Death poems
/ page 21 of 560 /
The Bracelet
© John Donne
Not that in colour it was like thy hair,For armlets of that thou mayst let me wear;Nor that thy hand is oft embrac'd and kiss'd,For so it had that good which oft I miss'd;Not for that seely old morality,That as those links are tied our love should be;Nor for the luck sake; but the bitter cost
The Autumnal
© John Donne
No spring, nor summer beauty hath such graceAs I have seen in one autumnal face;Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape;This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape
It was not death, for I stood up (510)
© Emily Dickinson
It was not death, for I stood up,And all the dead lie down.It was not night, for all the bellsPut out their tongues for noon.
The bustle in the house (1078)
© Emily Dickinson
The bustle in a houseThe morning after deathIs solemnest of industriesEnacted upon earth.
That First Year
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
i wrote poems mainly that first year,picking garbage, doing dishes, humblingmyself among men who doubted me for having gottenthe world's publicity; what did i want with them, anyway?but after a year they saw my touch and needed an armaround them; men without women can use an italiannow and again to laugh christ off the cross and make him dance;make the devil look a bit foolish
Imbiancato
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
A note of thanks to you whenall is said and done, for the little cowboy,for the sonata, for the now and againshimmer of sun that reinstitutes, reinvests
he fell into my arms and said
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
he fell into my arms and said"sometimes god takes what we love most. he knows best".i agree.so I made up something as i buried his grandchildren.
God and the Fifties
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
It was shady deals andConnie Francis on jukeboxjunipers and chevy convertiblesparked outside Dino's restaurant;it was brighter skies, manageableskyscrapers, gang-fights and Kennedy;it was gambling at Atlantic City withthe Four Seasons, it was crabs andJohnny Unitas and Connie Arena whoteased my heart through ten schoolyears, her father practicing race-trackcornet every day driving us nuts onsuch bored summers of tee-shirtswith cigarette packs at the sleeve andBeachboys and weights
Flying Deeper into the Century
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
Flying deeper into the centuryis exhilarating, the faces of loved ones eaten outslowly, the panhandles of flesh warding offthe air, the smiling plots
Brain Litany: Or, Overlooking the Existential Factor
© Pier Giorgio Di Cicco
"Can it be that any man has the skill to fabricate himself?" -- St. Augustine
Cooper's Hill (1655)
© Sir John Denham
Sure there are poets which did never dreamUpon Parnassus, nor did taste the streamOf Helicon, we therefore may supposeThose made not poets, but the poets those
Extinction: The Airman's Prayer
© Davey Ernest Raymond
Almighty and all present power,Short is the prayer I make to thee;I do not ask in battle hourFor any shield to cover me.
Delia XLV
© Samuel Daniel
Care-charmer Sleep, son of the sable Night,Brother to Death, in silent darkness born:Relieve my languish, and restore the light,With dark forgetting of my cares, return;And let the day be time enough to mournThe shipwreck of my ill-adventur'd youth:Let waking eyes suffice to wail their scorn,Without the torment of the night's untruth
The Civil Wars between the Two Houses of Lancaster and York
© Samuel Daniel
The swift approach and unexpected speedThe king had made upon this new-rais'd force,In the unconfirmed troops, much fear did breed,Untimely hind'ring their intended course
The Husband’s and Wife’s Grave
© Dana Richard Henry
Husband and wife! No converse now ye hold,As once ye did in your young days of love,On its alarms, its anxious hours, delays,Its silent meditations, its glad hopes,Its fears, impatience, quiet sympathies;Nor do ye speak of joy assured, and blissFull, certain, and possessed
The Dying Raven
© Dana Richard Henry
Come to these lonely woods to die alone?It seems not many days since thou wast heard,From out the mists of spring, with thy shrill note,Calling upon thy mates -- and their clear answers
Non Nobis, Domine
© Cust Henry
Not unto us, O Lord,Not unto us the rapture of the day,The peace of night, or love's divine surprise,High heart, high speech, high deeds, 'mid honouring eyesFor at Thy wordAll these are taken away.
The Touch
© Currin Jen
I want to hear the slapof your shadowas it hits the floor,the pins and needlesof water fallingtap to tub. I'm tired,and what you knowabout me will soon be writtenon a postcard and passedin the night.
