Poetry competition CLOSED 6th February 2020 8:37am
Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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RUNNERS-UP: buddhakitty and Underdweller

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Death Poems

poet Anonymous

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poet Anonymous

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poet Anonymous

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Lost Thinker
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Joined 30th Nov 2019
Forum Posts: 32

Forced Funeral

Go away! Go away!
Disappear! Die!

On the cracked soil in the wasteland,
a savage throng is burying a living stranger,
as if their madness this would cure.

Body beaten, covered in wounds,
with the tongue sliced off,
with broken arms and broken legs,
lies the stranger
and prays all of this
sooner to end.

As though not enough,
the throng is wrapping the stranger into bandage,
from the toes to the head.

Two people from the throng,
staring bloodshed eyes in the victim,
holding tight,
gripping by the wounds,
thrusting fingers into them
and other two are wrapping
the wretched one in bandage.

The stranger’s twisting,
But the bandage’s tight’ning up and up, and up,
it’s now covering his mouth,
after a moment and his eyes.

Now living mummy, living corpse,
the throng’s throwing him in coffin,
louring in the pit, strewing
dried dirt from above.

The throng is in ecstasy,
with savage smiles on the twisted faces.
Could they’ve been afraid,
or the dried land wished to be watered with blood?
Written by Underdweller (Socket)
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 3rd Feb 2014
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Submissions is for the joy of participation.  Not to be considered as an entry for the competition.  

jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 9th Nov 2015
Forum Posts: 5134

Death Waits Only for the Rain

( Prose )    
The summer’s humidity creeps the simulated sidings of the trailer home that sits in its rental stall on pilings at the below-sea level park near a train trestle towering over a flat, dry riverbed, silhouetted against the naked glare of a full moon.    
In times past, long before there was a drought, heavy rains that came annually like clockwork would fill the riverbed with season’s deluge like an El Niño. It would cascade its banks, and had always caught park residents’ children unaware; playing too close with tragic results as the river’s path went on for miles down to the sea.    
On this particular night pregnant with fear in the extreme heat of stagnated, swollen air, unable to take on more baggage from what the mercury indicated from the house trailer’s interior; a man and woman were lying uneasy, side by side, on a queen mattress covered with disheveled and flattened gray sheets stained with their sweat, while all of the pillows had been shoved off and were scattered on the floor of a cramped bedroom at the far end of their home dimly lit by moonlight.    
Yet now the macramé curtains are closed, and no windows are cracked open, nor is the brass ceiling fan turning.  There were two empty glasses the couple had imbibed from hours ago during a moment toward a promise of lovemaking, no longer swaddled in the glow of the wine’s velour.    
He planted a long kiss, and the pain that always mystified them, passed.  Her pale body, almost thin, turned away even though their bodies still touched, pretending to sleep while listening to his forced breathing. Struck with a palsy and trying not to speak.    
Alarmed when she moved aside, reaching for the cunning in its metallic feel of cold smallness. She hasn’t noticed his breathing has stopped. The words are halting as his voice breaks,    
"I beg you, not tonight." The bed trembles as he shakes.    
She wants to hate him at this moment, but instead;  "Darling, don't speak of the dead."    
Then comes a sudden rasp as his throat closes in on itself, "You're not dead yet!"    
She turns to face his profile and makes him see as she offers it, then presses it into his clammy hand with a terrible resolve, "I need your help. Consider this a medicine to help me sleep".      
He can hardly see as his tears well up. Her eyes glisten as she helps him load only one chamber. She’s distracted how it sounds like rain is beginning to patter on the roof... and never hears him whisper    
"Oh God, forgive me..."  
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 9th Nov 2015
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I Measure Every Grief I Meet

I measure every Grief I meet  
According to my Log,  
And make a mark when e’er repeat  
To rudder through the fog.  
A sexton with a feather’d quill,  
The columns may accord.  
As gentle Keeper of the Will,  
And noted for the Lord.  
A thankless task to other men,  
As diggers from the Past.  
But humble servant that I am,  
With Lists of ev’ry caste.  
My suit of rags is rent and torn,  
To walk among the Dead.  
Save only for the Mac’ I’ve worn  
That keeps rain off my head.  
The honor for the hosts interred  
Millenniums to rot,  
As long as I’ve a feather’d quill,  
They shall not be forgot.  
A sexton = a person who looks after church grounds, and formerly as a gravedigger.      
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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jade tiger
Tyrant of Words
United States
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Joined 9th Nov 2015
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Because I Cannot Stop For Death

( a Quatern )
Because I cannot stop for Death,
The Host of passage will oblige.
And thus shall quiet take my breath,
In disbelief must I abide.
Will I be running for a bus,
Because I cannot stop for Death.
Is there no other way for us,
To keep me from eternal rest?
I don’t believe in being blessed,
To have another chance at life.
Because I cannot stop for Death,
That waits to cut me like a knife.
The test I’m given will I fail,
I know I haven’t much time left.
If you could only post my bail,
Because I cannot stop for Death.
Written by Jade-Pandora (jade tiger)
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Fire of Insight
United States
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Joined 12th July 2017
Forum Posts: 139

Righteous Escape

death will knock at your door
it will
it will haunt you like a songbird on your windowsill  
echoing a tune you won’t forget  
yes, death will knock at your door  
so be ready  
will you answer the doorbell?
will you wait?
now and then, the sound grows louder  
as time passes, the urge gets stronger  
aging with a rotting door  
soon to collapse  
the house you live in  
wasn’t built to last  
death will kill your door  
it will  
and so the reckoning begins
to stay alone as the draft sets in
or to run into the arms of darkness  
making your righteous escape
Written by Thetravelingfairy
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Dangerous Mind
United States
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Joined 3rd Feb 2014
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This poem is not to be considered for the competition. Submitted for the joy of participation.

Dangerous Mind
United Kingdom
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Joined 4th Dec 2018
Forum Posts: 905

I Am Death

I am death
The spirit that eats the living
Reaping the souls
The last remaining breath
Of loved ones cherished ones

I am death
The one that spreads fear
Spreads dread into beating hearts
Darkness is my light
Silence my music

I am death
Feeding on the vulnerable
Choosing without discrimination
I don’t care if you have lived 100 years
Or have never left the womb

I am death
The opposite of what is held dear
Like a dark cloud I hover above life
Like the rain that dampens the summer
I dampen existence

I am death
The whisper through time
The architect of sorrow
I take hope and destroy it
It’s my destiny to take who I want

I am death
I can turn a room cold
With my very presence
I create the void in every heart
Your fate is to know me
Written by AspergerPoet56
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Dangerous Mind
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Joined 5th Mar 2017
Forum Posts: 28

the history of dust


oh, how foolish  
our youth  
swept along unsure  
shorelines by the  
tremulous waves  
of passion  
idolatry in the false  
God immortality  
believing that what  
is will always be  
until that one  
that one terrible  
the messenger  
and grief gathers,  
a thousand ravens  
cawing and carrying  
sadness on their  
the only truth laid  
open bare before us  
like a lamb sacrificed  
upon an altar  
that what is will not  
always be  
and our stories are  
written in the history  
of dust
Written by buddhakitty
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Fire of Insight
United Kingdom
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Joined 1st Jan 2018
Forum Posts: 441

The new plane (the reaper)

The grim reapers toil
He carries on in peace and war
Whatever span on this mortal coil
His scythe will cut each flower all
Looks to what must be renewed
To carve a swathe
No time to stop or brood
The keeness of his blade
He takes us all adult and child  
Futility of the beaten chest
The steep forever flailed
Black harvester arrests  
Some gone in a blink
Some linger on the brink
Come that shadow cast me thinks
And death in tremor sink
The good to heavens utopia
Others face dystopia  
My being fear he may appear
That dark cloud may sever near
 Some asking questions
 Some believe faiths deception
Nothingness the destination
Just histology persists
Written by slipalong
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Joshua Bond
Tyrant of Words
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Joined 2nd Feb 2017
Forum Posts: 811

Jack the Buffalo

Josh (Joshua Bond)
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There was a macho buffalo
with awesome tackle down below,
balls the size of fullest moons
plus muscles pumped to make one swoon
and buffo-Jack enhanced his brand
with lots of studded one-night-stands.

The lady buffalos were fast
to learn his interest didn’t last
and since they were for cert no fools
they hash-me-tooed some different rules
refused his playboy attitude
dismissing it as rude and crude.

The buffalo, severely peeved
decided in a huff to leave …
uh…oh, this choice was not so great
determining the hand of fate —
a hunter spied the handsome beast
and all the neighbours had a feast.

But here’s the rub, without mistakes
how does one learn the real from fake?
One way to look at things I guess
requires a shift in consciousness
where life continues past the grave
in unexpected ‘mazing ways

so holy transformations might
become creation’s final right.
If true then Buffo’s one mistake
transformed him into sacred steak
and up in heaven looking back
he’s finally a happy Jack.

poet Anonymous

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