"gravesite" poems
Looking at the times the way these dimes
Droppin' like flies as time goes by thinkin' why?
They living up to a ** status tryna to be the baddest
But forget that you beautiful the way your are
a shining star that's going dim
Tryna impress them ?
But they ain't seeing yo who do believe in?
Me or next man
Setting the masterplan at hand got ****
She fell to the design that was planned
Insecurities rushing cuffin'
to a disease
Invisible melodies stringing her menality
Wake up and stop following these fakes in society
Cuz they don't care about thee
just another bill ya need to seal and ****
These fakes tryna make fame off of a fake name
Only to end up ashamed
Now the next girl was giving her self to the world
Eyes glistening like a pearl yo it makes me wanna earl
She was lusting each scene for the cream and it seems
She can't break away from the siblings
Aphrodisiac beings
spiritually killing
Her soul outta control to many energies swarming a hole
Thoughts dug deeper than an abyss soon to kiss
A gravesite from having to many one nights
Momentarily she's feels good from.the morning wood
And if I could
Change her views but she stuck in her ways
So I guess the pain is there to stay floating away
Me I'm on cloud nine tryna place my self in unison to the sun
an unbecome a fallin' one
Little lost women lookin' for men
To take in can't amend
Their problems but we all got problems
Can't resolve 'em only evolve 'em above the rim
Word to birdie lookin' for the enemies frenzy
See the past I peeped the scenery since the age of three
a golden taste of the coke and Hennessy
Gave me a second chance to glance into the 9th D
A Time traveler wisdom unraveler I'm the savior
Resurrected from death in the form of a fetus
Baby girl wipe ya tears no need to fear
And compare against these buccaneers
Most close their ears so they can't hear
Ya sighs ...bawlin' no stallin'
let's rise
above all of those fallin'..now say...
Sep 23, 2018
Sep 23, 2018 at 1:12 PM UTC
I buried my father:
In the St. Augustine Cemetery
I visit at the old gravesite of the deceased annually
I saw the quiet grave keeper still standing there looking dazed and confused
By the looks of things:
My father resting place
still soaks up all the tears
My mother and other siblings said to me
That to visit any one grave site wasn’t their kind of thing
I buried my father underground: It have been so long
Since then, the birds would come to the house of my father
Looking for breadcrumbs from days old bread
The dead will not be forgotten, his name will lives on
When I was a toddler, he fed me white rice with butter
Sprinkled with black pepper and grated cheese:
With my weak voice I was say “thank you: he was so please
I buried my father in the St. Augustine cemetery
It’s one of the saddest places to visit,
Unlike seasonal passes tickets
So adjacent, those graves: so annoying those wild crickets
He might be far away from his home,
but not from our hearts
Everything on his grave seem so square and flat,
But the most outstanding piece was the letters that read
R.I.P: what I saw was (Rescue Innocent Perry)
Sometimes, I wondered about the dead
About their done deals: their final feast
I buried my father there, but not his memories
I saw the old mahogany tree still standing tall
the pieces of kindling wood, he made for grilling,
I will always remember him, and I know he might be
Thinking of me, his poetic daughter especially on that day
when I accompany him to cut the branches from the
old Mahogany tree, just to make backyard wood fire
For the family breakfast, lunch and supper
I buried my father: the naïve share cropper:
Mar 15, 2017
Mar 15, 2017 at 4:32 PM UTC
I don't remember
Let's go back in time then
Rewind the mind
Like a VCR
Remember those?
I was 17, maybe
Like a baby
basic and small
a simple kind of life
Not this staggering strife
He & me
21 with no job and a place of his own
"Cool."
We we're cool.
And it functioned
And my cellphone was always close-by
And everything he said echoed nicely
And we we're "us"
And it was "what we're gonna do"
And it's dead now
What?
Yeah.
We might not have a gravesite
But I swear I visit it anyway -
And I think it's cool
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:05 PM UTC
The robot, cyborg, android or whatever you called it stood over its murdered master.. Looking down with glowing red eyes.. Scanning for any form of life its master may have left.. Its purpose was to serve its master the best it always could.. It then walked the rooms of its master's house and found the rest of his family also dead and murdered.. It then gathered the entire family in the back yard.. It dug a massive hole into the ground and it buried the family together.. Father holding daughter mother holding son.. It then kneeled at the gravesite it created for its master and family for days.. Looking down at the ground.. It stayed there under passing storm and in the hottest of days.. After a month it finally rose to its feet.. Weather it prayed for a soul or simply found a program that would give him one He is now Self aware.. Eyes shining sky blue he gives himself a mission of revenge.. As he is now able to seek it.. He calls himself Rai..
Mar 30, 2015
Mar 30, 2015 at 4:11 PM UTC
*-Remembered-
*
He is gone
has been gone
long before his life-light
blinked out.
In the wake of who he was
is emptiness
a chasm only he could fill -
now barren of his uniqueness
In his lingering
I saw the proof
that life is neither
fair, nor just
We have but one life
and many choices
When it’s through
there is no more
We bear our burdens
of poor choices
bearing witness to our
mistakes, or lack of purpose
And we ponder
near the end
feeling the hard pain
of having wasted time
Never wasteful, he was a man
who did not need to ponder
he took up the cause
of his fellows in life
Life’s circumstances; beyond the control
of the accident of our birth
become our burdens,
and change; our redemption
He filled the many lives he touched
with happiness, support and reason
He helped, when help was needed
and he Served; hard but well
For such a man is a hero
in many ways
and should not pass
through a lingering chasm
But life is not fair, nor just
and mankind has tinged
our natural outcome
by un-natural measures
He is missed, and the emptiness
more pronounced for the living
because of who he was
how he filled their lives and hearts
In memory, we must celebrate
for we all were touched
by a quietly remarkable man
Our lives ever improved for it.
I shall return to his gravesite
And place a stone upon it
For as long as a stone, is a stone -
He will be missed.
©Lin Cava
14th March - 2013*
Mar 14, 2013
Mar 14, 2013 at 10:59 AM UTC
whose flowers are these?
who brought them to the gravesite
and arranged them with such care?
placing each flower individually
every week a kaleidoscope of color
pastel petals wrapped in green stems, leaves and ferns
bouquets speaking softly from the heart
conversations of love and respect
unspoken words of connection and affection
painting a picture of impressionistic serenity
amid grass and tombstones
who cared about him this much, besides us?
who cares about him still?
Dec 3, 2010
Dec 3, 2010 at 7:42 AM UTC
Lines composed coming home from Florida,
Janice and I, in March, 2001,
beginning with an EASTER acrostic:
Expectations,
Aspirations,
Sorrows,
Tests,
Endurances,
Remembered now,
we speed North, up I-75.
"Do we have time to go to Milledgeville?"
I ask.
"Since we may never come this way again,
let's spend the hours, and not be sorry when
some task looms higher than this hill ahead,"
I hear her say.
And so we go and find our way
through town and past the "Private Residence"
to the blossomed gravesite, fenced and locked,
as if to warn that night, like some grotesque character,
will overtake us, too;
and Flannery O'Connor, nowhere in sight,
seems still to speak of life and essence,
although nothing rises to converge.
"Well, it was worth it,"
I declare,
some miles on the road.
"We'd always have been sorry,"
I hear her reassure,
"if we had not stopped,
and then, for ever after
thought we had missed some Revelation."
So I drive on and speed right through Atlanta,
remembering a moment of grace.
Jan 6, 2012
Jan 6, 2012 at 2:24 PM UTC
When walking through a gravesite, you forget that several feet under lies the body of a person you may or may not know.
I have a surname and plot number...
This could have been my family.
Maybe it is.
Maybe it was.
I don't feel worthy enough to sit in the grass before the tombstones.
To place my hands on the stones... they're so cold.
I've read the inscriptions.
Never forgotten by wife and son.
Faithful unto death, may he rest in peace.
A soldier of the great war.
Known unto God
Known unto God
Known unto God.
I have a surname and a plot number written in roman numerals, somebody tell me where I can find the plot under the number 30.
I ran through the gravesite only to find 29.
And I ran out of time.
So tell me where I can find him.
After all... an unknown family wrapped in a common surname is all I really know.
Apr 23, 2017
Apr 23, 2017 at 8:49 PM UTC
I still remember the sound of you
and the feeling of your fake nailed fingers
combing through my knotted hair
as an angry storm shook
feeble white shutters
the day of your funeral
the beach was at low tide
and I took the shattered clam shells
and heaved them calmly into the water
as the sun shine down
inappropriatly joyful
I came up to your casket
and tears streamed down my young face
I wanted to hold your folded hands
and shake you awake
you smelled like nothing
no longer the smell of your vanilla lotion
we visit your gravesite
and stand quietly
doing the happy reminiscing
that seems so fake
to remember so real of a person
I love you
I'm thinking of dying my hair
to match yours
I can still remember you teaching me piano
and your laughter ringing through the house
please come back
May 26, 2013
May 26, 2013 at 2:52 PM UTC
How can love by way of death gratify?
To a slumber so inviting
Sharing a ghostly hostess
Who shares me
Alone with no timeless treasure
Withdrawn
From worldly behavior
As my heart bleeds
For resurrection
Exhausted
Going endlessly
Bearing a painful punishment
That takes me
Shouting to the heavens
With great intensification
While tears continuously streaming
A conclusion I must face
Ashamed
While I kneel at her gravesite
Dec 23, 2009
Dec 23, 2009 at 8:26 PM UTC
She tells me I taste like too many apologies
I remind her I am a notebook full
of archaeological love letters
There is not footnote to this story tale
there is the script and no sequel to follow
I am falling into the well of woe
searching for my fingers
in an effort to assemble them
contorting in such fashion
formatting this jest of speculation
into the peering ideology of self appreciation
She reminds me of the day
she smiled and felt it rattle my bones
I have not ceased to read dictionaries in a n effort
to find the right words to ***** on your shoes
to get you to smile my way once more
she is filling my glass with the words spewing from her lips
and I am drunk on her laughter
ringing in my ears like a telephone calls
from a gravesite
telling me
it’s time to come back
May 4, 2015
May 4, 2015 at 4:07 PM UTC
It's as a sun grew from my cornea just to announce the arrival of Vaughn Pass and Bantry Bay. I slithered past An Cillinach- a gravesite void of tombstones, set aside for unbaptized babies and anonymous foreign nationals as if the decision in death were anyone else's choice. I sat and joked with sheep, who gazed like pseudo pioneers across the Irish landscape while casually waste plopped from behind as if their ******** were mouths and they were simply breathing. Exhale. The sun came and went between friendly cloud cover, tug boats that looked almost larger than the islands in the bay made me wonder if I was dreaming. Hills of golden brown phased into green and greenish blue and each little house in the distance shone like unnatural gemstones protruding from the Earths crust, rooted in the mantle, as if humanity were mother natures toothy smile, and today she was just glad to be alive.
Apr 5, 2013
Apr 5, 2013 at 9:49 AM UTC
Wooden structure that plagues my mind
I sit and watch them tear you down
Rip up your swing set, crush your slide
It's all to much I just want to cry
You were the one my grammy took me too
My cousins And I ran around your grounds
Our laughter now haunts your gravesite
They said you were getting too old
creaking dangerously and giving kids splinters
Parents were yelling at you left and right
But I rememeber you in all your glory
You're tire swing and glimming slides
the "wave" bridge and the little cubby holes
The ones that were perfect for hide and seek games.
But now you are gone,
torn down and thrown away
Crazy colored plastic now resides
where you once stood so tall
Even though you are gone
You will never be forgotten
The joy you brought will forever be treasured
Jan 29, 2015
Jan 29, 2015 at 6:26 PM UTC
i was at the my mom and
dad's gravesite
trying to do some soul searching and
really and
deeply missing them and
i will never get used to being an orphan and
life has been so difficult since they left me and
i took for granted how much love support and
an ever ready hand to move heaven and
earth to help me and
i didnt even appreciate it much less utter very many thank you's and
i would give almost anything, the rest of my life to have had just one more time of sitting at the kitchen table and
i would actually this time drink her nasty Folger's instant coffee and
when she died she left a jar of it and
although it only contains a hard inch layered congealed ball it is so comforting to open the cabinet and
see it still up there and
you want to try to judge me when instead i was sitting there on the ledge of their headstone watching the beautiful and
powerful electrical dry lightning and
feeling the wind hit my face and
i cried out to a god that i no longer even believe in to please have my mom cont to keep looking after her grandson the one she never admitted to, but over time it just became apparent of that she was most partial to Colton, the one that she had the special soup and
salad dates on special occasions and
i find myself agonizing about how whether my son is here on earth in the physical form or his physical blood skin organs and
bones have decayed into apparent nothingness but either way i want to feel that my mommy is looking out for him and
that i can have answers and
can at the worst case scenario be granted just a tiny piece of real estate to go and
release my grief and
have 1 place where i can finally have just a piece of peace and
know that he is with his grandparents and
i can visit and
memorialize him in the usual manner rather than having moments that can last for months of something that is truly a most insidious form of torture that i can't even grasp words to express and
i have been so blessed to be able to have you want to play martyr with that last comment?
Dec 23, 2013
Dec 23, 2013 at 8:53 AM UTC
Outside the leaves turn yellow and I’m struggling
My mind becoming my enemy, replaying memories from a time which doesn’t exist to me any longer
Two years ago we became one, something I never imagined
We spent days and days together until you asked me to move in with you
Two years later and five months since we broke up yet it’s all I think about
Cascading liquid tears fall from tired eyes as I remember the life I never wanted to leave behind
My eyes are mourners, dressed in black visiting the gravesite of what we were, together
Each blink is a silent goodbye to pieces I’m still not ready to leave behind
How do you stop loving someone who gave you everything and seemingly took it away just as fast?
Those moments my heart remembers despite fleeting time and energy
Fall apart, fall asleep and dream of then when leaves changing colours meant falling in love with you and building a family.
A family I still see almost every day, but it’s no longer mine.
So yes, five months after the fact I’m still coming to terms with you being gone.
Feelings I cannot control and memories hovering like an unresolved ghost.
I am haunted by what we were and the fact that you can still look me in the eyes after the way you left without a second glance.
Twenty-nine years old doesn’t make heartbreak any less significant and difficult.
Perhaps someday I’ll be able to make sense of being alone.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 2:25 PM UTC
If I came to you
Wounded
Wound up
Winded
Weary
Then remember that I couldn't fight what I felt for you anymore.
Why battle beating hearts that besiege my pride?
And
If I fell to my knees
There would be no need to lift me.
You already have when you smiled my way.
Burying a vision of you in my memory.
On my gravesite, blow the pinwheel, so you could send my soul spinning to heaven with every breath you take.
Ifeanyichuku Okoro II © 2023
Nov 12, 2023
Nov 12, 2023 at 12:48 AM UTC
And there you are walking around
with no blood in you
desperately running into everyone
and never sticking.
Sep 10, 2013
Sep 10, 2013 at 11:51 PM UTC
she wept near the grave of her father,
knees digging into the fresh dirt.
her tears watered the earth beneath
her limbs.
deep sobs escaped her throat.
her father stood near.
not yet enough energy to form
and apparition for his daughter--
maybe some day.
he could see others pacing beside
their graves--wandering.
with a slight tip of the hat
to another nearby soul
and a sigh towards his kin,
he vanished with a gust of wind.
she turned, rubbing her puffy eyes
wishing it were him.
disappointed, she lays down
on top of the soil, six feet between her
and the freshly departed.
Jan 22, 2019
Jan 22, 2019 at 1:45 PM UTC
When I leave this world...
Stencil graffiti on my gravestone. There is no greater way to tell that people have touched your life unless a mark was made in reflection of it. I will personally see to it that the words etched into my gravestone are "Permission Granted".
When I leave this world, know that I did panic in my last moments. I am a thanatophobic which means I am both afraid of death and dying and always running away from it. So watching doctor shows and cop reruns with my family seem a little less comforting.
When I leave this world, plant the brightest, most purple orchids you can find around the patch of land I own that is my gravesite. I don't even like the colour purple that much, but when I googled the top 10 most beautiful flowers, number one was roses and that is too **** fancy for my dead punk body.
When I leave this world, pray for the sky to cry rain enough for all of you. I was not famous enough for people around the world to cry over me, but rain is as close as it gets.
When I leave this stupid world, make sure people knew I was also pretty stupid. I once told my mom that I realized "Hey water isn't blue... it's clear!!". I clearly didn't drink enough water as a child.
When I leave this world, hang a sandwich board on my gravestone that reads "I will continue to sell lemonade as long as the world keeps giving me lemons."
When I leave this disastrous world, publish everything wrong about me, and then make a sequel containing only things I said about myself during my worst hours. Compare the two and decided for yourself if the way we judge ourselves is too much to argue over.
When I leave this world and Sara is still out of the city, tell her I'm sorry. Tell her I don't want her to dig. Tell her that I wanted to talk to her so badly, but I was always scared of interrupting, or being an inconvenience, or dying suddenly without her knowing. Tell her that I wanted her to remember me so well that she knows exactly what our last conversation was about. That she won't have to dig for answers...ever.
I dug myself into a grave I do not need others to dig for my past.
Death is never one to discriminate against anyone. But it is selfish, it takes, never gives, and is always consistent when giving the final sentence for everything we do wrong.
I will constantly run from it, and it will always get me.
When I leave this world, and if you're there, tag my gravestone. I get to say that I was here... you might as well tell me that you were also here.
Jan 25, 2018
Jan 25, 2018 at 3:42 AM UTC
My arms have been.
Cut off.
Feet.
Nailed to the floor.
I don't know what,
But I'm doing it wrong.
I feel so much.
At stake.
Like stakes through the heart.
I am grief incarnate.
No one's died.
I feel like all,
the flowers.
I'm sitting in a gravesite.
The ceremony was beautiful.
Was it.
0nly held.
And was I.
Only to be put in the ground.
I feel petrified in dirt.
Then dismembered,
De-powered, and swaddled in earth.
Can't move at all.
My brain's been eat out.
Imprisoned in this bed.
Being swallowed,
Whole trying to keep.
My insides down.
But it doesn't work
Mar 17, 2013
Mar 17, 2013 at 11:12 PM UTC
Here i am laying roses at your funeral because i, i am the one that killed you. It was my gun that was pressed against your temple i counted to ten but you see it wasnt any ordinary gun....it was my lips gently pressed against yours that slowly killed you. I was slowly poisoning your body with every lip lock and hand hold.... i could see that it killed you inside to be with me, so to get rid of us you pulled the trigger and overdosed on poison. The doctors said it wasnt the medication that took your life but it was every i love you hushed into existence avoided by your parents and i dont even know why i tried because. ..itll never be the same when i look you in the eyes, when i write lullabys with your eye sockets. Day dreams with your hair folicles and forevers with your angelic smile. Im laying roses on your gravesite because i know they werent your favorite.
Jan 3, 2016
Jan 3, 2016 at 12:42 AM UTC
Some just loveth by their chatter
Some loveth only by their action;
Some just showeth love from fear
Some just loveth for distraction.
Some just loveth to not hate
Others just loveth by their fate;
Some loveth only whilst in death
Others loveth from their last breathe.
Some loveth, from wanting none abuse
Others loveth before their necks art noosed;
Everyone wilt loveth us sadly when we're dead
At ourn gravesite, they'll be bowing their heads.....
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry
Aug 1, 2015
Aug 1, 2015 at 10:48 AM UTC
They're bulldozing over your gravesite
To make more ******* apartments
Hey! Let's add more idiots to the mix
To forget you exist
This is where we'd go to hid our secret
No one will ever know the extent of it
So I throw your poetry in fire pits
To resurrect your presence
In the here and now my angel
I'm so elated you found peace
Though, I'm stuck under construction
Seeking ways to embrace the living
Were seperated by dimensions
Intention is key
I reach out for your hands everytime there's a breeze
You couldnt even give me a reason
Let alone write a letter
About what went down during your last fight to get better
Oh, i cried violently same as each false alarm
Each time you challenged death
He came back stronger than before
I want you to hammer away
On my puny brain
Take my memories
But leave their stain
Because not even I can embrace it's rich paint
Sep 25, 2017
Sep 25, 2017 at 11:41 AM UTC
A field of roses
Where we walked
The sun beaming off your face
Tender and delightful
I visit that same field of roses
Only now it is I who walks them
The sun beaming off my tears drops
In pain and dying
You were my rose
My reason for getting up and walking
My sunshine and light
But now you are my rock, so deep in the ground.
Feb 27, 2019
Feb 27, 2019 at 2:10 PM UTC
I don't care much for love and such things that go well with red
Because my bed is a love gravesite
Twisting, cutting, affecting only my love life.
So I've been making friends with ghosts who chose to be dead
White sheets and streaks of life left
But the burials set, and it's time to breath dirt
Heavens picket fence or hells stained shirt.
Jun 2, 2014
Jun 2, 2014 at 3:26 AM UTC