Competition Ends 12th November 2024 7:37pm
Page:

DIA DE LOS MUERTOS

NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
WRITER LYRICIST ARTIST
Fire of Insight
United States 5awards
Joined 9th Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 190

Poetry Contest

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.

Ahavati
Tams
Tyrant of Words
United States 122awards
Joined 11th Apr 2015
Forum Posts: 16585

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
Written by Ahavati (Tams)
Go To Page  


NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
WRITER LYRICIST ARTIST
Fire of Insight
United States 5awards
Joined 9th Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 190

Thank you Ahavati, that is really sweet and lovely. Thank you for sharing and participating.  

NANCY_RDZ_STORIES
WRITER LYRICIST ARTIST
Fire of Insight
United States 5awards
Joined 9th Jan 2020
Forum Posts: 190

Beautiful pictures Ahavati, love the ofrenda setting. ❤️

slipalong
Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom 41awards
Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 848

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
 
 
  
  
Written by slipalong
Go To Page  

Page:
Go to: