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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
At the gathering of the flowers
At the gathering of the flowers
Someone waits with the rising sun
There in the wee small hours
That is where love has begun
And there with the angels above
At the gathering of the flowers
To her I do profess my love
With her I will spend all my remaining hours
Where love empowers
Is where I will meet my love
At the gathering of the flowers
With desires undreamt of
Winter winds howl about my face
But the cold shall forever cower
From your warm embrace
At the gathering of the flowers
© JPM 7/18/08
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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Spinster's Cat
The spinster she was worried
Her cat had gone astray
As through the fields she hurried
In the pleasant month of May.
The name she called the cat was Jack
His eyes were large and brown
He wore a coat of sheeny black
As soft as eiderdown.
She called aloud the name of Jack
And waited for an answer
But the only thing that answered back
Was her neighbour's dog romancer.
She finally found the cat dead on the roadside
Two miles west of the town
Her grief the lady could not hide,
Her face sad tears flowed down.
She looked almost in disbelief
At her cat with mangled head
Till her shock gave way to a revengeful type grief
And here is what she said
Oh blast the driver of that car
May he die a painful death,
He's inflicted in my heart a sorrow scar
By killing my feline pet.
The spinster took away her cat
To bury him near her house
He never more would kill a rat
Nor eat another mouse.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Living
Slow bleak awakening from the morning dream
Brings me in contact with the sudden day.
I am alive – this I.
I let my fingers move along my body.
Realization warns them, and my nerves
Prepare their rapid messages and signals.
While Memory begins recording, coding,
Repeating; all the time Imagination
Mutters: You'll only die.
Here's a new day. O Pendulum move slowly!
My usual clothes are waiting on their peg.
I am alive – this I.
And in a moment Habit, like a crane,
Will bow its neck and dip its pulleyed cable,
Gathering me, my body, and our garment,
And swing me forth, oblivious of my question,
Into the daylight – why?
I think of all the others who awaken,
And wonder if they go to meet the morning
More valiantly than I;
Nor asking of this Day they will be living:
What have I done that I should be alive?
O, can I not forget that I am living?
How shall I reconcile the two conditions:
Living, and yet – to die?
Between the curtains the autumnal sunlight
With lean and yellow finger points me out;
The clock moans: Why? Why? Why?
But suddenly, as if without a reason,
Heart, Brain, and Body, and Imagination
All gather in tumultuous joy together,
Running like children down the path of morning
To fields where they can play without a quarrel:
A country I'd forgotten, but remember,
And welcome with a cry.
O cool glad pasture; living tree, tall corn,
Great cliff, or languid sloping sand, cold sea,
Waves; rivers curving; you, eternal flowers,
Give me content, while I can think of you:
Give me your living breath!
Back to your rampart, Death.
poem by Harold Monro
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Push Me
Album: No Excuses
Ever since the world's been turning
It turned away from me
I've been pushed across the planet
To find my destiny
I've been running away from something
Thats deep inside myself
I've been running till that someday
When I reached the border's edge
Refrain:
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
The weak play the strong out of fear of what's wrong yeah
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
I'm still running yet I don't got
Ground beneath my feet - something is tracking me something is wrecking me
I'm still running and I don't have
Time to fall into deep
Refrain:
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like this
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like this
Push me living on the edge
The weak play the strong out of fear of what's wrong yeah
Push me I'm living on the edge
Push me I'm sick of living like that
Push me living on the edge
Im sick to death and learned the lesson
song performed by by H-BlockX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death
Death is forever
So don't flirt with suicide
Death is painful
Stay away from knives
Death is not for lovers
So don't lie
Death is not for me
So don't even try
Death is clever
So be careful
Death is never fun
Stay away from strangers
Death is never pleasing
So don't get caught up in the hype
Death is never fair
So get use to it
Death is always occurring
So don't ignore it
Death is never what you expected
Sorry but it has to happen
Death is not for you
Please don't give up
Death is forever
Don't forget it
(5-15-05)
poem by Brandi Young
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A Living Death
I think of
All the people
I've lost to
Death.
I miss them
All…
Can anybody
Answer
What happened
To them
After their death?
Are they living
Another life
As is the belief
In after-life
Or are they still
Loitering…
In the lanes
Of death?
If so,
Can those
Wandering
Spirits and souls
Let me know,
How does it feel
To be with death?
Is it better than life,
Which seems to me
A Living Death…
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If... (Death Knocks!)
if indeed death knocks,
i cannot answer the door.
there are logs to split,
and bricks to lay....
a fire to tend,
and flowers to plant.
broken wings to heal,
centipedes to liberate....
small things to do,
small words to speak...
for i am not yet done with living,
and living's not done with me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Going To Africa
The gathering of the spirits!
The gathering of the minds,
The gathering of the people,
The gathering of the race;
But, i am free once again.
Best of love,
Best of the best!
White oak and water,
Black oak and sugar,
Going to Africa! !
Of the Balck Ark,
Of the White Ark,
Natural mystic,
Revelation! !
Of light and darkness,
In the city.
Keep on learning,
Keep on teaching,
Keep on writing,
Keep on preaching!
And, let the system teach us all.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kicked A Dog To Death
When that hound
Came around
The first time
It was wagging its tail
We were all smiles
We were all smitten
No one could know
I'd kick the dog to death
Oh when we lay out on the beach
Burning in the sun
The wind playing tricks
On the heat we thought we felt
Another of nature's illusions
There was no way of knowing
There was no way to guess
I'd kick that dog to death
I made a joke
You made a mess
And we both lay in bed
Eyes wide and hearts beating
Trying to focus my thoughts
You were trying to focus your thoughts
But we would have never thought
I'd kick a dog to death
I was living
You were living
We were breathing
Like it was all we knew to do
You were staring
My mind was snapping
Like it was all I knew to do
The dog was barking
The day descending
Like it was all it knew to do
I heard it growling
I heard you screaming
And my body answered the moment
And I kicked a dog to death
In those slow beating moments
Right there on the pavement
All the sounds of the world faded out
The contrast of the colours increased
You were on mute in my head
But you were saying something
Over and over
On mute in my head
As the dog lay there dead
I was living
You were living
We were breathing
Like it was all we knew to do
The dog was bleeding
The pavement darkening
Like it was all it knew to do
The sound slowly came back
The colours returned
Like it was all they knew to do
Waking that morning
We could never have known
We would never have guessed
I'd kick a dog to death
The moments before it
All erased
The years before it
All erased
When I kicked a dog to death
Like it was all I knew to do...
(2008)
poem by B. Alexander
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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While Living For Poetry
While living for poetry
the gullible grief grew wise
and the lonely sun of words
found a plea to sing and rise.
While living for poetry
all trivial differences died down
and rainbows in inner skies adored
paths of dreams with kind crown.
While living for poetry
rocky truth came in bloom
rays of contentment burned
completely obstinate gloom.
While living for poetry
the view of vision grew vast
there remained no discrimination
between who is first & who is last.
poem by Madhav Sarkunde
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Land Of The Living
i found myself
in another world
i found myself
alive and well
i am the vapor
i am the gas
you be the angel
of everything
this is the land of the living
this is the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
i lost myself
too wide a plane
i opened up
i'm not the same
i am electric
made of wire
you be the match
i'll be the fire
this is the land of the living
this is the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
the living
in myself i try for you
walk a thousand miles to get us through
airways
jet planes
safe landings
no branding
land
land
this is the land of the living
the land of reprisal
this is the land of the living
the land of survival
survival
land
land
this is the land of the living
the living
the living
the living
song performed by by Bush from Golden State
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For those in mind
Death
is too late for grief.
If we had celebrated their living
knowing that grief would surely come
then grief would have a place;
death
is too late for grief.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Is a Mockery of Life
Death is a mockery of life
They who have lived it through, are dead
So what about death can be said
It lingers in the living room after the funeral
They who have lived it through are dead
We do not speak of death too much
It lingers in the living room after the funeral
We try not to think about the lonely grave
We do not speak of deah too much
It is always raining in the grave yard
We try not to think about the lonely grave
Where no one seems to be, but only was
It is always raining in the grave yard
Some flowers grow between the tombstones
As nature doesn’t care about it, live or death
Just carry on as usual
Some flowers grow between the tombstones
So what about death can be said
Just carry on as usual
Death is a mockery of life
poem by Ina SchrodersZeeders
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sport Relief
Do something for a child,
Even if you don't feel so wild.
The money that comes,
Can be very big sums.
It goes all to charity,
to help us have parity.
It is all sport relief,
To make lesser grief.
Sport may seem like grief,
But this helps to bring relief.
To those who have grief,
Who should not be a thief.
To earn their living,
So help them get a better living.
They'd do anything for a living,
So please give them a shilling.
poem by Kaleb Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Under The Cover Of The Night
living so enclosed
like a dead man inside a coffin
there is no choice
but to sleep and inside the dream
pray more,
the man keeps reciting the prayers
on his fingers
to dispel all fears about death
when he wakes up however
everything becomes a different matter
it is not something strange
but it was the most certain thing that happens
death upon death
death of death
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death occurs, it does not exist
Death, as we all know
Marks the termination
Of a life process
It is the climax of a
Natural process
Where a life system takes birth
Grows, matures
And meets end
It only occurs
And has no existence as such
We fear death
As we know we are going to die one day
We fear most
The aftermath of our departure
Than what really is going to happen to us after death
Death takes not even a split of a second
To fructify
But we ponder over that
And its impact
Much much longer
We just need to know
That we cannot escape this ultimate end
And enjoy living as much as we can
In a fair and socially acceptable manner
Without troubling others around
Factually, living itself
Is indeed a preparation for death only
Because you are going to die the way you lived
A matured, well balanced living
Leads to a similar departure
A chasing, hurried living
Leads to a unplanned demise
Leaving behind others to chase and hurry
An ever complaining ways of living
Leads to a death
After which the near and dear ones
Have a lot to complain
A compassionate and considerate living
Leads to a death
Making others be the same with every one
Death is peaceful only
Health conditions may at times
Someone be hospitalised for long
And someone incapacitated
And some others becoming a real burden
All these have nothing to do with dying peacefully
As long the person to die
Remains in peace and comfort
No need to get reminded
That we die each time we breathe out
As we are not sure
Whether or not we are going to
Brathe in immediately after that
Let us live
Strengthening ourselves
With the understanding
That death does not exist
But, it is going to occur
Only once, somewhere, somehow, sometime
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Last Living Souls
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Take a gun
Or how you say
That's no way you behave
Just a law, a new begin
Sing a song that doesn't sin
And it grows
Hey, you know
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last to get away to some another day?
Do we know
Well, we know
Doesn't seem to be complete
Are we, are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Are we the last living souls?
Get up, get up, get up, get up...
What you say?
Cause all I was on
I got it down wrong
I see myself to get
And the Lord, seeing all now
Can you take us in
The part that comin' on
The coldest man doesn't see it's all
We go to the car
I see you walk to the far
And when you get there do you see
You fit the last you need on me
Cause we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
Yeah, we're the last living souls
We're the last living souls
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Greater Loyalty
This will be our family secret don't tell others how he died
Never mention how my darling son took his own life in suicide
Don't want them saying he opted out of life they would never understand
How our beloved teenager he died at his own hand.
Don't tell anyone we found him hanging from the low branch of a tree
Tell them 'twas of a heart attack that he died suddenly
We do not need their judgements my son must rest in peace
It was of his own choosing that from life he choose release.
Of the darkness that surrounded him we never were to know
The mother she has shed her tears for her son who died six months ago
For to save him from the judgements of the living for her dead son she will lie
She will never admit that he was one who choose his own way to die.
No greater loyalty than the loyalty of a mother when all is said and done
From the judgements of the living she lies to protect her dead son
She takes flowers twice a week to place on the grave where he does lay
And she will grieve for her deceased son till her own dying day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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