Velvety Return
Like a dung beetle you were guarding
the tunnel, I will not let the ball roll away,
a grain of ache in my tooth.Why you had
to go, on cathartic release of mutual trust?
A stone in the heart, ice on the wings,
there will be a terrible crash today.
He died by his own hands, failing to reach
the ceiling of solid pain, trekking across
the memories in deep waters. The born depression
had the bride of moon without flesh, beyond the gaze.
A hand holds the sunlight reaching your eyes.
You may swim with fish in mid stream of death.
* On the death of Nicholas Hughes, son of Sylvia Plath in Alaska on 16th March 09.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Velvety Return
Like a dung beetle you were guarding
the tunnel, I will not let the ball roll away,
a grain of ache in my tooth.Why you had
to go, on cathartic release of mutual trust?
A stone in the heart, ice on the wings,
there will be a terrible crash today.
He died by his own hands, failing to reach
the ceiling of solid pain, trekking across
the memories in deep waters. The born depression
had the bride of moon without flesh, beyond the gaze.
A hand holds the sunlight reaching your eyes.
You may swim with fish in mid stream of death.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sylvia's Death
For Sylvia Plath
O Sylvia, Sylvia,
with a dead box of stones and spoons,
with two children, two meteors
wandering loose in a tiny playroom,
with your mouth into the sheet,
into the roofbeam, into the dumb prayer,
(Sylvia, Sylvia
where did you go
after you wrote me
from Devonshire
about raising potatoes
and keeping bees?)
what did you stand by,
just how did you lie down into?
Thief -
how did you crawl into,
crawl down alone
into the death I wanted so badly and for so long,
the death we said we both outgrew,
the one we wore on our skinny breasts,
the one we talked of so often each time
we downed three extra dry martinis in Boston,
the death that talked of analysts and cures,
the death that talked like brides with plots,
the death we drank to,
the motives and the quiet deed?
(In Boston
the dying
ride in cabs,
yes death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
O Sylvia, I remember the sleepy drummer
who beat on our eyes with an old story,
how we wanted to let him come
like a sadist or a New York fairy
to do his job,
a necessity, a window in a wall or a crib,
and since that time he waited
under our heart, our cupboard,
and I see now that we store him up
year after year, old suicides
and I know at the news of your death
a terrible taste for it, like salt,
(And me,
me too.
And now, Sylvia,
you again
with death again,
that ride home
with our boy.)
And I say only
with my arms stretched out into that stone place,
what is your death
but an old belonging,
a mole that fell out
of one of your poems?
(O friend,
while the moon's bad,
and the king's gone,
and the queen's at her wit's end
the bar fly ought to sing!)
O tiny mother,
you too!
O funny duchess!
O blonde thing!
poem by Anne Sexton
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Sylvia Plath
I wish I had a sylvia plath
Busted tooth and a smile
And cigarette ashes in her drink
The kind that goes out and then sleeps for a week
The kind that goes out on her
To give me a reason, for well, I dunno
And maybe shed take me to france
Or maybe to spain and shed ask me to dance
In a mansion on the top of a hill
Shed ash on the carpets
And slip me a pill
Then shed get pretty loaded on gin
And maybe shed give me a bath
How I wish I had a sylvia plath
And she and I would sleep on a boat
And swim in the sea without clothes
With rain falling fast on the sea
While she was swimming away, shed be winking at me
Telling me it would all be okay
Out on the horizon and fading away
And Id swim to the boat and Id laugh
I gotta get me a sylvia plath
And maybe shed take me to france
Or maybe to spain and shed ask me to dance
In a mansion on the top of a hill
Shed ash on the carpets
And slip me a pill
Then shed get pretty loaded on gin
And maybe shed give me a bath
How I wish I had a sylvia plath
I wish I had a sylvia plath
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fish with no tail
as i gaze out of nature... i have seen a fish without a tail
impossible but its true, first things came up to my mind
is, ask whether its worth to give time to remember all
the scene or perhaps, just a memories of a simple
goodbye
as the fish swim, deep beneath the crystal blue water, i
couldn't remember the minutes, the hours past, nay i felt
that i haven't taken my meal, it seems all are just a blink
of a second in my eyes
it keeps on bubbling, even in a thousands seconds it
stay in the water, until i notice that the fish fail to surface
beneath the running water, for the absence of the tail
the body is nothing
all is just a mirror of a fish that, every movement of the
body, the twist of the tail has to follow, its a paradox to
believe that we see the tail of other fish, nay never we
saw that we don't have tail of our own
like the fish it swim, with no direction, only an inspiration
that we can do, yet as it goes there we go, tail that swim
in the water stream with no affection of what to do
now i see, how to swim, in water, lou! where i may go...in
the world of stream when everybody is frame......
poem by Antonio Liao
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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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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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A Hand
First Love's Touch,
mutual gathering was only through them,
our Hands.
We poets celebrate
Hearts and Souls;
Love too wields magic,
but neglect too often
those stalwart two-
the human hands-
we're birth'd with.
Entwined most
in our Corporeal Destinies
yet hands occupy
in the Pantheon of Graces
a position lower than should be.
Consider birth's first
is a touching hand.
First our eyes open
then
we are lifted by them.
Is not reaching for love
first with these twins?
Was not my First Love
first touched by them?
Did we not, we two, hold hands
along the heart-way walkways?
Did not these two first wave
sweet hellos and partings?
What poet's mind could word
without them?
Alas, too, it was these two
which fluttered dismissively
signaling
First Love was leaving.
At death's bed
the last we reach
for nurse, loved ones
or darlings,
with be with these two hands,
when from this world departing.
Is not electricity
generated by them
in the touching of our bodies?
Are not hands reaching on the Grecian Urn
expressing love's startings,
it's yawlings and yearnings?
I will die
as we all will-
its hands that will pray for me.
Coffin bound
I will lay,
my two hands crossing.
I am touched by loving hands
from birth
to Death's Regarding.
All my life these two ambassadors
convey
sweet touches
to me and from me
to others.
The tear of child
is reached by these
and Child Worlds mended.
Lover, I
have only these
to express what
what my Heart says
Love Is.
In the end
cry for them too:
Fluttering Twins,
unsung,
ungraced,
each hand-
perforce
will reach out
one to each-
one floating flower to another.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Reunited
The pale beams of a sickle moon
Shed just enough light to show.
The winding path to lagoon.
A place we often chose to go
I very seldom walk this way.
It holds too many memories
Which underline I am alone.
A heart ache which will never cease.
Although you died long years ago
I think about you constantly.
The happiness we used to know.
Brought to an end prematurely.
I know that death is drawing nigh
If not today then very soon.
If death is kind I too will die
beside the shores of our lagoon.
Where you left me so suddenly.
I have no doubt that you will be
still waiting for me patiently.
So we can share eternity.
The found his body by first light
Precisely where his wife had died.
Although I’m weeping as I write
I pen this tale of love with pride.
(For M'lady Ernestine/Monday,08 August 2011)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Introspection
If you go deep
Into the heart
What do you find there?
Fear, fear,
Fear of the jaws of the rock,
Fear of the teeth and splinters of iron that tear
Flesh from the bone, and the moist
Blood, running unfelt
From the wound, and the hand
Suddenly moist and red.
If you go deep
Into the heart
What do you find?
Grief, grief,
Grief for the life unlived,
For the loves unloved,
For the child never to be born,
Th'unbidden anguish, when the fair moon
Rises over still summer seas, and the pain
Of sunlight scattered in vain on spring grass.
If you go deeper
Into the heart
What do you find there?
Death, death,
Death tht lets all go by,
Lets the blood flow from the wound,
Lets the night pass,
Endures the day with indifference, knowing that all must end.
Sorrow is not forever, ad sense
Endures no extremities,
Death is the last Secret implicit within you, the hidden, the deepest
Knowledge of all you will ever unfold
In this body of earth.
poem by Kathleen Jessie Raine
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Tei ('Demirifa due')
'Demirifa due'
Your died on the 3rd of March 2002;
And was buried on the 16th of March 2002,
But what is the independence of man when death calls? !
Tei, 'demirifa due';
You were with me on Friday the 1st of March 2002,
Then on Sunday the 3rd of March 2002 i heard of your death;
For death took you away from me like a candle in the wind.
Of the Red Sea and the Black Sea,
Of the Blue Sea and theWhite Sea,
But the wind blew you away so soon into the world unknown;
Young and fresh and never married,
And of the tears of many who came to see your dead body.
I was short of wards when i heard the news,
Because we had an appointment to go out together on the 4th of March;
And being an artist like myself,
We planned to visit the ART CENTRE (in Accra-Ghana) to sell some works.
Tei, 'demirifa due';
You were knocked and run down by a tipper truck with double axles!
And death knocked at your door so early and you were gone too soon.
Wailing and gnashing of teeth,
Your candle died out so soon in the wind;
And this sad note will be remembered always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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For Janet
Death
Terrible wretched death
See how she suffered
Pain all over her body
Wretched wretched death
Pain
Unspeakable pain
Life sucked right out of her
She died unmercifully
Satan is a terrible deceiver
She doesn't hurt anymore
She doesn't ache all over
She is smiles
All full of smiles now
Can't you see her smiling
She finally defeated the enemy
She's so pretty
Long wavy brown hair
Pulled to the side
She's running with a smile on her face
Running to her Jesus
To our Jesus
Pretty pretty lady
We'll see you soon
Date of death August 22,1993
poem by TerriJo James
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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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Death without purpose
death for me I must embrace,
death for me, is a OK place,
For death waits for me with open arms,
For I have dealt death,
Death is now being dealt to me,
For I thought I had a Angel,
A savior,
The person who pick me up and gave me purpose,
A love I had thought I never imagined,
Now this is gone if you could only imagine,
You had my soul, now my soul is gone,
Who am I with out you? With out my soul?
With out you making me hole,
Now death is awaiting me with a smile,
No purpose, no love, no soul,
Life and death, death and life,
they stand side by side in the end,
For now death hands me its hand,
I don’t know who I am,
So death once again offers its hand,
Such a easy offer right at hand,
For its a easy answer,
For all I feel, death does seem the sure deal,
Sorrow, pain, heart ache, purposeless, loveless,
Hate for ones self, for all the things I have done,
This sure seems the answer,
Death looks at me with a glean in his eye,
He knows I am tempted to take the easy way out,
Is that such a terrible thing to have offered?
Do be tempted to take?
What else is there now left for me to take?
What else do I have to be taken now?
If this is the choice I make,
Don’t mourn for me for its to late,
Don t show me sympathy I have to shake,
Just let me go,
I choose this, not you, not your blame
Take my soul,
It is your, once always, and forever,
When the going gets rough,
Remember what I stood for,
For I can not stand for myself,
I can not take the this feeling I have inside,
I'm lost with out you by my side.
Will I be judged for the things I have done?
The sins I have committed?
Well in the end it really doesn't matter, now does it?
Now death is waiting patiently by my side,
Now as I lye here awake with a gentle shake,
I know what it is to have death on my side,
So now I say goodbye,
Death is taking me for a ride,
poem by John Pollock
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As You Humiliate Yourself
you volunteer to shrink a little bit
like a rotten pumpkin to
let her know that you also know how to die
and find a way to reach her
in her own death.
you let go all that is fluid something that is liquid
you make these
turn to gas so you also have a way of telling her
that you also know how to disappear
she may close her eyes in anger because of you
she may like to abuse you and not talk to you as you gaze to find out
the reason why the stars are not out tonight
why there is not a single shining moon
you are so patient waiting like a fisherman with his bait
to catch a fish tonight
out there in the deep sea in desolation
you give her time to change and to understand your longing
for stars
your thirst for the light of the moon
it will be painful, you have humiliated yourself in all these
shrinking of your arms and hands
you become like a tiny dot in humility to the line of
bold letters and exclamation marks
you give up, you get out of the bed and stopped staring at the ceiling
you open the door of this cold room and you close it again
to leave her
still closing her eyes keeping her tears from falling.
it is over you say. it is over. it is too late. another door has been locked
and this time you do not wish anyone in.
a wise man sometimes likes to use
a period.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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And Death Washes Only Bones
And death washes only bones;
The mouth of death speaks oft of every tounge
Never his patience once lost is found in all your nature;
Death washes a bone and the astrologer hands two back,
So the moon when lined up, shines down on Venus asleep.
Time smiles on the heart beating and long of face therein,
death puts it back on the middle shelf prearanged.
And death washes only bones;
Deep valleys are filled with man's rich oil,
And covered over memories by death too often dredged.
Lined up end to end exposed again to harvest the tears of wait;
And death washes only bones and man who drinks so bold,
There being no truth and lies sown shut death eyes all bottoms.
d.t.
poem by Is It Poetry
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Eyes of Death
I looked into your eyes
Your Eyes of Death
I killed for those eyes to look into mine
Into my eyes of pain and guilt
I dared to walk into your path
I dared to take your hand into mine
And I dared to tell you my darkest secret
I stared into your Eyes of Death
And I lost my soul to them
When I looked into your Eyes of Death.
To this day, I am still dead
To this day, I can no longer live in the mortal world
To this day, we shall not die of fire, water, or love,
But of our Eyes of Death that rein our souls
I stare into your Eyes of Death and I cringe at the sight
I look into your Eyes of Death and I am no longer alive
I looked into your Eyes of Death
And I died again, before I could run from them
For I cannot stand to be around you to this very day again
I looked into your eyes
Your Eyes…of Death
poem by Jade DragonHeart
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It's Not By The Water Alone The Stone Get Wet
it's not by the water alone the stone get wet
many time the soil moisture rise the plant to grow,
and the dew fall in the midst forest has capture the
sun to shadow the plant maturity until the bearing
trees touch every twisting tooth to go down
roll on the water stream the fungi has distance the
cope off the fish, rushing into the turmoil of
crushing speed amongst the stone of sojourner into
the sea of no returning back, the awakening
movement of home bound recipe of life
all gets wet, nay wet moisturize all the rolling stone
towards to the sea floor of forever gray; neither the
water filled the dried color of the stone, and scented
to attract fish to return home for what is real lives
forever in the heart of the stone
let every piece of pebble gems taste a little droplets
of water as it linger on in the memory of the each
stream.....
poem by Antonio Liao
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Grandma, I Never Knew You
I never knew you
You are my grandmother.
I get mad at God
For not giving me a chance
To know you.
You died ten years
Before I was born.
It breaks my heart
Every time I think
That I will never get
The chance to know you.
I look at your picture that hangs
Almost everyday.
I wonder if I have your eyes.
I wonder if I have your laugh.
I wonder if I have your smile.
I wonder if I have your nose.
I wonder if I have anything of you.
I guess I will never know
I guess I will never get to see you.
Death is the most tragic thing in life
Death is hard on me now than I was younger.
Death is what I have inside
Thinking of everyone that I have lost.
Death is forever
Death is longer than an eternity
Death is permanent
Death is a scar that never goes away.
Death is what I feel everyday
Death is what has to be.
Death is what is happening everyday.
Death is what no one knows for sure.
Death is what everyone goes through.
Death is the reason why I am the way I am
Death is what I fear…
poem by Kimberly Santistevan
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For My Father
Reaching upward as I never believed
I could do, not within this moment-
Searching for life’s meaning, heaven sent and
Written across the stone of some unfamiliar despondent
Figure from my past-
Was an invitation for me to follow in your footsteps –
Much less you, my own father who passed away years ago
I can almost hear you calling my name aloud as I
Search for relief from all of the pain-
My stone is waiting and patiently standing- in my dying breath- as
I climb this stairway towards hell- I say-
Father you were a good man with such a zest for life although
Only evil people with no conscience
Burn in hell’s brush fire
In your eyes and mine likewise death is hell
In itself- in our eyes life has always been a challenge,
Life is indeed a gift- while death is a rude awakening-
Perhaps if I climb this ladder I am tenuously holding onto-
I will find you once again when I reach the top-
I remember being your one and only,
As I remember you to be a godsend –
Reaching upward is reaching outward to
Embrace the most gentle, loving and
The most gallant man- in all due respect-
Meeting you face to face once more
Would erase the pain of loss I feel and
In my heart, mind and spirit-
Loss is none but hell and reuniting with you
Will give us both a second chance at life –
- Let hell’s fire burn-if not for just this moment-
It shall light the candle I hold in my hand
Blazing a path before me- until we meet once more-
Much less to be held in your arms-
The heaven of both of our dreams come true-
Love puts out all malevolent fires-as would a fountain of youth or
A cleansing shower- let fondest memories of the good times
We shared turn the hell of death to
A warm rebirth – no matter where that light shall guide us-
That place shall be our one and only heaven-
poem by Claudia Krizay
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Mummy Wheat
LAID close to Death, these many thousand years,
In this small seed Life hid herself and smiled;
So well she hid, Death was at least beguiled,
Set free the grain--and lo! the sevenfold ears!
Warmed by the sun, wooed by the wind's soft word,
Under blue canopy they hold their state:
For this, ah, was it not worth while to wait
Through all the centuries of hope deferred?
What could they know who laid the seed with Death
Of this Divine fruition fixed and planned?
Love--since Life parts us--lend my hand your hand
And look with me into the eyes of faith.
For here between your hand and mine there lies
A little seed we trust to Death to keep
Through unimagined centuries of sleep
Until the day when Life shall bid it rise.
Our harvest waits us. Who knows where or how,
What worlds away, wrapped in what coil of pain?
But Life shall bid us pluck gold sevenfold grain
Grown from the love she bids us bury now.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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