Poetry competition CLOSED 6th February 2020 8:37am
Go to page:

Death Poems

poet Anonymous

Poetry Contest

Death Poems

Get your Nick Cave on.

Death, the power of it, the force, devastation, relief even, sometimes.

What are your thoughts on death? Maybe write your own obituary.



poet Anonymous

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 strangerís twisting,
But the bandageís tightíning up and up, and up,
itís now covering his mouth,
after a moment and his eyes.

Now living mummy, living corpse,
the throngís 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 theyíve been afraid,
or the dried land wished to be watered with blood?
poet Anonymous


poet Anonymous

Death Waits Only for the Rain

( Prose )    
The summerís 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 seasonís deluge like an El NiŮo. It would cascade its banks, and had always caught park residentsí children unaware; playing too close with tragic results as the riverís 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 trailerís 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 macramť 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 wineís 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 hasnít 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. Sheís distracted how it sounds like rain is beginning to patter on the roof... and never hears him whisper †  
† †
"Oh God, forgive me..."
poet Anonymous

I Measure Every Grief I Meet

I measure every Grief I meet  
According to my Log,  
And make a mark when eíer repeat  
To rudder through the fog.  

A sexton with a featheríd 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 evíry caste.  

My suit of rags is rent and torn,  
To walk among the Dead.  
Save only for the Mací Iíve worn  
That keeps rain off my head.  

The honor for the hosts interred  
Millenniums to rot,  
As long as Iíve a featheríd quill,  
They shall not be forgot.  


A sexton = a person who looks after church grounds, and formerly as a gravedigger. † †  
poet Anonymous

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 donít 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 Iím given will I fail,
I know I havenít much time left.
If you could only post my bail,
Because I cannot stop for Death.
poet Anonymous

Righteous Escape

death will knock at your door
it will
it will haunt you like a songbird on your windowsill  
echoing a tune you wonít 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  
wasnít 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
poet Anonymous


poet Anonymous

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 donít 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
Itís 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
poet Anonymous

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 †
arrives †
and grief gathers,  
a thousand ravens †
cawing and carrying †
sadness on their †
wings †

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
poet Anonymous

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
poet Anonymous

Jack the Buffalo

poet Anonymous

Remains To Be Seen


You come to me but cannot see
and do not know Iím there.
For now youíre mine and for a time
youíll stay within my care.
No need to wait I know youíre late
others are drawing your plans.
So near yet so far you arenít and you are
in skillful and loving hands.
Naked and bare at peace you lie there
regretfully your rest is disturbed.
From vacant glazed eyes that wept mournful sad cries
to lips that wonít part for a word.
Iíll take what God gave a few more things to save
no pain and no loss will you feel.
With out and with in I caress cold lifeless skin
your secrets I dare not reveal.
Life essence replaced fulfilled dark empty space
youíre finished before Iíve begun.
May the tale be retold of a profession so old
it eclipses the oldest one.
In paradise or hell of this I canít tell
the future is everyoneís end.
Loathed, shunned and feared when I appear
but the day draws when weíre closer than friends.
poet Anonymous

Soul Searching


All is done the time has come I offer up no plea.
I stand accused of a life misused and of things that shouldnít be.
In the darkís a light harsh and bright to a spot with in the gloom.
This empty space is the place to stand in deathís courtroom.
I hear a crowd large and loud seemingly all around.
Not a word just laughter heard and gnashing weeping sounds.
Reaching out I begin to shout to the echo of my voice.
Then it ceased said over the peace, ďBehold, what foolish choice!
Youíll realize threw thine own eyes what thy soul is worth.Ē
Again alone Iím back at home at the moment of my birth.
Seeing my mom and dad the hopes they had their pride and promise lost.
Through growing years the joys and tears how they endured the cost.
No thank you said I moved on ahead dismissing my childhood.
Uncaring and cold with little to hold and so much less understood.
The soft became hard Iíd easily discard virtues innocent and weak.
Allowing in the pleasures of sin and the lust of my will I would seek.
How evil I seemed, ďIíve done good things!Ē I screamed but nothing came to mind.
How desperately I tried to find something inside no matter what ever the kind.
In the way I judged others my sisters and brothers I had broken all my own laws.
The judge had been me and too late do I see the truth that every one saw.
Then like a joke I beggingly spoke, ďForgive me,Ē my lifeís final punch line.
The voice said with a smile, ďLife was the trial then was the place and the time.
How dare you defend what you donít comprehend things your soul cannot tell.
Mistaken foolishly to escape eternity weíre here to choose your damnation in hell.
poet Anonymous

Back And Forth


A final breath then came sight so focused and so clear.
Gone were all the ghosts of thought and the grave of fear.
Moments filled my clouding eyes each breaking through a haze.
Cherished memories going back to long forgotten days.
My belovedís hand was of the first in passion clenching tight.
And like a prayer came the words, ďAll will be all right.Ē
A body frail makes lazy days with timeís slow ebbing tide.
Shown was my soulís retreat with my love still at my side.
The children of my children each sat upon my knee.
My nighttime tales hushed them quiet as they slept so dreamily.
Then born to my son and daughter came children of there own.
Holidays filled with laughter rang through out my happy home.
 I saw again the wedding vowels of two that once were mine.
How sad and proud I had become at this special time.
I smiled at a happy memory with a friendly familiar face.
At chores Iíve done and of scenes of a far-flung distant place.
My children went from on there own back into waiting arms.
How carefully I cradled them and protected them from harm.
Again my thankful eyes were filled with my childrenís birth.
I gazed once more at the face of angles here on earth.
Vows of love by joined young souls sharing a single life.
I watched as my beloved and I became a husband and a wife.
Childish scenes came in a flurry of school and some of play.
My fathers smile and mothers hug were more than words can say.
At last a bed of final rest lays a peaceful form.
Scars from toil lines from worry upon its face are worn.
The hand once clenched now feels soft but never lost its grip.
Hand in hand are an eager two resuming their eternal trip.

Go to page:
Go to: