Death, be not proud!
Death, don’t think that you are the great.
Can you defy the suicides?
You are slave to many masters.
The king orders punishment.
Chance and accident take their toll.
Murders and war cause many deaths.
When a snake bites or a beast gulps,
Death occur; the pest too eats up.
They all happen not at your wills.
Fate kills the youth and poor maidens.
Death, don’t boast that you are the great.
Be calm; you are slave to the God.
Of course I fear you, not the God,
For you are merciless unlike the God..
[Inspired by the poem with the same title by John Donne 1572-1631
29.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A hymn to God, the Father.
Will you forgive the sin
That I have done before,
That through which I have run
And that I could not avoid?
Will you forgive the sin
That I led others to do?
Will you forgive the sin
That I did without knowing?
To doubt if you forgive
Itself is a sin that I make.
Punish me if you want
But assure me salvation.
[Inspired by the poem under the same title by John Donne 1572-1631]
2910.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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Holy Sonnet X: Death Be Not Proud
Death, be not proud, though some have callèd thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which yet thy pictures be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more, must low
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings and desperate men
And dost with poison, war and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then ?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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Go and catch a falling star
Go and catch a falling star.
Can you get back the time last?
‘Teach me to hear Mermaids singing;
Or to keep off envies stinging.’
Ride anywhere for all time
Until your hair turns snow;
If you come across a woman
Both beautiful and faithful,
Your journey is a success.
‘Though she were true when you met her
And last till you write your letter’
Her constancy will soon wane
And disappear by the time
You write a third letter to her.
[Baed on the poem with the same title by John Donne 1572-1631]
29.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holy Sonnet X:Death be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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Holy Sonnet X
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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The losses are equal
The snake’s death, like the frog’s,
The eagle’s death, like the chic’s
And the slave’s death, like the king’s
Are a loss to their respective stocks.
13.01.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Holy Sonnet 10 - Death be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those, whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy picture[s] be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou'rt slave to Fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy, or charms can make us sleep as well,
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more, Death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne from Holy Sonnets
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Extasie
Sat we two, one another best,
Bodies were left; souls rose and met.
They transacted their love at best.
Struck by the sight of their bodies,
Motionless, the souls asked themselves:
‘Our bodies why so we forbear?
They are ours, though they are not we.’
We are flames and they are matter.
‘We owe them thanks because they thus
did us, to us, a first convoy
yielded their forces, senses to us.’
The souls returned to their bodies,
And declared in solemnity:
“To feel love, we live in bodies.”
29.10.2008
[ Based on the poem with the same title, written by the famous love poet John Donne 1572-1631]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Death
DEATH, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so:
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me.
From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be,
Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow;
And soonest our best men with thee do go--
Rest of their bones and souls' delivery!
Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke. Why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die!
poem by John Donne
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Death Be Not Proud
Death be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadfull, for, thou art not soe,
For, those, whom thou think'st, thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poore death, nor yet canst thou kill mee.
From rest and sleepe, which but thy pictures bee,
Much pleasure, then from thee, much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee doe goe,
Rest of their bones, and soules deliverie.
Thou art slave to Fate, Chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poyson, warre, and sicknesse dwell,
And poppie, or charmes can make us sleepe as well,
And better then thy stroake; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleepe past, wee wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; death, thou shalt die.
poem by John Donne
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In Death, My Final Part
A tower grim; a glowering darkness,
And only brown of red the other hue
– I saw it in the distant eyes –
And yes, He knew, but focussed only
On the mortal soul of mine –
After all, He had a role to play,
And wine: my shivering blood to quaff!
If only I could Him betray –
To break the seal of destiny;
Escape the lone cacophony
That emanates from wailing minds!
Damn the fate of His – it awes and blinds!
But oh! the mighty hammer strikes a toll;
The slow approach of Him upon the knoll
Commences exudation of a dying heart.
Endorsing all, I honed my final part.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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The final part
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Never Die
Hands on a window pane
Watching some children laugh and play
They're running in circles
With candy canes and French braids
Inspired to question
What makes us grown-ups anyway?
Let's search for the moment
When youth betrayed itself to age
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
Never Die
In searching for substance
We're clouded by struggle's haze
Remember the meaning
Of playing out in the rain
We swim in the fountain
Of youth's timeless maze
If you drink the water
Your youth will never fade
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
Never Die
Never Die
Never Die
I won't let go of that youthful soul
Despite body and mind my youth will never die
I won't let go of that youthful soul
Despite body and mind my youth will never die
[Guitar Break]
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
Never Die
song performed by by Creed from Human Clay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death's Fears & Secrets (blank verse)
I have learnt some things about death recentl
this is what I have discovered
Death is a race, it is more then one being
It kills people everywhere everyday as it can't be everywhere
Unless it was more then one
Death is a secret, it is livings worst kept secret
For we are surrounded by death in life
Constantly we fear it, as it must fear us
Death has its fear, that is the end of everything
For when the universe is gone and nothing is left
Death end, and ceases to exist
Death plays its games, every few centuries or millenium
It lets us thrive to the point where we are too many
Then it kills us excessively in multiple ways
Death is merely us, though invisible
It wonders too, looking for something to do
While it wonder the universe
It has purpose
poem by Ethan Wilson
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The canonization
‘For God sake hold your tongue, and let me love.’
Chide my illness or the ruined fortunes,
But hold your tongue to mock at my love.
Take any course that you want to pursue
So you will let me love my beloved.
Get anything by whatever means and
I disturb you not and you disturb me not.
‘Alas, alas, who’s injured by my love? ’
My sighs haven’t drowned any merchant ship.
My heats in veins haven’t caused any plague.
‘Call us what you will, we are made by love’
Call us candles or flies; both die at their cost.
‘We can die by it, if not live by love.’
All shall approve us canonized for love.
30.10.2008
Based on the poem by the same title written by the famous love poet John Donne.1572-1631
‘
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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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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Hopes and fears hook us.
Hope of gain is more cheerful than the gain.
Hope of love is more charming than the love.
Hope of life is more assuring than the life.
Being slave to hopes, we enjoy most
Fear of loss is more dreadful than the loss.
Fear of pain is more painful than the pain.
Fear of death is more horrible than the death.
Being slave to fears, we suffer most.
04.04.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Truth Of Life!
Oh! The great death, the grand gift of life
Knows not the young or old, rich or poor
Visits all, acts as double edged knife
Can take the body, soul never!
None desires death, but that death spares none
For the good or bad, read or unread
Death brings pain and grief, sure gives not fun
None on earth wants death, that comes unsaid!
Man with wealth ever in fear of death
Men sans wealth with love for kith and kin
All in constant fear and worry
Over death none has control any!
Truth of life is certainty of death
Do thy duty, face death bold on earth!
poem by Subbaraman N V
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