Some Sort Of War Poem
death, killing sprees
jews and gypsies
thundering pain
english campaign
sirens blazing
buildings blaring
babies screaming
eyes are streaming
with colour of red & white
our flag takes flight
proudly floating in the air
but still exists warfare
however imporvements can be made
with concrete, steel and a spade
for england overall does prevail
even though war covered our judgement with a veil
chinese whispers spread of hitlers death
we search for his body, width & breadth
but it still remains a mystery
and our vision will always stay blurred and cloudy
poem by Ben Nourse
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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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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
Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Death is... A Compilation of Death Poetry
(10/05/2000)
Death is when your loved ones must depart
Death is a sharp pain to the heart
Death is a feeling of permanent sadness & pain
Death is when your loved ones have forever gone away
Death is a call to heaven or hell
Death is an eternal mansion or cell
Death is a lesson to learn about
Death is a loss, without a doubt
Death is an unhappy feeling to have
Death is unpleasant on anyone's behalf
Death is something we all will go through
Death is a storm waiting to brew
Death is a lingering crow always overhead
Death is a soul, done being fed
Death is cruel,
Death is unfair,
Why death?
Does death care?
Death is unkind,
Death breaks hearts,
Why death?
Do you like to part?
Death is here,
Death is there,
Why death?
Why be everywhere?
Death is the end,
Death is to die,
Why death?
To make people cry?
Death was created,
Death is still here,
Why death?
We live in fear,
Death is death,
Death is dead,
Why death?
Because death said.
Death is forever, so don’t flirt with death
Death is painful, so stay away from knifes
Death is not for lovers, so don’t die
Death is not for me, so don’t even try
Death is never clear, so be careful
Death is never fun, so 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 forget it
Death is never what u expect, so expect the unexpected
Death is not for you, so please don’t give up
Death is forever, so don’t forget that
poem by Shenise Ashmeade
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~~~! Death! ~~~
Death waits for prey,
Death stalks, pounces then slays.
Death waits for no-one,
Death is an army of one.
Stalking, pouncing, stalking, pouncing,
That's what they say he does.
Running, stabbing, running, stabbing,
Killing is what Death loves.
Death can be black, death can be white,
Death can take to flight.
I hope you have enough breath,
I hope you've enjoyed my tale about death.
poem by Joshua Cheung
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Death With Dignity In Canada Oct 29th,2012
If the church has forbidden death with dignity; what else have they banned?
Are pedophile priests still hidden in this multicultural land?
Are abortions allowed to kill unborn babies here and there?
Should I apologize for being so bold and showing that I care?
If the States of Oregon and Washington can change things around,
Should the other states and should Canada hear the campaign sound?
Could we all die in dignity instead of devastating pain?
I think it would be better to hear the death-with-dignity campaign.
If ladies can have abortions here and there; then and now,
Why can't we have death-with-dignity instead of a pompous row?
Is it illegal or a sin or disgusting to talk about this?
Several European countries have it now, including the Swiss
poem by James Bredin
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The Day After Greed
walking the greying streets,
between the broken down
and vacant buildings....
through the alleyways..
concrete graveyards...
the hint of smoke hangs
in the air.... the stain of soot,
the taste of death... lingers....
i closed my eyes and saw
the bodies... strewn in the street
like trash blown against a fence...
eyes wild, faces contorted, ...
death, and it's brothers and sisters...
storefronts dark and ominous,
gas pumps stand alone like angry
sores, oozing into the emptiness.
great black birds fly, casting shadows
that search for tiny particles of light....
stray dogs roam in packs,
hungry for flesh!
only the sound of the great
oil rigs pumping in the distance....
an old tattered flag blown
by a cold infidel wind!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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His Crossing
He is dead. It is over.
Did you see his face before his death came;
The cancer deepened furrows
Of his brow; medicated dilation
Of his unfocused eyes;
His almost unintelligible pleading
For relief from pain?
Yet, at the threshold of his crossing
A placid recognition moved
Across his face, as if a splender
Approched his bed.
He seemed to see, he knew.
Was that the death his faith had taught?
Would he have embraced,
With ecstaic expression, a skeletal form
Robed in cloak and cowl,
Surrounded with shadowy dread,
Chilling the hearts
Of the sick and dying?
Who would have smoothed his brow?
Who would have released
His pain or caused a smile,
Except a loving friend?
There was a sweetness at his passing.
What he saw remains an eternal mystery;
A vision for which he had no fear.
I think the Angel of Death
Has been much maligned.
poem by Lynn W. Petty
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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 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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Psycho Man
The midnight hour approaches
The killing chill takes over him
His victims will not know when he appears
The lust of death's possetion
Will overtake his psycho mind
He won't be happy till he smells their fear
chorus:
(he's the angel of death)
Psycho man, psycho man, looking for a victim wherever he can
(he's the angel of death)
Psycho man, psycho man, he's a killer
Addicted to the menace
That taste of death that lives within
He loves it when he takes their final breath
Stalking is his pleasure
Killing is the final act
He takes no pity in his lust for death
chorus
(Guitar Solo)
(he's the angel of death)x2
chorus
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deaths Journey
Death like a cancer grows,
When it comes, nobody knows.
Enslaved in shadow,
This 'Killing King',
In wicked wonder, I feel Deaths sting.
Silent destiny,
Death follows creation,
Across the oceans,
Its mankinds damnation.
Death takes the young,
Visits the old,
Rich and poor alike,
Releases the soul.
What is this spector we call death?
It hunts and prowls for our last breath!
Death is with us everyday,
Bringing pain and sorrow,
It will never go away.
Pain, sorrow, misery, and tears,
Inevitable death,
Rules my fears.
A blackened spirit, wanting more,
Ending lifes' journey,
Will death knock on my door?
poem by Philip Lore
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Pro Rege Nostro
WHAT have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice again
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England: --
'Take and break us: we are yours,
England, my own!
Life is good, and joy runs high
Between English earth and sky:
Death is death; but we shall die
To the Song on your bugles blown, England --
To the stars on your bugles blown!'
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies,
You could know nor dread nor ease,
Were the Song on your bugles blown, England --
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient Sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song of your bugles blown, England --
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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What Have I Done For You
What have I done for you,
England, my England?
What is there I would not do,
England, my own?
With your glorious eyes austere,
As the Lord were walking near,
Whispering terrible things and dear
As the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Round the world on your bugles blown!
Where shall the watchful Sun,
England, my England,
Match the master-work you've done,
England, my own?
When shall he rejoice agen
Such a breed of mighty men
As come forward, one to ten,
To the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Down the years on your bugles blown?
Ever the faith endures,
England, my England:-
'Take and break us: we are yours,
'England, my own!
'Life is good, and joy runs high
'Between English earth and sky:
'Death is death; but we shall die
'To the Song on your bugles blown,
'England -
'To the stars on your bugles blown!
They call you proud and hard,
England, my England:
You with worlds to watch and ward,
England, my own!
You whose mailed hand keeps the keys
Of such teeming destinies
You could know nor dread nor ease
Were the Song on your bugles blown,
England,
Round the Pit on your bugles blown!
Mother of Ships whose might,
England, my England,
Is the fierce old Sea's delight,
England, my own,
Chosen daughter of the Lord,
Spouse-in-Chief of the ancient sword,
There's the menace of the Word
In the Song on your bugles blown,
England -
Out of heaven on your bugles blown!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Absence of light
Absence of light
is not dark.
And in dark
one cannot see
not true.
Threat is there
death threat is
more there.
In death
no body knows
where to go
And here no
begining no end.
Not getting answer
relating to death
is not mystery.
Mystery is what
we see what we
touch what
we smell.
Mystery is we
all are here
at this time
in this light.
Mystery is
not dark
not death.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Sonnet 4
the self to brink of paradise may rise
but dim that vision remains, distant
until self surrenders and self dies.
then vision brightens in an instant!
veil torn, new eyes new vision behold;
new ears new communications hear.
the new Man arises from man of old
to meet vision as vision draws near.
a new earth forms from old earth;
old earth's transfigured by new.
veil rent in second birth
new self becomes selves two!
two selves dwell in one new self;
the heavenly Self and self of earth.
poem by Doug Bentley
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War Babies
See the white clouds roll in
Spirits lying next to me
Catch the wildflower falling
Its the wound that never bleeds
Hear the sirens calling
Spinning out their show
Hold - the moment close to me
Take it down too slow
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Can you still keep going?
Shattered pieces left inside
To face the final, knowing
That theres somethings you cant hide
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Be mine, be mine, war babies
So will the force let go?
Or will the phantoms stay?
Let the foreteller be your sight
- it feels like somethings happening today
Some shames like no other
And nothing feels the same
Nothing feels the same
War babies
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Nothing feels the same
War babies
War babies
Nothing feels the same
Be mine
Be mine
War babies
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom's Battle-Song
RED, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,
Stripes as red as blood well shed by many a hero gone.
Now 'tis ours to storm the towers of tyranny and wrong,
Freedom's sons who front the guns with Freedom's battle-song.
Fly the flag from dome and steeple,
Fly the flag from home and school,
Flag of Freedom's birth,
While we battle that the rule
Of the people
By the people
For the people
Shall prevail o'er all the earth.
Red, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,
White as peace for whose release our fighting gear we don;
Peace enchained, crushed, profaned, shall yet in beauty stand,
Yet shall bless with fruitfulness her desolated land.
Fly the flag from dome and steeple,
Fly the flag from home and school,
Flag of Freedom's birth
While we battle that the rule
Of the people
By the people
For the people
Shall prevail o'er all the earth.
Red, white, blue, the flag that leads us on,
Blue as skies whose starry eyes shall see our victory won.
Freedom's sons and champions, to her our hearts are true,
We who fight for Human Right, and the Red,
White, Blue.
Fly the flag from dome and steeple,
Fly, the flag from home and school,
Flag of Freedom's birth,
While we battle that the rule
Of the people
By the people
For the people
Shall prevail o'er all the earth.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Someone Is Going To Pay For This
'MOMMY? '
Why are you screaming like that?
You nearly scared me to death.
That look...
In your eyes.
What is wrong?
'Mommy?
The sky.
I saw the sky...
And it was blue.
No?
What did I tell you about lieing?
'It's true mommy.
It's true.
My friends and I just left the beach.
And it was covered with...'
Go on!
Don't cry.
Mother's here.
'Mommy?
It was covered with 'white' sand! '
LIES!
'And...
We saw people smiling.
At us.'
Where is my gun?
I want you to stay in this house.
Go to your room.
Don't go anywhere.
I'll be right back.
'Where are you going, mommy? '
Someone is trying to feed my child with delusions.
And I don't like it one bit.
We are here to trash this world.
Not respect it.
Do you understand that?
DO YOU?
'Yes, mommy! '
You go to your room.
I'll be right back.
Someone is going to pay for this.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Perfect Girl
Maybe I will have to wait through aeons
to find her, to find the perfect girl
whose feelings reach out to me
softer than the fluttering of any butterfly
whose voice is crystal clear with an own loveliness
and at times she dwells in my dreams
walking at times covered in a white cloak
with slim feet and pearly white toes.
I have heard her sweet laughter
falling softly as snow
but covering me in a kind of warmth
that delights, that at times are amusing
at other times brings sheer tranquillity
and if she’s human or something of the divine
I do not really know
only that she is beyond beautiful
One night suddenly she appeared
in another kind of dream
looked straight at me through her veil
her countenance had pure perfection
a kind of untouched innocence
but it was a sheer mystery
as her gaze had a kind of lust, a kind of longing
and it was clear that she know men
probably had made love to many of them
and as she lifted her veil
her eyes were the colour of the sea
but were ever changing in their hue
they were sometimes green, sometimes grey
and at times blue
Her hair was almost onyx black
and streamed down lustrous
streamed down right to her waist
glittering in a blue-black hue
and I was almost thunder struck
as she stepped out of her cloak
and I saw her sublime body
in every perfect line
the contours of her magnificent breasts,
her sleek belly
with its triangular thatch of dark hair
and she looked somewhat ethereal,
sublimely serene
and lovely beyond words
and it felt if I had waited my whole life
just to see her face
with its dimples, her narrow straight nose,
her full soft lips
and now she was displaying
her whole body in sheer nakedness.
I have known many women
have loved some
maybe beyond what love should be
and in reality
she remains to me a mystery
an ethereal being
that visits me in dream after dream
poem by Gert Strydom
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