Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: I
When is life other than a tragedy,
Whether it is played in tears from the first scene,
In sable robes and grief's mute pageantry,
For loves that died ere they had ever been,
Or whether on the edge of joys set keen,
While all the stage with laughter is agog,
Death stepping forward with an altered mien
Pulls off his mask, and speaks the epilogue?
Life is a play acted by dying men,
Where, if its heroes seem to foot it well
And go light--tongued without grimace of pain,
Death will be found anon. And who shall tell
Which part was saddest, or in youth or age,
When the tired actor stops and leaves the stage?
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Act the Part
I am an actor on this stage of life.
My role is factored into all the scenes
Beginning with an innocent delight.
My birth and babbling lines by any means
Directed all attention to this part.
A ham at birth and cute, I was a star.
The photographs and modeling apart
From some occasional fluffing thus far
I acted many roles that came my way.
Until my public image lost its lure
I found myself without a scene to play
Except the one where life shown me the door
A role I never played in my career
An empty lonely man, alone in tears.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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On The Life And Death Of Man
The world's a theatre. The earth, a stage
Placed in the midst: where both prince and page,
Both rich and poor, fool, wise man, base and high,
All act their parts in life's short tragedy.
Our life's a tragedy. Those secret rooms,
Wherein we 'tire us, are our mothers' wombs.
The music ushering in the play is mirth
To see a man-child brought upon the earth.
That fainting gasp of breath which first we vent,
Is a dumb show; presents the argument.
Our new-born cries, that new-born griefs bewray,
Are the sad prologue of the ensuing play.
False hopes, true fears, vain joys, and fierce distracts,
Are like the music that divides the Acts.
Time holds the glass, and when the hour's outrun,
Death strikes the epilogue, and the play is done.
poem by Francis Quarles
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Finding Life In Death
I spend so much time doting on earth and what it has,
Enjoying what's mine to use, to take, to squander.
I keep modeling myself to what I think will work,
But for my mistakes there is no remedy.
All my light, no matter how hard I shine,
Cannot overcome these stains of dark, of perversion, of guilt.
I look around and am without excuse, there is success, there is right,
But where does this over powering light, that is not subdued by death come from?
Nothing I have within me can overcome me,
Who is this intercessor that magnetically pulls me towards him?
This light, somehow familiar with death, a death, many deaths,
my death.
How is his death on my hands because of my death?
My death, my dying, my deeds deserving death...
For my death he died?
How redemption suddenly eclipses all other pursuits,
I switch from seeking sin to seeking salvation.
And it is found.
poem by Benjamin Feliciano
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Life or Death
Death is a mystery,
and life is Suspense.
The journey to death,
is unknown yet,
and Life is a dream stage.
Nobody has come back
From their death,
And life seems to be,
Chasing an invisible end.
Escape from death,
is impossible,
and so from Life.
Death is most painful,
Life is even more.
Death is frightful,
And Life is a puzzle.
So is life,
or Death,
better for a human fate?
poem by Pratisha Karki
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The Day Old Shep Died
it's been thirty years,
that he's been gone,
the day he died, brought tears,
all day, i played his song.
for nine long years,
i loved him and he loved me,
the day he died, broght tears,
toward the end, he could barely see.
when he died, i was seventeen years,
my child hood died that day,
the day he died, brought tears,
during his youth, we were always at play.
him and i was, so close in years,
when i got shep he was five and i eight,
the day he died brought tears,
he always ate his meals, off our plate.
he died at eighty-four in human years,
he lived to a ripe old age,
the day he died brought tears,
for this poem, he set the stage.
i can't believe, its been so many years,
i think about him, all the time,
the day he died, brought tears,
but old shep, was all mind.
of all these many years,
no dog has taken the place of old shep,
the day he died, brought tears,
i'll always remember, that dog with pep
in memory of old shep 1946-1960 written june 21,1990
Death is when....
Death is when my loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain in my heart
Death is this feeling of permanent sadness and pain
Death is when my loved ones have gone away
Death is the call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is the lesson i need to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is this unhappy feeling i have
Death is pleasant on my behalf
Death is the day i end my life
Death is when i give up the fight
Death is happiness to the world around me
Death started when i gained my life
Death can be helped along with this knife
Death is where i shall go
Death is close, i kno
Death willl come fast
Death is vast
Death is what i see
Death lives inside of me
Death is joy to me
Death has come for me
Death is gonna take me
Death will stop my misery
Death loves my company
Death ends the pain
Death takes me on that train
Death is near
Death is finally here
To They Who Are Hauted By The Spectre Of Death
Do not fear death because death is not to be feared.Death is the bride of every household therefore welcome her with open arms.Death is inevitable therefore do not deny yourself the pleasure of having a nice time while you're still alive.Death is a stage through which all of us must pass.Death is necessary and this old life would be very boring if we would all live forever.Accept the inevitability of death and die gratefully with less worry lines on your death mask, There are no worries in the other world and over there they offer you virgins to pamper you to compensate for your undeserved suffering in this world.Therefore be willing to die young and have a good looking corpse
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Left The Body To Watch
In the ending, there was beginning of fear
of unknown.
The pain of malignity,
evil punctuation of
a serene landscape.
Life moved from one landmark
to another in alien waste.
I shuddered in a patch of sun.
The impulse was very strong to find out the answer
I was violated by many questions.
Words could not tell,
migrated back to their scriptures.
Time altered the names
of fear & death.
Waiting grew into self-knowledge.
Like pleated oxygen mask
life gave me a bump.
Saddened, I played the mutation game.
Failed, tried again, left the body to watch
the death of the self.
Beyond the mind, away from sorrow
and grief of world.
poem by Satish Verma
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My Life Is Over With You
(clarke / hicks)
You wanna explain, thats why you called
Save your breath it doesnt matter at all,
Not now, my friend
You played your cards, and you made your choice
I dont wanna listen to your voice,
Not now, my friend
Ive found a new part to play in life
Theres different actors on my stage
Ill set the pace in a world without you
I dont wanna hear the things that you say
cos my life is over with you
Now you know whats on my mind
Dont call again cos you will find
I wont be here
You chose your path to walk along
Now I can sing a different song
I hope thats clear
Chorus
Ive found a new part to play in life
Theres different actors on my stage
Good bye, my love, and dont feel sad
Just because Im feeling glad
That youre not here
Youll go your way and Ill go mine
Maybe well meet some other time
Goodbye, my love
Chorus
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strange Relationship
Death has been my partner,
my best friend.
Every day the fear,
greets me in my bed,
and body starts dying.
I join the play.
The sun clips the clouds,
my lungs fills with aroma.
A golden bird starts singing
on the swaying leaves of palm.
Death smears me with ideas,
larger than pain
before and after it was foggy.
I sleep, half-opened eyes,
watching over with face
to the window.
Life moves from grief to grief.
A tiny seed pulsates
in the crevice of mind,
I love a view like that.
One hundred moons
and a dying sun.
An immence contrast.
Whom shall I choose as a prologue?
I cannot tread the center
of unborn story. The clouds
are always crimson before
the night. Life has
a shadow of death – and a strange
relationship survives.
poem by Satish Verma
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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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Ali, You Are Here
It brought tears to me
I was unable to think free
How sad and tragic incident!
Hell for life and turning point
How come the plane crashes?
Nose dive and to the ground rushes
Bringing life to an end with death
Only providing chance to lay wreath
Oh, dear how to put words?
You have passed through pain and fallen backwards
It is his call and we have to abide
Otherwise how come he might have died!
I feel pain and anguish
It brought your life to end or point to finish
It passed off you mind as flash of light
In deed it might be a brave fight
Ali may not come back
You have to stage a comeback
Ali has put symbol behind
Give all the love and in her you find
She may speak through her eyes
Smile when find her papa flies
All that may invade her memory
Never make her to feel sorry
Wait for those moments to come back
So much is at risk and at stake
You got to bring on rail the carriage
You must feel courage and manage
No young mother may find it easy
Even though she may keep herself busy
All memories may invade at all the times
Leaving behind tale of grief sometimes
I wish almighty to give you courage
Ali may be revived in daughter’s age
She may bring back same scene again
Just to take away your tears and pain
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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X-ray inferno
They called me to be an extra
They did not know I had a camera in my soul
For some all the worlds a stage
For some all the stage is the world
Wonder if the great one knew this
When he shook his spears
I was in between
Neither the real actor nor the real lifer
Perhaps this was each interpretation gave up
The stage I was standing on
I could not grasp the text even though I got it in time
Perhaps it was quite enough for a stage
Certainly not for a life
Act 1 and its main character
He had a face unto which
An invisible hand of law left the visible scars
A quite sufficient number of them for a drama
He had those eyes hesitating between comedy and tragedy
There was laughter in one eye and tears in another
He laughed the way the dramaturge ordered him to do
But he cried quite independently
He had those arms destroyed by uncreation
He never knew the text as he had no camera in his soul
Great words of great minds so frequently he stammered
Little did he understand even less did he rehearse
He was a great actor but on this stage
Under the spotlight all he did was stand frozen
Act 2 The Prompter
He was in collusion with the sky
The Hermes of a contemporary theatre
He flattered all the laws of life
He knew exactly how low to go down into his box
So as to avoid the knocks from the stage
He knew exactly what and when
To whisper the texts into whose ears
He had known the text by heart
Even before it was written
Great words of great minds he recited out of his underground darkness
And he always knew the right moment
Because he knew everything about time
He never acted but he was a real lifer
He made more than art out of whispering
And put enormous effort into his role
Up to the point of having vocal cords damaged
Act 3 Dramaturge
His life role was creating illusion dramat urgent
He lived by apparitions and apparently lived
He was a little god of his own creations
He walked the planks his spirit split
He borrowed life to text without a single doubt
In any single moment
That stage is just an attempt of life
However
He knew how to make other not to doubt that
And that was all his power
With the sword of an illusion he cut the greatest actors
Even the greatest lifers feared him
He never doubted that he was just a slave of an endless creating
Whose purpose cannot be seen due to doubt
Peripeteia
A drunken night officer set fire to this theatre
Burning down deus ex machina as well
AD 2000 copywRITE of DESERT FeARTtre S&M HEARTiculated by M.O.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Stage
If the world is just a stage
and we're the actors in it,
why do the same ones get to play
the lead roles every minute?
For once I'd like to see a change
take place upon this stage
where the lead characters are the poor
stepping out of their cage.
Where all the minor roles would be given out
to all the power players
who've controlled this drama from the start
having never said their prayers.
And as the curtain rose each day
we would look and see
the poor and needy in front row seats,
the rulers in standing room only.
If this is just a stage we're on
and life is just a play,
then wouldn't it be ingenious
to see them all portray
us.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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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
Death death death death death death death death death
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Death death death death death death death death death
The final part
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Build For Pain
DEATH IS WIND AND I BREATH IT IF SOMEONE FORCES ME 2 OR IF IM TIRED OF LIFE MYSELF.
PAIN + PAIN IS DEATH
MISERY + UNHAPPINESS IS SORROW
SORROW + PAIN IS TEARS
AND I SHED SO MANY FOR PEERS
THAT GOES DOWN THE PATH TO
WHEN DEATH THEY DODGE
TO WHERE SOME STRIKES WITH
VENGENCE AND LEAVE US DEAD IN THE
STREETS OF OUR HEARTS
DEATH SHED NO TEARS OF ITS OWN
BUT IF I HAVE TO HOLD MY BREATH TO KEEP
DEATH AWAY FROM ME I WONT BECAUSE
IM ALREADY BUILT FOR PAIN
poem by Used2Pain mopbfnl2d
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Why Sing Horacio?
why sung
Horacio
who talked
Horacio
why spoke
why spoken
Horace
self addressed
the edge of a sword
living oracle
death crime
why sing Horacio
it makes a difference
or it makes it not
it lives a lie
or it makes it truth
it loves a life
or it dies
or it loves it not
you're not a girl
Horacio
you should not
cut the flower leaves
tear the buds apart
in life loves me
or it loves me not
time you face it
will you
get out of the text
Horacio
out of
tragedy
comedy
burlesque
script
get some life
Horacio
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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You Are The Pain (part 2)
You Are The Pain and
You Are The Joy (part 2)
You are the Pain and the joy,
on the stage of life.
You are the pain, when your are distant
from me and you are the joy in my
memories of you.
You are the pain, when your touch, I
can not feel and you are the joy,
as I hold you near.
You are the pain, when tears you
have caused, and you are the joy, for the
laughter in my life.
You are the pain, when indifference enters
our life and you are the joy, when you
place me before others.
You are the pain, when you busy life, has
little time for me and you are the joy,
when there is just us.
You are the pain, as you seek that which
glitters in life and you are the joy,
as you are immersed, in the makings of God.
You are the pain, when angered and abrupt
and you are the joy when seeking
to make amends.
You are the pain, when anger is your
roadblock to reason and you are the
joy, when you step back and seek
a solution.
You are the pain, in you compulsives and singleness
of purpose, to be successful...and you are
a joy, when you blanket those you
care for, with love.
You are the pain, when impatience leads you down
an uncertain path and you are the joy, as you
carefully plot a pragmatic course.
You are the pain, when you listen...but
do not hear and you the joy, when
patient and understanding.
You are the pain, when other matters,
substitute our love, and you are the joy,
when we are fused together as one.
You the a pain, in our spirited
disagreements, and you are
the joy, as you say, I love you.
The lesson we know well, that in
this life, there is no joy, unless
there is pain.
Stages Of Development
Every life goes through stages,
stages of development.
It starts with our birth,
the first stage in our lives,
and ends with our death,
the final stage when we
evolve to a higher plane.
Each stage along our journey
prepares us for our final stage
and the journey
that has to be taken by us all.
18 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Yes! Death is Beautiful!
for all the girls and guys out there
who fear death like anything and stare
up the sky and say their prayer
Oh God of death! Spare me, just spare!
for all the men and women I care
death for them, is not at all fair
Immense pain it gives, which they can't share
it takes away everything, makes them bare
to them I say, fear not the death
coz death is beautiful, it refines your breath
to breathe the bliss and smell the light
no days no night, dear, what a beautiful sight!
Death may be painful at first
but at end is just blissfull
agonizing body at first
the end experience, so wonderful!
Some sail through dark tunnel, lights at last
others flow above, high and fast
Some hear a melodious strange music
others.... divine experience, which God casts...
you feel like you never belonged here
A peaceful Destination is calling you there
and you're eager to go, be one among them
That's why dying people, they never have pain...
Death is like a commercial break
a transition period for a tired soul
tired from the game of life, we people play
Death is a comma(,) which refreshes the Soul...
Fear not the Death!
Coz it's the most beautiful thing
that can't happen to you again
and every precious moment and thing
comes witha little or more pain...
Yes! Death is Beautiful
Death is precious, so Rare
and comes with no clue
that's why we enjoy once
and that is True...
Death is Beautiful
Death is True...
poem by Soumya Dash
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