Poetry Competition Ends 12th November 2024 7:37pm
Page:
DIA DE LOS MUERTOS
Poetry Contest Description
So the day of the dead is around the corner. We all have someone we dear loved and lost. Remember things happen for a reason and just someone's time just came to it's end. So with love we remember them. Write a poem or story about the one person or one's.
Write about those you loved. Write about how would you celebrate the day of the dead for them. How were they , what did they love when alive? What were their passions? Did they love a certain fruit or food? Did they love so much coffee? Did they love dancing? Or simply write about what you loved doing with them, a piece of memory from the past you strongly live to remember and wanna share. Maybe something as a child you treasure and is the best thing you remember about them. Write about what all they were and loved. And what would you do for them as a tribute or celebration on the day of the dead. If they loved coffee so much then mention you'd take to their resting place lots of coffee or if they loved dancing a dance there in their honor. Post pics of anything you wish as long as it relates to your writing of the day of the dead or people you wish to share in this competition. Write from the heart. Spanish writing is welcomed.
The Definition of Love
“Are you at peace?”
It’s not far-fetched of you to ask me
in your prayers each night
and thoughts each day
The much-known concept of lives
swallowed by the living each year
Firstly, when we are physically birthed
and slapped into breath;
secondly, when we wake to purpose
and life slaps us into a vessel
for something greater than ourselves
The lesser-known concept
of two deaths is fully understood
on this side of the veil
Firstly, when our physical being
relinquishes the ghost for ash;
secondly, when our name passes
between someone’s lips
or thoughts for the very last time
In the final moments of life
silent oaths are made
within the mind to somehow
let loved ones know
we are safe
Yes, I am at peace
Darkness has not swallowed me
Each year, this resurrection
this annual conjuring of presence
makes itself known
These cycles summon me by name
the ofrenda and invocations
of Dia de los Muertos
keep my memory alive
and guide me home
Each moment my name is spoken
a rebirth occurs
from a history not forgotten
So, mi amor
peace isn’t the issue
that's not what you want to know
The issue is not knowing where I've gone
wondering if the grave you’re lying on
is a steppingstone of heaven
or a stairwell into the dark
It’s falling into the falsity
that allows death to steal hope
from a living soul
Yes, I am at peace
You have not let me die
that second death
And that . . .
that is the definition of Love
It’s not far-fetched of you to ask me
in your prayers each night
and thoughts each day
The much-known concept of lives
swallowed by the living each year
Firstly, when we are physically birthed
and slapped into breath;
secondly, when we wake to purpose
and life slaps us into a vessel
for something greater than ourselves
The lesser-known concept
of two deaths is fully understood
on this side of the veil
Firstly, when our physical being
relinquishes the ghost for ash;
secondly, when our name passes
between someone’s lips
or thoughts for the very last time
In the final moments of life
silent oaths are made
within the mind to somehow
let loved ones know
we are safe
Yes, I am at peace
Darkness has not swallowed me
Each year, this resurrection
this annual conjuring of presence
makes itself known
These cycles summon me by name
the ofrenda and invocations
of Dia de los Muertos
keep my memory alive
and guide me home
Each moment my name is spoken
a rebirth occurs
from a history not forgotten
So, mi amor
peace isn’t the issue
that's not what you want to know
The issue is not knowing where I've gone
wondering if the grave you’re lying on
is a steppingstone of heaven
or a stairwell into the dark
It’s falling into the falsity
that allows death to steal hope
from a living soul
Yes, I am at peace
You have not let me die
that second death
And that . . .
that is the definition of Love
Written by Ahavati
(Tams)
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Your coming from beyond the grave
The grave with bars interred.
your life was taken, just removed.
my prayers with longings more than words
to meet again, stand in your shoes.
My brother Roger was taken by suicide eight years ago, before covid was invented, before the epidemic of Woke generations mental trauma. A hard-working man, but always an enigma. Artist, collector, avid car boot sale attendee, the main Manchester to Coventry line was closed at rush hour to remove his body from the line, hit by the 08:10 express.
Each year we lay the table with an empty seat, light black candles, turn the sideboard into an altar of photographs, our hall a shrine to his art, so many question without answers, eat a vindaloo and angel cake.
Strewn with the bouquet of memories that never die, the welcome mat hovered, an anticipation of his sprit, welcoming the chill of a presence from beyond our earthly bounds.
To leave without a note, the presents unopened around the Christmas tree, desperation that each family member and friend a smattering of guilt for the emotional void
It’s a long journey back according to Mexican folk law.
no longer hidden in plain sight.
breeds like cancers cells, that vacancy
looking for a return ticket
that depression denied
coldness, conceals longings
but mortals hold the keys
November’s windows are mostly
fully booked
needs and desires, ladders and shortcuts
clean hovered welcome
the purr of the cat
Mariachi band a little off key
disable the deadness!
just temporarily
your life was taken, just removed.
my prayers with longings more than words
to meet again, stand in your shoes.
My brother Roger was taken by suicide eight years ago, before covid was invented, before the epidemic of Woke generations mental trauma. A hard-working man, but always an enigma. Artist, collector, avid car boot sale attendee, the main Manchester to Coventry line was closed at rush hour to remove his body from the line, hit by the 08:10 express.
Each year we lay the table with an empty seat, light black candles, turn the sideboard into an altar of photographs, our hall a shrine to his art, so many question without answers, eat a vindaloo and angel cake.
Strewn with the bouquet of memories that never die, the welcome mat hovered, an anticipation of his sprit, welcoming the chill of a presence from beyond our earthly bounds.
To leave without a note, the presents unopened around the Christmas tree, desperation that each family member and friend a smattering of guilt for the emotional void
It’s a long journey back according to Mexican folk law.
no longer hidden in plain sight.
breeds like cancers cells, that vacancy
looking for a return ticket
that depression denied
coldness, conceals longings
but mortals hold the keys
November’s windows are mostly
fully booked
needs and desires, ladders and shortcuts
clean hovered welcome
the purr of the cat
Mariachi band a little off key
disable the deadness!
just temporarily
Written by slipalong
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