Death poems
/ page 462 of 560 /
The Sea to the Shell
© David MacDonald Ross
The sea, my mother, is singing to me,
She is singing the old refrain,
Of passion, of love, and of mystery,
And her world-old song of pain;
Of the mirk midnight and the dazzling day,
That trail their robes o'er the wet sea-way.
Compensations
© Alfred Noyes
Not with a flash that rends the blue
Shall fall the avenging sword.
Gently as the evening dew
Descends the mighty Lord.
The Acorn
© Francis William Bourdillon
An acorn swung
On an oak-tree bough;
So long it had hung,
It would fain fall now
Why England Is Conservative
© Alfred Austin
Because of our dear Mother, the fair Past,
On whom twin Hope and Memory safely lean,
Krishna And His Three Handmaidens
© Paul Hamilton Hayne
AND where he sat beneath the mystic stars,
Nigh the twin founts of Immortality,
That feed fair channels of the Stream of Trance,--
To Krishna once his three handmaidens came,
Bannerman of the Dandenong
© Alice Werner
I rode through the Bush in the burning noon,
Over the hills to my bride, -
The track was rough and the way was long,
And Bannerman of the Dandenong,
He rode along by my side.
If democratically elected
© Ivan Donn Carswell
What is it with Hezbollah
representing barely 15%
of the Lebanese Parliament
living outside the government
Climatic Sorcery
© James Whitcomb Riley
When frost's all on our winder, an' the snow's
All out-o'-doors, our "Old-Kriss"-milkman goes
A-drivin' round, ist purt'-nigh froze to death,
With his old white mustache froze full o' breath.
The Nativity
© William Cowper
Upon my meanness, poverty, and guilt,
The trophy of thy glory shall be built;
My selfdisdain shall be the unshaken base,
And my deformity its fairest grace;
For destitute of good, and rich in ill,
Must be my state and my description still.
Prince Yousuf And The Alcayde
© Christopher Pearse Cranch
A Moorish Ballad
IN Grenada reigned Mohammed,
Sixth who bore the name was he;
But the rightful king, Prince Yousuf,
Futurelessness
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Time to count the torrid cost of careless words inflicted on
your battered dignity, time to close the ugly face that chanted
out invective foul and shattered amity, time to quell
the fervid rush of feckless wrath which weighs
against the bloodied loss this manic madness brusque
and hot has flung across the face of sanity.
Maran-Milan (Death-Wedding)
© Rabindranath Tagore
Why do you speak so softly, Death, Death,
Creep upon me, watch me so stealthily?
For Harry (My College Room-mate who Died)
© Ivan Donn Carswell
He cut his hand and it bled, the flesh
inside was red and the hurt discounted the flood
of red and vibrant blood that pulsed
from the wound. But he was a warrior,
Burns
© Charles Harpur
MY OWN WILD BURNS! these rude-wrought rhymes of thine
In golden worth are like the unshapely coin
Of some new realm, yet pure as from the mine
And Art may well be spared with such alloy
As dims the bullion to improve the die!
Echoes in an empty room
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The strident sounds of silence echo
in a darkened room, a beggars tomb
of emptied space and barrenness, a
shameful waste, a bitter sadness.
Dreams of a lifetime
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Ronald Hi Khong Wong is gone,
sadly he deceased
the commencement of this week.
It wasnt unexpected.
Dont talk to me of War
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Dont talk to me of War or stalk the ground
our fabled soldiers died upon, Im sound
of limb and strong of will, my mind as clear
as when we learnt those gory lessons founded
Does the name toll a bell?
© Ivan Donn Carswell
Let them declare Jihad then, let them despair that I
will speak the truth as I see it, and where that truth bears
brutally on their lies I will have applied my brand of terrorism as
desperately as they do theirs. Abu Bakar Bashir,
Dead thoughts of corpses
© Ivan Donn Carswell
The symbols that we use are T shirts of the dead
thoughts of corpses without heads, a rictus
without sound open-mouthed, empty, unbound.
And if you ever write those clichés which incite
my approbation, fuck you, I am not amused.
And if I ever do, then fuck me too.
