand from hand's clasp here:
Memory, blind with tears that start,
Sees through every tear
All that made thee, as thou art,
Dear.
IV.
True and tender, single-souled,
What should memory do
Weeping o'er the trust we hold
True?
Known and loved of few,
But of these, though small their fold,
Loved how well were you!
Change, that makes of new things old,
Leaves one old thing new;
Love which promised truth, and told
True.
V.
Kind as heaven, while earth's control
Still had leave to bind
Thee, thy heart was toward man's whole
Kind.
Thee no shadows blind
Now: the change of hours that roll
Leaves thy sleep behind.
Love, that hears thy death-bell toll
Yet, may call to mind
Scarce a soul as thy sweet soul
Kind.
VI.
How should life, O friend, forget
Death, whose guest art thou?
Faith responds to love's regret,
How?
Still, for us that bow
Sorrowing, still, though life be set,
Shines thy bright mild brow.
Yea, though death and thou be met,
Love may find thee now
Still, albeit we know not yet
How.
VII.
Past as music fades, that shone
While its life might last;
As a song-bird's shadow flown
Past!
Death's reverberate blast
Now for music's lord has blown
Whom thy love held fast.
Dead thy king, and void his throne:
Yet for grief at last
Love makes music of his own
Past.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Three Seasons
'A cup for hope!' she said,
In springtime ere the bloom was old:
The crimson wine was poor and cold
By her mouth's richer red.
'A cup for love!' how low,
How soft the words; and all the while
Her blush was rippling with a smile
Like summer after snow.
'A cup for memory!'
Cold cup that one must drain alone:
While autumn winds are up and moan
Across the barren sea.
Hope, memory, love:
Hope for fair morn, and love for day,
And memory for the evening grey
And solitary dove.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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You Stepped Into My Dreams
(ian hunter)
(transcribed by colin ford)
That's it baby, take one last look
We gotta go catch a plane
Then you won't die, and i won't die
But we won't ever be the same
Oh i can feel a mood coming down on me
Such a good thing disappears
I can sense the loss creeping up on us
And it's deeper than any tears i've known
You stepped into my dreams
You opened up the door
You stepped into my dreams
I want you back for more
You stepped into my dreams tonight
In the shadows of a major story (?)
In the morning we was gone
Won't you blow a kiss to me baby
We both gotta be moving on
Sometimes you see a lover and she's made for love
But you let that lover slip by
You believe and yet she's so hard to get
And you never know the reasons why
She stepped into your dreams
She opened up your door
She stepped into your dreams
You want her so much more
She stepped into your dreams tonight yeah
Oh when you're doing what you're doing
What do you think of me babe
There ain't much else to say
In another time, in another place
Things might have turned out okay
I can feel a darkness i can never conceal
Sometimes i get just a little insane
I can feel emotions like the mighty oceans
They're driving me again, and i know
You stepped into my dreams
You opened up the door
You stepped into my dreams
I want you back for more
You stepped into my dreams
And i don't know what to do
I'm so scared of losing you.
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emotional Scavenger
And now in the cold light of day,
Grief casts her shadows long,
and grey
Draining warmth & blinding me
To the glorious hope
Of day;
Grief would steal my soul and hide it
In blackness,
Whispering reminders
Of pain,
And loss,
And death…
Mocking hope's insistence,
Spurning love's comfort;
Grief watches,
Expectant, she waits…
Grief, scavenger of emotions,
Is ever hopeful.
poem by Jinge Norvall
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Medicine of the Soul
oh!
angels of everlasting
time,
behold the words
that always kept thy words
eternally fuse
in my heart, choice not on
to end each mouth and let the lips
whisper the truth
of wisdom, be carried for a million years
Jerk may come
in all my knees, until the wizard I
pray leads my stone to rest,
mine is the
waiting game the prize that gear
my hope to a sudden
stay of life
regret not and, let me scum my lasting memory
with my beloved one
I am awake
humid my breathe of the words,
unspoken to my heart
and feel the tiding salvation I wait
of fearless spear
into my soul, of where
my life survive with a promise
of what life may turn
to dust, the
dunes of heaven best
I belong
let every fume
shower
my whole self and lock me
to the fine welcome
of my lasting soul
of humility,
there I cry till I‘ll be going for endless stay
vividly the falling
leaves always refresh my tears with thee,
and let every words of eternity leads my soul to flee ….
poem by Antonio Liao
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Grief-Stricken Eyes
To many
My tears are nothing more
Than a stain
An anoyance
To their daily lives
It makes no difference
How hard I weep
No one is willing
To help a grief-stricken face
I walk in a cloud of darkness
Shrouded by a shadow
Of death
Each step I take
Takes me one step closer
To the edge
The brim
Which will allow me
To face my death
To honour the pledge
That no one cares
So why should I
Be willing
To take each day
To walk every path
Knowing that no one
Has me in their thoughts
To survive yet not live
knowing no one sees inside
Through this facade
They all prefer the mask
No one wants the grief-stricken girl
No one cares about the grief-stricken face
They'd all rather forget
My existance
And carry on
While i blindly
Wallow in sorrow
poem by Blessing Msiza
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Enemy Series: Life and Death from Wizard 101
Life and Death are different
Life is warm
Death is cold
But they still share a school
Life is hope and wonders
Death is whimps and sorrow
But both share the same dream
Life is good
Death is great
Great as the number eight
But afraid of eachother
Life is in death
As death is in life
So whats the difference?
I SAY NONE!
(WIZARD 101 LOVERS FRIEND ASHLEY MOONFLOWER SHE ROCKS!) Note from Enyioma Okereke
poem by Nikishioshianamariatolinda Madekieosafreamnuytuiyf
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A grief ago
'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;
a Stoic, those for whom
all life presents a lesson
to be learned from,
and then, to move on from..
But I wonder about all this:
is grief ever lessened or softened?
Is it not, perhaps, overlaid
in our so various ways?
For some, grief framed and falsified
to ease that grief;
For some, like hyacinths and crocus bulbs,
left in a dark cupboard in the autumn of our grief
to respond to time, and
become at last
themselves?
gently, gently, the covers pulled
over the loving bed,
the true, the pure, the lovely painful grief,
the memory deep cherished,
gently, gently, folded
into the cupboards of the heart
there to be known, without the door disturbed
until the time - 'a grief ago' as Dylan wrote -
the cupboard opened only for love's sake
without grief...:
those carefully folded memories
brought out and loved
and lived a while...
not grief, not grief...but
the pure memory of grief
and behold,
life.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Living Lost, The
Matron! the children of whose love,
Each to his grave, in youth have passed,
And now the mould is heaped above
The dearest and the last!
Bride! who dost wear the widow's veil
Before the wedding flowers are pale!
Ye deem the human heart endures
No deeper, bitterer grief than yours.
Yet there are pangs of keener wo,
Of which the sufferers never speak,
Nor to the world's cold pity show
The tears that scald the cheek,
Wrung from their eyelids by the shame
And guilt of those they shrink to name,
Whom once they loved, with cheerful will,
And love, though fallen and branded, still.
Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead,
Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve;
And graceful are the tears ye shed,
And honoured ye who grieve.
The praise of those who sleep in earth,
The pleasant memory of their worth,
The hope to meet when life is past,
Shall heal the tortured mind at last.
But ye, who for the living lost
That agony in secret bear,
Who shall with soothing words accost
The strength of your despair?
Grief for your sake is scorn for them
Whom ye lament and all condemn;
And o'er the world of spirits lies
A gloom from which ye turn your eyes.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
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The Living Lost
Matron! the children of whose love,
Each to his grave, in youth have passed,
And now the mould is heaped above
The dearest and the last!
Bride! who dost wear the widow's veil
Before the wedding flowers are pale!
Ye deem the human heart endures
No deeper, bitterer grief than yours.
Yet there are pangs of keener wo,
Of which the sufferers never speak,
Nor to the world's cold pity show
The tears that scald the cheek,
Wrung from their eyelids by the shame
And guilt of those they shrink to name,
Whom once they loved, with cheerful will,
And love, though fallen and branded, still.
Weep, ye who sorrow for the dead,
Thus breaking hearts their pain relieve;
And graceful are the tears ye shed,
And honoured ye who grieve.
The praise of those who sleep in earth,
The pleasant memory of their worth,
The hope to meet when life is past,
Shall heal the tortured mind at last.
But ye, who for the living lost
That agony in secret bear,
Who shall with soothing words accost
The strength of your despair?
Grief for your sake is scorn for them
Whom ye lament and all condemn;
And o'er the world of spirits lies
A gloom from which ye turn your eyes.
poem by William Cullen Bryant
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In This Short Span..
I couldn't gather much from
This wonderful world!
As I came near to it,
It stepped back and furled.
So tiny I'm under the vastness
Of Nature and God's every craft!
I thought and knelt down,
To utter my prayer rapt.
I wanted to be one with
His colossal immense power.
I begged for his pure touch,
And blessings to shower.
'Mercy is the first virtue,
Which purifies a human mind.
You must be then near to me,
Shed your ego and be kind.
In this short span of life,
Nothing sticks to its place.
Time squeezes secs from us,
And we lag behind in race.
The milk of human kindness
Should drip in every soul,
Bad or good we can't judge
We have to play our role.
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Stanzas For Music: They Say That Hope Is Happiness
They say that Hope is happiness;
But genuine Love must prize the past,
And Memory wakes the thoughts that bless:
They rose the first--they set the last;
And all that Memory loves the most
Was once our only Hope to be,
And all that Hope adored and lost
Hath melted into Memory.
Alas it is delusion all:
The future cheats us from afar,
Nor can we be what we recall,
Nor dare we think on what we are.
Sometimes An Old Memory Gets In My Eye
Like someone drowning I reach for a straw
Grasping for love where there's no love at all
Slowly I'm sinking as time drags by and sometimes an old memory gets in my eye
I struggle for strenght to face the dawn
And I'm freezing to death without you to keep me warm
I hold an arm full of nothing close to my side
And sometimes an old memory gets in my eye
Sometimes an old memory gets in my eye
And when it's ours it's hard to keep my eyes dry
Don't think you see tears for I never cry
But sometimes an old memory gets in my eye
Yes sometimes an old memory gets in my eye
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thoughts
What are we now?
What will we become?
Nothing but a distant memory
of yet another year that has
passed?
A painful little echo of what
should've been?
A pleasant memory that reminds
us that life goes on?
An appreciated memory that
brings back feelings of love or
hope,
when they're needed the most?
Just another high school fling
that taught you how to love?
Or yet another memory that
ends in pain, teaching you to
hate?
Just a figment of your past?
Or part of a future yet to
come?
poem by Kailia Chatterton
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As None Other Will Listen Me In Silence
god! whoever or whatever may you be
make my life simple
thoughts noble
speech striving towards truth
heart rushing to help the needy
head neither bloated nor depressed
mind never treating another
inferior or bankrupt of talent-
a resolve to walk alone
the path of righteousness against odds
a desire not exceeding my needs
a belief just capable of consoling my grief
and putting me back on life's unending stream!
god, i know i come to you with tears and pains
not in the hope i will see light
but to unburden my heart of my grief
as none other will listen me in total silence.
-s.chandra kalaadhar.
02.12.2012 / sunday
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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