"mourner" poems
The light wraps you in its mortal flame.
Abstracted pale mourner, standing that way
against the old propellers of the twighlight
that revolves around you.
Speechless, my friend,
alone in the loneliness of this hour of the dead
and filled with the lives of fire,
pure heir of the ruined day.
A bough of fruit falls from the sun on your dark garment.
The great roots of night
grow suddenly from your soul,
and the things that hide in you come out again
so that a blue and palled people
your newly born, takes nourishment.
Oh magnificent and fecund and magnetic slave
of the circle that moves in turn through black and gold:
rise, lead and possess a creation
so rich in life that its flowers perish
and it is full of sadness.
35.2k
I watch the prom Dance,
In an awkward stance,
my friends walk in with dates,
and the excitement Abates.
Alone in a corner,
I mope like a mourner,
With no partner to dance with,
No gentleman to prance with.
Amidst the mirth and cheers,
My eyes fill up with tears.
I rush out into the open air,
And by Jove! I see Voltaire!
With his satirical charms,
He draws me in his arms.
As I sway to the beats,
I'm waltzing with Keats.
Causing my funny bone to arouse,
Enters P.G. Wodehouse!
Using nonchalant wittiness,
He acknowledges my prettiness.
And then walks in Shakespeare,
Who wipes away my tear,
And my senses curdle like curds,
As he showers me with words.
While I repress the excited child,
I'm swaying with Oscar Wilde.
I'm rendered helplessly mute,
With his phrases so astute.
With a proposal so verse-y,
I'm serenaded by Shelly B. Percy.
And before this fantasy can spoil,
I fox trot with Conan Doyle.
And thus literally seduced,
into putty I'm reduced.
I am platonic-ally smitten,
By the genius of what they've written.
The dating circus can’t make me cry,
because a host of paramours have I.
Jul 3, 2014
Jul 3, 2014 at 3:20 AM UTC
959
A loss of something ever felt I—
The first that I could recollect
Bereft I was—of what I knew not
Too young that any should suspect
A Mourner walked among the children
I notwithstanding went about
As one bemoaning a Dominion
Itself the only Prince cast out—
Elder, Today, a session wiser
And fainter, too, as Wiseness is—
I find myself still softly searching
For my Delinguent Palaces—
And a Suspicion, like a Finger
Touches my Forehead now and then
That I am looking oppositely
For the site of the Kingdom of Heaven—
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Oh! snatched away in beauty’s bloom,
On thee shall press no ponderous tomb;
But on thy turf shall roses rear
Their leaves, the earliest of the year;
And the wild cypress wave in tender gloom:
And oft by yon blue gushing stream
Shall Sorrow lean her drooping head,
And feed deep thought with many a dream,
And lingering pause and lightly tread;
Fond wretch! as if her step disturbed the dead!
Away! ye know that tears are vain,
That death nor heeds nor hears distress:
Will this unteach us to complain?
Or make one mourner weep the less?
And thou—who tell’st me to forget,
Thy looks are wan, thine eyes are wet.
2.8k
Love mourner
Angst angler
Thesaurus eyer
Rip-rapper
Suet idler
Dream creamer
Cascade scribbler
Intro-pee-er
Guts gusher
Endorphinater
Sonnet snoozer
Trochee tripper
Iambic lamer
Spondee sniveler
Whisper whipper
Music quencher
Apt-less adjectiver
Yeast yearner
Simile stitcher
Metaphor monger
Exclaimationizer!
Nov 1, 2010
Nov 1, 2010 at 7:58 PM UTC
o darling oh wohw ohhh dar-ling oh wohw wohw wohw dahrrr-leeeing some gunman walked into the mall
who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for I said Sarah Palin with my cross-hair target I shot Gabby Giffords who saw her fall? I said gun laws people with my little eye I saw her fall who caught her blood? I said Daniel Hernandez who placed pressure to her wound with my finger caught her blood who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll make the shroud? I said Cochise County ranchers pressuring for tougher Mexican border laws I'll make the shroud with my thread and needle who'll interpret what she stood for? I said Tea Party constituents with my pick and shovel I’ll dig her grave who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be the minister? I said Washington lobbyists with my little book I’ll be the minister who'll be the clerk? I said the media if it's not in the dark I'll be the clerk who'll carry the link I said Twitter I'll fetch it in a minute I'll carry the link who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll be chief mourner? I said American people I mourn for my love I’ll be chief mourner who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll carry the consequence? I said destitute lost their homes to Wall Street banks if it's not through the night I'll carry the moment who'll bear the sadness? We said the world both man and woman We'll bear sadness who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for who'll sing a psalm? I said the poet as she sat on a bush I'll sing a psalm who'll toll the bell? I said factory worker because I can pull I'll toll the bell for all people of the land fell a-sighing a-sobbing when they heard the bell toll for poor Gabby Giffords. who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for some gunman walked into the mall 9 mm Glock in his hand shot a bullet through her head 13 wounded 6 dead including little 9 year old girl Christina-Taylor Green who shot Gabby Giffords? why what’s the reason for
marching bands make me cry i don’t know why they’re so dazzling beautiful fun playing their instruments marching in uniformed unison they melt my heart eyes wet with sadness joy who shot Gabby Giffords? some gunman walked into the mall
Jan 28, 2011
Jan 28, 2011 at 2:19 AM UTC
A helpless mourner
Lilting in her deep sorrows
Raven in darkness
To lighten her nightly scars
Whispered her pray’rs to Selene
May 14, 2021
May 14, 2021 at 10:12 AM UTC
God of my life, to Thee I call,
Afflicted at Thy feet I fall;
When the great water-floods prevail,
Leave not my trembling heart to fail!
Friend of the friendless and the faint,
Where should I lodge my deep complaint,
Where but with Thee, whose open door
Invites the helpless and the poor!
Did ever mourner plead with Thee,
And Thou refuse the mourner's plea?
Does not the word still fix'd remain,
That none shall seek Thy face in vain?
That were a grief I could not bear,
Didst Thou not hear and answer prayer:
But a prayer-hearing, answering God
Supports me under every load.
Fair is the lot that's cast for me;
I have an Advocate with Thee;
They whom the world caresses most
Have no such privilege to boast.
Poor though I am, despised, forgot,
Yet God, my God, forgets me not:
And he is safe, and must succeed,
For whom the Lord vouchsafes to plead.
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Grim monarch! see, depriv’d of vital breath,
A young physician in the dust of death:
Dost thou go on incessant to destroy,
Our griefs to double, and lay waste our joy?
Enough thou never yet wast known to say,
Though millions die, the vassals of thy sway:
Nor youth, nor science, not the ties of love,
Nor ought on earth thy flinty heart can move.
The friend, the spouse from his dire dart to save,
In vain we ask the sovereign of the grave.
Fair mourner, there see thy lov’d Leonard laid,
And o’er him spread the deep impervious shade.
Clos’d are his eyes, and heavy fetters keep
His senses bound in never-waking sleep,
Till time shall cease, till many a starry world
Shall fall from heav’n, in dire confusion hurl’d
Till nature in her final wreck shall lie,
And her last groan shall rend the azure sky:
Not, not till then his active soul shall claim
His body, a divine immortal frame.
But see the softly-stealing tears apace
Pursue each other down the mourner’s face;
But cease thy tears, bid ev’ry sigh depart,
And cast the load of anguish from thine heart:
From the cold shell of his great soul arise,
And look beyond, thou native of the skies;
There fix thy view, where fleeter than the wind
Thy Leonard mounts, and leaves the earth behind.
Thyself prepare to pass the vale of night
To join for ever on the hills of light:
To thine embrace this joyful spirit moves
To thee, the partner of his earthly loves;
He welcomes thee to pleasures more refin’d,
And better suited to th’ immortal mind.
2.2k
I can’t breath.
Your holding a pillow over my face,
and call it love.
I am not quite sure when you and me
became we, and us and ours.
You talk about forever
and I listen, halfheartedly.
While watching your lips move,
I plan ways of escaping.
You were too much
and yet, still not enough.
After awhile I questioned
why I was holding on so tight.
I held on until my fingers ached
and calluses formed,
and it no longer felt right.
I was choking on the silence
of all the words I wasn’t saying.
Suffocating.
Slowly my heart became a tomb
and you, the mourner.
I am truly and deeply sorry for your loss.
Sep 16, 2018
Sep 16, 2018 at 6:15 AM UTC
How stern are the woes of the desolate mourner
As he bends in still grief o’er the hallowed bier,
As enanguished he turns from the laugh of the scorner,
And drops to perfection’s remembrance a tear;
When floods of despair down his pale cheeks are streaming,
When no blissful hope on his ***** is beaming,
Or, if lulled for a while, soon he starts from his dreaming,
And finds torn the soft ties to affection so dear.
Ah, when shall day dawn on the night of the grave,
Or summer succeed to the winter of death?
Rest awhle, hapless victim! and Heaven will save
The spirit that hath faded away with the breath.
Eternity points, in its amaranth bower
Where no clouds of fate o’er the sweet prospect lour,
Unspeakable pleasure, of goodness the dower,
When woe fades away like the mist of the heath.
1.9k
Sequel to my poem A Mourner's tale
Her days turned darkness, as evil taunted her soul
Shattered she stood as the night fought her
Harrowing it was when time stood still
Fearful it were when he held her down
as he took away her reason to smile again
In a journey of ten minutes he took away her dreams alongside her innocence
There was no morning too bright to elude this darkest plight
There was no one to hold her again
No reason to smile
No light too bright
And then
I say
*It was blinding how the sun pierced into her damaged soul
And when night came, she could not feel,
She could not see*
*It was shattering
It was shattering how pieces of her couldn't be mended again
And how these pieces spread beyond her life
It was shocking*
**It was shocking how her own mind questioned her existence
And how she lived through life, existing, but not living
It was monstrous**
*It was monstrous how men could damage a flower so pure and beautiful
And how they go on damaging more flowers,
Crushing them and eluding them all of their innocence
It was blackening*
Aug 31, 2016
Aug 31, 2016 at 8:23 PM UTC
Baby why you hit me up
At three am?
Greet me with a lazy sup
And break my heart
Oh
Darling did you think this through
Darling didn't you know I'd miss you
And for all this time
I thought we'd still be in love
All this time
I thought we'd never be done
But life carries on
And now I can do things
I couldn't do before
I can pick my nose
And slam the door
You may not be here
But I still can breathe
You may not be near
But I am still me
So I'm dancin' on my own!
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
And I know more than I've ever known
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
See me dancin' on my own
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
My heartbreak has made me grown
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
And baby!
I'm puttin' you in a corner
And baby!
I ain't gonna be a mourner
When sunrise come knockin' on my door
Baby, you won't be on my mind anymore
Got my mind on an electric buzz
Got me drunk on a dizzyin' high
I'm spinning dusk to dawn
And I'll forget we'd ever said hi
So I'm dancin' on my own!
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
And I know more than I've ever known
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
See me dancin' on my own
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
My heartbreak has made me grown
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
And baby!
I'm puttin' you in a corner
And baby!
I ain't gonna be a mourner
When sunrise come knockin' on my door
Baby, you won't be on my mind anymore
Oh, anymore
Baby you took my heart
Ripped it apart
And I'm just pickin' up the parts
Part of me wishin' that we'll be together
Another part knowing that we shall never speak again
But now you can do things
That you want to do
Hit up that girl
You'd always talk to
Hope she eat you well
Like I use to
Hope she is just as good
As I was to you
Still, I'm dancin' on my own!
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
And I know more than I've ever known
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
See me dancin' on my own
(Foxtrot, jive, samba)
My heartbreak has made me grown
(Charleston, swing, salsa)
And baby!
I'm puttin' you in a corner
And baby!
I ain't gonna be a mourner
When sunrise come knockin' on my door
Baby, you won't be on my mind anymore
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 12:42 AM UTC
We trace the pow’r of Death from tomb to tomb,
And his are all the ages yet to come.
’Tis his to call the planets from on high,
To blacken Phoebus, and dissolve the sky;
His too, when all in his dark realms are hurl’d,
From its firm base to shake the solid world;
His fatal sceptre rules the spacious whole,
And trembling nature rocks from pole to pole.
Awful he moves, and wide his wings are spread:
Behold thy brother number’d with the dead!
From ******* freed, the exulting spirit flies
Beyond Olympus, and these starry skies.
Lost in our woe for thee, blest shade, we mourn
In vain; to earth thou never must return.
Thy sisters too, fair mourner, feel the dart
Of Death, and with fresh torture rend thine heart.
Weep not for them, and leave the world behind.
As a young plant by hurricanes up torn,
So near its parent lies the newly born—
But ’midst the bright ehtereal train behold
It shines superior on a throne of gold:
Then, mourner, cease; let hope thy tears restrain,
Smile on the tomb, and sooth the raging pain.
On yon blest regions fix thy longing view,
Mindless of sublunary scenes below;
Ascend the sacred mount, in thought arise,
And seek substantial and immortal joys;
Where hope receives, where faith to vision springs,
And raptur’d seraphs tune th’ immortal strings
To strains extatic. Thou the chorus join,
And to thy father tune the praise divine.
1.7k
554
The Black Berry—wears a Thorn in his side—
But no Man heard Him cry—
He offers His Berry, just the same
To Partridge—and to Boy—
He sometimes holds upon the Fence—
Or struggles to a Tree—
Or clasps a Rock, with both His Hands—
But not for Sympathy—
We—tell a Hurt—to cool it—
This Mourner—to the Sky
A little further reaches—instead—
Brave Black Berry—
1.6k
For everyone, I was always too much,
For you, I was never enough,
I still yearn for your touch,
I am tired of being tough.
Breathing has become a torture,
Every time I try I find myself suffocating,
I feel like a mourner,
Weeping over our ashes, waiting.
Doubt is what you gave me,
It’s crushing my lungs,
Please set me free,
I no longer want to sing tragic songs.
Dec 27, 2018
Dec 27, 2018 at 3:15 PM UTC
Misty little corner
In a blue Room
Calls out to the mourner
Immersed in doom.
Grey furniture makes
Greyer memories
Faults, taunts and insipid
Fallacies.
Blue is the colour of the eye
It's inside is filled with a neon so fly.
The pink tree of life ******
Venus flytrap dissolves in juices.
The eye looks, the eye appalls.
The eye resigns, the eye dissolves.
The pink trap reopens again.
Lust curls into the corner in vain.
The misty blue corner like a white canvas,
Fills with all its colours again.
Pink is the monster,
Blue is the perpetrator,
Green is the debilitator.
And I, the wild colourless mind,
Sits by the wall and conjures this mishap.
All dreams are flies,
And I, the Venus flytrap.
Apr 23, 2019
Apr 23, 2019 at 4:04 AM UTC
my body is boiled down to liquid
creamy with memories and sharp with tears
you take in the bitter drink to forget your woes
by digesting all of mine
i am the alcohol
all the pictures that you've thrown
every piece of clothing with seams and strands exposed
all the nights when you've gone home feeling so alone
its at this hour all those drinks have lost their trick
and you're curled up into your bed listening to the clock as it ticks
becoming fixed on its pattern and rhythm until thats all that you know
you count every second as you begin to show
your true form once outer skin sheds in a horrifying transformation
and your eyes lose their grip on liquid sanity
you've regressed to weeping child
your underdeveloped mind has made a poor decision
and your small liver cannot process this many pills
your death will come as shocking and traumatizing to many
they'll drink to forget their woes
going home yet another night alone
listening to their clock as it ticks
wishing they could hold onto you now
rather than a bottle of a temporary fix
as they count the seconds since they've heard you laugh
they look up at their ceiling fan
and feel so empty
Mar 8, 2015
Mar 8, 2015 at 1:20 PM UTC
The pyre flamed w/
a blazing fire
investing the souls
of three spirits higher
A sacrifice worthy
of transforming the souls
to warm the Gods
with the comforting coals
Burned
A black magic priestess
the king of savages
his unborn son
the fetus w/ kings blood
The woman w/ white hair
the widow mother
the unburnt mourner
claims her reward
three lizard monsters
who trump 10,000 swords
Apr 18, 2013
Apr 18, 2013 at 3:10 PM UTC
Hush’d are the winds, and still the evening gloom,
Not e’en a zephyr wanders through the grove,
Whilst I return to view my Margaret’s tomb,
And scatter flowers on the dust I love.
Within this narrow cell reclines her clay,
That clay, where once such animation beam’d;
The King of Terrors seiz’d her as his prey;
Not worth, nor beauty, have her life redeem’d.
Oh! could that King of Terrors pity feel,
Or Heaven reverse the dread decree of fate,
Not here the mourner would his grief reveal,
Not here the Muse her virtues would relate.
But wherefore weep? Her matchless spirit soars
Beyond where splendid shines the orb of day;
And weeping angels lead her to those bowers,
Where endless pleasures virtuous deeds repay.
And shall presumptuous mortals Heaven arraign!
And, madly, Godlike Providence accuse!
Ah! no, far fly from me attempts so vain;—
I’ll ne’er submission to my God refuse.
Yet is remembrance of those virtues dear,
Yet fresh the memory of that beauteous face;
Still they call forth my warm affection’s tear,
Still in my heart retain their wonted place.
1.4k
In a crowded room filled with high society, and
In the facade of decadence, plays the Back Street Symphony
Winos falling asleep covered in yesterdays news
A lone saxaphone player, playing the blues
Neon signs and desinger lines are giving him his cues
He says "I've paid my dues"
I've got front row tickets to mainstreet
Walkin' by, don't know who you'll meet
A freak show on every corner
A broken heart walks on as a mourner
In a darkened alley you can hear him pray
Searching for a Savior with some words and a brown bag
Can anyone spare some change for me?
There goes the prom queen, is it a dream?
Hell is open twenty-four hours a day
I have front row tickets to main street
Watching the devils' choir earn their keep
There tearing down the walls in LA
There's a ****** on display, on main street
Sep 3, 2018
Sep 3, 2018 at 1:22 PM UTC
**It was piercing the way the day slowed in her eyes
As she felt the pain of been abandoned
It was shaking.**
**It was shaking how the cold stole her skin in the mid of the night
As she watched through her window pane, with tears in her eyes
It was harrowing**
**It was harrowing how her lights turned darkness
As she moved through time without any hope, wishing her life would end
It was fearful**
**It was fearful how darkness taunted her soul, and how she searched for light in darkness still
As she sailed in an ocean of endless misery, without any destination
It was blinding**
Professor Marylyn-Dolly©
Aug 10, 2016
Aug 10, 2016 at 5:59 PM UTC
Oh great Ophiuchus,
you stand there mighty above us,
all nights, collapsed in the collapsible
container sky. We do
look up to you, Ophiuchus,
as other-worldly worries nestle us
into our nested doll
worlds. Though Ophiuchus, we must
ask again, what it is you can give us
while your sculpted arms keep
a coiling beast at bay? Go on,
let go. Let go of it, Ophiuchus.
Your strong hands can point us
back, just when our need walks forward,
to a stone-laid patio where broad browns
empty into vast blues,
and our wise Hypatia sits
nose in books. Woe it is, Ophiuchus,
she’s so oblivious,
to those shouts of a smallish mob,
their small minds squeezed by greedy Christian lands.
They pad to her on paws
well-provided with ostraca
claws, and next morning the mourner jackdaw
will refuse to withdraw
its usual caw from a flawed
maw that couldn’t warn her, the time’s off. It’s now
it seems, Ophiuchus,
the day’s come, though the daw’s left us,
when clay heads will fall at golden feet. But
Ophiuchus, do please
tell us, can we focus? After
these many centuries, Ophiuchus,
can we learn to focus,
and on our own keep the constant
nips of the present-preened serpents at bay?
Mar 16, 2011
Mar 16, 2011 at 11:32 AM UTC
I see the apparitions
of a million mourning
people
standing here
amongst hundred year old graves
and hundred year old trees
they walk slowly
tears dropping
without ever hitting
the ground
one by one
flowers of every color
are put on grave
after grave
till this bleak
and dusty
graveyard
turns into a beautiful
arrangement of ornamental
and inorganic reminders
as each grave adds to the garden
of paper flowers each ghostly figure
of some mourner past disappears as
in a puff of smoke until all of them
have evaporated into the air and I am
left alone in a dusty graveyard adorned
only with fake blooms and overgrown
weeds
the sun beats down hot on my head
and I sweat as the sun comes level
with my eyes
a little girl toddles up to me
pointing at the petals adorning
a near-by grave
she asks
“are those paper flowers?”
I say yes
and comment
on the beautiful
day
“yes”
she says
“it’s a good day for paper flowers”
and I sat there
silent
watching the sun
set
on a beautiful
place such as
this
Mar 9, 2011
Mar 9, 2011 at 6:02 AM UTC