Death poems

/ page 500 of 560 /

Order by :

1
. . .
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
. . .
560

My Boss

© Robert William Service

My Boss keeps sporty girls, they say;
His belly's big with cheer.
He squanders in a single day
What I make in a year.

Little Brother

© Robert William Service

Wars have been and wars will be
Till the human race is run;
Battles red by land and sea,
Never peace beneath the sun.

Wrestling Match

© Robert William Service

What guts he had, the Dago lad
Who fought that Frenchman grim with guile;
For nigh an hour they milled like mad,
And mauled the mat in rare old style.

Courage

© Robert William Service

Not for myself I care
As forth I fare;
But for those left behind
Wae is my mind
Knowing how they will miss
My careless kiss.

Now Sam McGee was from Tennessee, where the cotton blooms and blows.
Why he left his home in the South to roam 'round the Pole, God only knows.
He was always cold, but the land of gold seemed to hold him like a spell;
Though he'd often say in his homely way that he'd "sooner live in hell".

The Equilibrists

© John Crowe Ransom

Full of her long white arms and milky skin
He had a thousand times remembered sin.
Alone in the press of people traveled he,
Minding her jacinth, and myrrh, and ivory.

Painted Head

© John Crowe Ransom

By dark severance the apparition head
Smiles from the air a capital on no
Column or a Platonic perhaps head
On a canvas sky depending from nothing;

Dead Boy

© John Crowe Ransom

The little cousin is dead, by foul subtraction,
A green bough from Virginia's aged tree,
And none of the county kin like the transaction,
Nor some of the world of outer dark, like me.

Landscape of a Pissing Multitude

© Federico Garcia Lorca

The men kept to themselves:
they were waiting for the swiftness of the last cyclists.
The women kept to themselves:
they were expecting the death of a boy on a Japanese schooner.

Gacela of the Dark Death

© Federico Garcia Lorca

I want to sleep the dream of the apples,
to withdraw from the tumult of cemetries.
I want to sleep the dream of that child
who wanted to cut his heart on the high seas.

Gacela of Unforseen Love

© Federico Garcia Lorca

No one understood the perfume
of the dark magnolia of your womb.
Nobody knew that you tormented
a hummingbird of love between your teeth.

Little Viennese Waltz

© Federico Garcia Lorca

In Vienna there are ten little girls,
a shoulder for death to cry on,
and a forest of dried pigeons.
There is a fragment of tomorrow
in the museum of winter frost.
There is a thousand-windowed dance hall.

Lament For Ignacio Sanchez Mejias

© Federico Garcia Lorca

Tell the moon to come,
for I do not want to see the blood
of Ignacio on the sand.

City That Does Not Sleep

© Federico Garcia Lorca

One day
the horses will live in the saloons
and the enraged ants
will throw themselves on the yellow skies that take refuge in the
eyes of cows.

Threshold

When in the morning I looked upon the light
I felt in a moment that I was no stranger in this world,
that the inscrutable without name and form
had taken me in its arms in the form of my own mother.