A Grieving Widow
From the cemetery in Cameron Street she's a short walk away
And often at her husband's grave for his soul she does pray
An old miner of the black coal two years ago he died
Soon she will go to join him to lay forever by his side.
Her husband in his mid seventies when the Reaper for him came
And without her one true soul mate life for her not the same
They migrated to Wonthaggi in their early twenties in nineteen fifty three
He was her childhood sweetheart back home in Italy.
The saddest time of her life has been the last two years
She still grieves for her husband for him she still shed tears
Even at the mention of his name the tears come to her eyes
The stonger the bond of love is the sadder the goodbyes
Her son and daughter in Wonthaggi to her they live quite near
And stories of her old Homeland her grand kids love to hear
She tells them of the happy times their grand dad and her did know
When they were young in Italy so many years ago.
At her husband's grave in Cameron Street she says a silent prayer
A woman in her mid seventies with a silvery head of hair
And tears are welling in her eyes at her memories of the past
But no one lives forever and nothing ever last.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Cremation
Well the coal black sea waits for me me me
The coal black sea waits forever
The waves hit the shore
Crying more more more
But the coal black sea waits forever
The tornados come up the coast they run
Hurricanes rip the sky forever
Through the weathers change
the sea remains the same
The coal black sea waits forever
There are ashes split through collective guilt
People rest at sea forever
Since they burnt you up
Collect you in a cup
For you the coal black sea has no terror
Will your ashes float like some foreign boat
or will they sink absorbed forever
Will the Atlantic Coast
have its final boast
Nothing else contained you ever
Now the coal black sea waits for me me me
The coal black sea waits forever
When I leave this joint
at some further point
The same coal black sea will it be waiting
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cremation - Ashes To Ashes
Well the coal-black sea waits for me-me-me
The coal-black sea waits forever
The waves hit the shore, crying more-more-more
But the coal-black sea waits forever
The tornados come up the coast they run
Hurricanes rip the sky forever
Through the weathers change, the sea remains the same
The coal-black sea waits forever
There are ashes split through collective guilt
People rest at sea forever
Since they burnt you up, collect you in a cup
For you the coal-black sea has no terror
Will your ashes float like some foreign boat
Or will they sink absorbed forever
Will the atlantic coast, have its final boast
Nothing else contained you ever
Now the coal-black sea waits for me-me-me
The coal-black sea waits forever
When I leave this joint at some further point
The same coal-black sea will it be waiting
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I would much prefer to be a judge than a coal miner because of the absence of falling coal.
quote by Peter Cook
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Truly, Truly, This Is The End
They say deaths an open door
Into another room
Within the city of the dead
(Our New Kingdom)
They say we walk like dreams
Sharing the same breath
Seeing through the same eyes
(A collective spirit)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
They say the Earth it gives no peace
Nor does it take away
We all survive the grave
(Unfortunate eternal)
They say that in times past
A king walked in the sky
Until dethroned by man
(Tribe of Judas)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
This is the end
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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End Of Line
End of the Line
Old man, yes, you who walk near the houses on the pavement
down the street using a cane, is there something wrong with
your hips? Hey! Old man when you see a group of youngsters
standing by the corner you feel fear, and if they make fun of
the way you walk you pretend not to hear only try to walk faster.
It didn’t used to be like this you looked the world in the eye as
you broad shouldered swaggered down the street of life, no one
dared to challenge you then; you didn’t know it was going to end
like this. Hey! Old man your life is behind you and your future is
the grave, and your walk often takes you to the cemetery where
you often go and read the names of people you used to know.
You live in pain- tell me way- most of the time, watch irrelevant
news TV, while drinking a little whisky. Every Saturday you go
the café and drink beer with other old men, only there are so few
of them now. Hey! Old man with a foot in the grave, in your dream
you are still virile and when you wake up you feel young until you
see the cane or your face in the unforgiving mirror. Yet you go on
living your loveless life in the hope of seeing another spring and
see the blossoming of the almond tree.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Just love the Cemetery
one thing about grave
about the cemetery that i like
they are all so real, real as death
and the people who come visiting
they come with their real self
laugh, smile or tears they are
all so reall, for there is no more need
to fake one's feeling, put on a face
everything is now known to the dead
or remains forever unknown
there is a quietness in the grave
and the cemetery that i like
it is the ingratiating quietness
that is so soothing to the soul
the calm acceptance of life
that to die is also a part of living
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Soothing graves
one thing about grave
about the cemetery that i like
they are all so real, real as death
and the people who come visiting
they come with their real self
laugh, smile or tears they are
all so reall, for there is no more need
to fake one's feeling, put on a face
everything is now known to the dead
or remains forever unknown
there is a quietness in the grave
and the cemetery that i like
it is the ingratiating quietness
that is so soothing to the soul
the calm acceptance of life
that to die is also a part of living
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cameron
Cameron the cat would never miss a trick –
Often in the garden on patrol.
Otherwise sleeping, though frequently meeting
His one and only love – that earthen bowl!
Cameron the cat took everything for granted -
Sure, the street lay under his control.
Contentedly snoozing – perhaps he 'd been boozing –
And toasting all that counts: his dearest bowl!
Cameron the cat would seek to take advantage –
His gullible owners often on parole.
Purring pathetically, and almost poetically,
He'd meow them into stacking up his bowl!
Cameron the cat was nonetheless a gem –
His owners saw him as their heart and soul,
But having to accept that he was so adept
At persuading them to fill his flipping bowl!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat
cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat
cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat
cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat cat
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Grand-Father's Clock
My grand-father's clock was too large for the shelf,
So it stood ninety years on the floor;
It was taller by half than the old man himself,
Though it weighed not a penny weight more.
It was bought on the morn of the day that he was born,
And was always his treasure and pride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
In watching its pendulum swing to and fro,
Many hours had he spent while a boy;
And in childhood and manhood the clock seemed to know
And to share both his grief and his joy.
For it struck twenty-four when he entered at the door,
With a blooming and beautiful bride;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
My grandfather said that of those he could hire,
Not a servant so faithful he found;
For it wasted no time, and had but one desire --
At the close of each week to be wound.
And it kept in its place -- not a frown upon its face,
And its hands never hung by its side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
It rang an alarm in the dead of the night --
An alarm that for years had been dumb;
And we knew that his spirit was pluming for flight --
That his hour of departure had come.
Still the clock kept the time, with a soft and muffled chime,
As we silently stood by his side;
But it stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
Ninety years, without slumbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
His life seconds numbering (tick, tick, tick, tick)
It stopp'd short never to go again
When the old man died.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Forgotten
Dame's Rockets grow atop her grave:
Pinks, whites and purples flourish here
in this cemetery enclave
where no one has visit in years.
Her oblique, weatherworn headstone
stands aside a nearby roadside
hidden amid weeds, unbeknown
to motorist who pass where she lies.
An effortful deciphering
failed to clarify her birth year
Born April first [obscured] in spring
Died forgotten this much is clear
except for these fragrant bouquets
that perfume above her grave today.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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I Just Cant Make It By Myself
(words & music by clara ward)
I need jesus to guide me every day
As Im travellin along this rough and narrow way
Though afflictions fill my soul
Im determined to make the goal
Ive gotta have jesus cause I just cant make it by myself
Every day I pray (pray) pray (pray)
Pray (pray) pray (pray)
I pray (pray) pray (pray
Pray pray pray
Pray and ask the lord jesus
Dont leave me by myself
Every mornin through the years I pray
You know Ive got to have jesus
I just cant it by myself
By myself
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem for a mother whose lost her son
I held him safe within my womb
And kissed him in the birthing room
I held his hand in sickness too
And now I don't know what to do
My son, my child, my flesh and bone
Has died and left me all alone
And in the night when no one sees
I cry and end up on my knees
I cry to God and ask Him why
My precious son he had to die
And when the morning light appears
That's one more night I've spent in tears
And as the years they slip away
I learn to live just day by day
I turn to God who was so far
I look to where the answers are
I put my hand into His hand
He pulls me up and now I stand
I hear my Father say to me
'My Son He died upon a tree
I know the pain that mothers feel
When life turns black and robs and steals
And takes a portion of your heart
And tears your very soul apart'
Oh Lord I pray, please make me whole
Replace the joy that life has stole
This pain, this loss, is part of me
But still I'm longing to be free
I choose to walk out through the door
And melancholy reigns no more
I leave behind the shades of grey
To walk in light, to kneel and pray
' Come to me child, I've heard your cry
I saw your tears when your child died
Rest in me and find your peace
Replace your pain and find release'
Despite the fact we had to part
You still live on within my heart
There'll never be a day go by
A tear wont fall from your mother's eye
poem by Frank McEleny
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We Defy Barriers
I am a doctor!
Nay! May be a miner!
Some call me a burglar
And some as scavenger
I cut open your hearts
To see exists what
In that hidden crate
I cave into your minds
I thieve into your thoughts
Be there precious jewels
Or dirty black coal
I dig out to show the world
Their true colors
And I rob you of your sleep
If you are a hypocrite
Or a crafty cat
Bare you out in street
And tell the rest
To quit your kind of trait
And lo! If you are a pious soul
I low and bow before you
Give my life in whole
As an oblation to your ideals
After all I am a poet
With a multipronged weapon
In my strong hand
I don’t mind you call it
A scalpel, a shovel
A sword or a broom
I call it a pen
Sweeping and moping clean
Dirty streets of my nation
I even dare into whole world
Every nuke and corner
And declare in valor
“Poets have no barriers”
poem by Sathya Narayana
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My ex-mother in law
My ex-mother in law
was an unusual person
that could wish others
into death
and when my ex-wife’s
first husband died from cancer
she believed
that the Lord God
answered her prayer
and for me
she also prayed a thousand times
that same prayer
and fasted
and put tears with it
although I didn’t really
deserve it,
but here I am still
and it’s another story.
Her husband
falls down on the golf course
and is dead from a heart attack
and he hits his last ball
away into the bushes
without any control.
At the funeral
I had to help carry the coffin,
wash dishes
and what ever
my mother in law asked.
Father in law
had a small black dog
that went everywhere with him
and smoked pipe
like Van Donck
cannot stoke up on table mountain
and the dog
then also had to die
although it was great in health
and could still live for years.
I had to take mother in law
to the vet
as she couldn’t drive a car
and hold the animal
while he got
a last injection
and dig a grave
in the garden
and put him there.
l’Envoi
Now I wonder
what goes into such a person
that after her husband’s death,
she is finished
with every thing of his
and married
in months again
with somebody
to keep her company?
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Old Pair There
The old pair there they seem so very happy and they are two who've never sought renown
Raised on the same street they were childhood sweethearts and they raised their children here in their Hometown
Still so much in love and they in their late sixties they walk in the Town Parkland hand in hand
And others unhappy in their third or fourth marriage us human beings are hard to understand.
How come some can fall in love in their teen years and stay in love for the rest of their life
After all these years she's in love with her husband and after all these years he's in love with his wife
Whilst others go through many wives or husbands and their marriage always seems to end in tears
But they go searching for another partner they've fallen in and out of love for years
And could it be that they've never found their soul mate and unhappiness in love is all they find
They fall in and out of love so very quickly but then again some do say love is blind
But some will stay in love till death will take one and the living one for the dead one will grieve
Suppose they who stay in love for their whole lifetime in each others worth must firmly believe.
They've been in love since they were in their teen years and arm in arm they walk along the street
They are so in love after fifty years of marriage as if last week for the first time they did meet
Whilst others are in their fourth or fifth marriage but their love out of love's feeling seems to run
And then they go off in search of another perhaps it's in the chase they find their fun.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Day Of Mourn (Maguindanao Massacre)
11/26
The sun rose early behind the mountains
But never shone its rays on the face of the grieving
Darkness cloaked the land below my feet
Shaken the world with great terror and anguish
11/26
It’s a morn of mourning; a date of grieving
A day to unite and pray, for the departed victims
Come! Join us…… simultaneously, we shall light a candle
Come! Join us……. in unison we shall utter a moment of prayer
Let the candle’s wick burn until justice is serve
Let the grieving souls find tranquility on their grave
Let us all pray for JUSTICE name
Let us all pray and stop this demonic game
Come! Join us…..light a candle for this mournful day
Pray for the victims and make the perpetuators pay
26th of November,2009
poem by Catrina Heart
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Do You Even Know Me?
Do you even know me?
I walk down the street so many are completely oblivious to who I really am.
I wish to know everyone.
Like best friends.
To trust, in the inner most exposing.
A naked body cradled lying on the ground.
Water flows freely to every extremity.
Feeling equal inside.
Throwing away every last bit of pride.
Do you even know me?
I walk down the street so many are completely oblivious to who I really am.
I wish to know everyone.
A persona amplified by class.
I want to eliminate all of it as I pass.
We are all flawed.
Why in our eyes all that is seen is rejection?
Stay away from me you have an infection.
A carcinogenic ailment.
Oh it spreads to quickly.
Do you even know me?
I walk down the street so many are completely oblivious to who I really am.
I wish to know everyone.
Do you even know me?
I walk down the street so many are completely oblivious to who I really am.
I wish to know everyone.
Do you even know me?
I walk down the street so many are completely oblivious to who I really am.
I wish to know everyone.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Here Lie's The truth
“Here Lies the truth”,
On Her tombstone this will be wrote.
It was never spoke when She was living,
So also in death, it will be unspoke.
By Her it was never said
it was as though pulling out Her soul,
So here lies the truth and herself dead
Both has died in sadness and woe.
Here lies the truth,
Not once by her was it cried,
Not in the days that she was living,
Not even in the day that She had died.
She must of believed that it was a sin
To open Her heart and listen to the word
So She closed her heart and locked it shut,
And She never believed in no one but Her.
Here lies the truth,
It lived but a very short life,
Though the Woman died of years of age
The truth though, never had a chance to try.
Everyone She knew had learned Her lie
They never believed a word that she said
So when She finally tried to speak the truth,
Her heart stopped; and She laid dead.
Here lies the truth
It lived but a very short life,
It was loved by neither Child or Man,
For they believe its living was but a lie.
So here in the grave it will lay dead
As it had lived in this woman's soul,
Never again will it be uttered or thought of,
Never till the end of time will it be thought of or known.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Under The Black Skies
She is my friend
And she walks the street of Toronto with her husband and Mabel her Belog Dog under black skies
But the rain keeps falling down non stop
And poor Mabel gets wet from the rain
And my friend and her husband is wearing their raincoats amd they have Their umbrella open and they are holding it while they walk
But my friend and her husband and Mabel are the only people that are Walking in the streets of Toronto
Also I believe that the rain will clean the air today and will make it Easier for us to breath for once
poem by Aldo Kraas
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King Death
King Death was a rare old fellow!
He sate where no sun could shine;
And he lifted his hand so yellow,
And poured out his coal-black wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
There came to him many a Maiden,
Whose eyes had forgot to shine;
And Widows, with grief o'erladen,
For a draught of his sleepy wine.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
The Scholar left all his learning;
The Poet his fancied woes;
And the Beauty her bloom returning,
Like life to the fading rose.
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
All came to the royal old fellow,
Who laugh'd till his eyes dropped brine,
As he gave them his hand so yellow,
And pledged them in Death's black wine.
Hurrah! Hurrah!
Hurrah! for the coal-black Wine!
poem by Barry Cornwall
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