"requiescat" poems
They wanted a curriculum vitae
In absentia
I decided to ad lib
Ad nauseum
Ipso facto, lie and deceive
Exaggerate, mislead et cetera
Hardly a bona fide
Modus operandi
They caught me in flagrante delicto
Requiescat in pace, (RIP) my chances
Now I'm persona non grata
Mea culpa
Aug 19, 2014
Aug 19, 2014 at 9:45 AM UTC
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman, so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast,
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life’s buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
2.9k
Decked out in chiffon and lace
young Ella, called after mom,
never felt so grown,
rushing to mother’s call
to pilot the stroller today.
The streets to market were bare
save for a frail widow
guiding her walker to their right -
smiling at the girl in chiffon.
Without a sign, electric shocks
seized the old woman's frame,
spreading her supine like a crucifix
beside the irrelevant walker.
Battling through glazing eyes,
she clung to images of mother, stroller
and the girl in chiffon -
their cries a distant echo.
But their images presently faded
and old dear Ella returned to primal dust.
July, 2006
Oct 14, 2015
Oct 14, 2015 at 5:47 PM UTC
They call it crude.
The dessicated then carboxilated, carbonified,
****** of dead Permian flesh.
This is the reason the salamanders die.
Corporeal concreted, mummified, fossilized.
This is the reason we dance.
Dirges of West Texas dirt romances.
Lost in the flares,
Caught in the gases blaring making nostrils glare.
Requiescat in pace.
All these women.
Dancing through the caliche,
Giving a reason to taste the air.
Through one breath of speechless.
The loam is never settled where boots tread and weather.
Destroying bedrock through hydrolic fracking to the earths core.
I land my toes in the sand of the Llano.
I taste my Mexicans, greasy, with cheese,
With.
Hot.
Sauce.
Dorthy never went to the fest of Oil.
But there's no place like home.
Her silver slippers or prosthesis feet placed instantaneously upon me.
Would bring me directly into a thorny,
Patch of Mesquite.
Apr 14, 2013
Apr 14, 2013 at 12:49 AM UTC
Tonight my love is sleeping cold
Where none may see and none shall pass.
The daisies quicken in the mold,
And richer fares the meadow grass.
The warding cypress pleads the skies,
The mound goes level in the rain.
My love all cold and silent lies--
Pray God it will not rise again!
1.7k
Poetry, my cruel mistress,
She weaves words
Into a tapestry that can
bear the soul of man
to the highest peaks of
the heavens
or dash it on the
jagged teeth of hell
Her garment,
The essence of man’s soul
Strung together by a string that is
The very being of sorrow’s spirit
Dyed with blood,
From a piece of her lover’s heart
My heart
Given to her
In my words.
The sorrow of joy
The relief of pain
The defeat that victory brings
The happiness that is sorrow
The paradox of love
The juxtaposition of life and death
She knows them all
For they sustain her
They are her life
Her garment, ****** yet while
Blows in the gentle breeze of dusk
Sending her scent
To men
Chasing after her
Lusting, wanting, longing
Insane, dying
For just one kiss
From her lips
One caress from her gentle hands
To lie in her *****
To forever sleep, to fade away
There, in the arms of my love,
The love of my life
Love of my soul
Love of my heart
So
Requiescat in pace
Let us, let them, let him, let me
Rest there in eternal peace
May God have mercy on our souls.
Jan 13, 2014
Jan 13, 2014 at 11:55 PM UTC
Now stand.
Strike a pose.
Dont forget this one thing,
You are beautiful.
Now aim,
Strain your string.
Your bow will obey.
Ready to spring.
Fire!
End their life.
They tried to destroy you,
In this moment of strife.
Kneel beside their corpse.
Gracefully closing their eyes.
Respect comes first.
"Requiescat en Pace.."
May Requiem have your soul.
At rest.
Requiescat en Pace.
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 7:35 AM UTC
The tip of a blade
Sharp as the mind which forged it
Has pierced morality
Blunted steel
Swift and light
Has purged grounds of once dancing man
Gentle winds pushing tides
Wreckage after wreckage
The seas left in the hands of land-walkers
Omnipotence cast aside
The madness in eros retreats
Requiescat in pace
Mountains folding
Now wait for the blackened sky
Descending
The peace has been stolen
No balance remain
Longing a rising sun
Sit in moonlight,
Pray
Breath by breath
A Samurai's sword
The quickened in body and soul
Casts away a dying wind
Jan 8, 2013
Jan 8, 2013 at 3:35 PM UTC
My hammock swings escaping
from a highway of life hurrying
On to your caring tree trunks hanging
With orchestras of cicadas noisily serenading
The cool breeze anaesthesizes
My thoughts that’ve climbed some distant ridges
At home in the shattered temple, unconsummated promises
At peace now in modesties that only time did bless
Within the underground cathedral lie:
The mind’s a hermit of hidden truths he’d prophesy
The will’s a gallant warrior refusing to die
The heart’s a playful child chasing a butterfly
Along the banks of rivers clear I weave
broken lines from silk spun, the caterpillars believe
to wait in purgatories of gold-laden chrysalises, then leave
resurrection is heaven as wood-nymphs emerge and live
When waters flow beneath the bosoms and bowels of the earth
The wizards in rendezvous, solace in endless mirth
Shadows of misty mornings embrace your trees - all heights and girth
I shall rest, heart in mind, that death’s a reality, as natural as birth.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 7:49 PM UTC
Through blurry dreams of vivid ebony.
Of crimson red that escape my mem’ry.
The old hand of time has taken its toll,
In a world of dreams that wish to console.
With the passing of a clandestine star,
Whose dazzling silver lights just seem too far.
The transcendence of a thousand comets,
Are as beautiful as a sun that sets.
Overhead, a deep and calming sky blue,
A sign of life that shall now breathe anew.
Outcast and in exile, the vagrant weeps,
A soft silent whisper as Zephyr sleeps.
For stars that age, that once shone so brightly,
Dimming grandeur though ever so slightly.
Woe to he, lost in this sad serenade,
Her beautiful face, her pitiful shade.
May 30, 2015
May 30, 2015 at 4:13 AM UTC
They say a picture is worth a thousand words.
Well, I don't have any good pictures of you.
And now my pen feels heavy,
and I'm trying very hard to make sure these words are written
In ink
Not blood
Because that's not the picture I want to paint.
I don't want to idolize you, to put you on some pedestal.
I don't want to diminish your value, either.
You were human.
We all are.
That's part of why this ***** so much. Mortality's a real *****
I could wax poetic for as long as my constitution allowed and you still wouldn't be back.
That's the worst part about tragedy.
It's not that it hurts. It's not the void where someone's existence once was,
The tear in the world where there simply just isn't anymore.
It's not the heartache, the pained cries or
The river of tears so wide we can't just
Build a bridge and get over it.
It's that we have to.
It's that life goes on.
I always tell people to live in the moment instead of taking pictures, because memories last longer, and here I am, trying to paint a picture of the past.
Whoever said hindsight is 20/20 was full of **** because there's no way in hell that I can put a life into words, let alone merely a thousand.
I'm sorry.
I want to know what to say right now.
I want to have the right words for all of the unanswered questions.
I want to help.
I want to heal.
Right now I can't.
Right now I'm allowing myself to hurt.
We all should.
We all grieve in different ways so please forgive my self indulgence.
But everything great I've ever done I've written down and he was a great man so ********* I'm going to indulge.
The man had the heart of a lion.
He had the heart of a lion and the mane to match it.
He was brave. He left home to pursue his passions in foreign lands, and his courage echoes in all of us.
He was bright. Not only intelligent but a genuine source of warmth for people on their coldest days. There's a fire he started in all of us and while it may seem dim right now soon enough it will rekindle and grow.
He has lit an eternal vigil in all of us.
Burn not in solitude.
He was many things. What that was varies from person to person but it is in times of great duress that we truly realize how fragile life is. And how important it is to hold those you love close. To live life smiling and without regret. To forgive and let live, and above all else, to make each moment count.
To the un-daunting Dante,
Requiescat in pace.
Or raise whatever hell you'd like.
Mar 31, 2016
Mar 31, 2016 at 1:53 AM UTC
Mourn, as the hour draws near--
I'll soon hear goodbyes.
Mourn, for the last petal from the dying rose fell.
Mourn, for thy time has come.
Mourn, not but a smile;
not but a tear.
I'll mourn,
requiescat in pacem
Dec 12, 2020
Dec 12, 2020 at 9:48 AM UTC
Elegy for a little girl, lost
by Michael R. Burch
. . . qui laetificat juventutem meam . . .
She was the joy of my youth,
and now she is gone.
. . . requiescat in pace . . .
May she rest in peace.
. . . amen . . .
Amen.
NOTE: I was touched by this Latin prayer, which I discovered in a novel I read as a teenager. I later decided to incorporate it into a poem. From what I now understand, “ad deum qui laetificat juventutem meam” means “to the God who gives joy to my youth,” but I am sticking with my original interpretation: a lament for a little girl at her funeral. The phrase can be traced back to Saint Jerome's translation of Psalm 42 in the Latin Vulgate Bible (circa 385 AD). Keywords/Tags: Latin, translation, Saint, Jerome, Vulgate, Bible, prayer, elegy, eulogy, hymn, joy, youth, death, peace, rest, consolation
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 9:23 PM UTC
Requiescat In Pacem
when I leave this world
look not for me under the dried ground
but look up and see me beneath the skies
when I pass from this realm
weep not for my absence from your crowd
but feel my presence in the gentle wind
find solace in my words, those that I've writ
know that this heart belongs to you and only you
that I will always be a part of your soul
on a cold day, let our memories warm you up
and when you are down, let the same memories lift your spirits
look back with fondness and love
it matters not how I leave this world
you were my salvation, my life, my soul
I lived and not merely existed
and this is enough
~aleck
05022017
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:02 PM UTC
Tread lightly, she is near
Under the snow,
Speak gently, she can hear
The daisies grow.
All her bright golden hair
Tarnished with rust,
She that was young and fair
Fallen to dust.
Lily-like, white as snow,
She hardly knew
She was a woman so
Sweetly she grew.
Coffin-board, heavy stone,
Lie on her breast.
I vex my heart alone,
She is at rest.
Peace, Peace, she cannot hear
Lyre or sonnet,
All my life's buried here,
Heap earth upon it.
Jan 11, 2016
Jan 11, 2016 at 7:13 PM UTC
Now I'm part of the
"requiescat in pace"
persons in your life
Jul 14, 2021
Jul 14, 2021 at 11:41 PM UTC
In the shadows,
Eyes are no where to be seen.
Under thy hood of black.
My bracer is flexed,
Shooting a blade out from underneath.
I spot my target,
Moving quickly.
In the crowds of people,
I tail that specific one.
Whose committed ****** and crime,
Deceiving the Creed.
Dashing forward,
I pounce.
Bringing him to the ground.
The knife pierces his throat,
A feather of blood.
Respectfully giving him his final words.
All you can say.
"Requiescat en Pace."
You *******
Oct 17, 2014
Oct 17, 2014 at 10:20 AM UTC
Five hundred miles to kneel in bitter, November snow,
silence, pierced abruptly, by magpie's chattering screech,
naked oak fingers rattling a chorus of disapproval,
withered bouquets, fast, with weathered sanguine ribbon,
nestled amid the glistening russet tapestry,
tired gold leaf adorns matted marble of black jet,
holding the word, mother, on trembling, blue lips,
Sepia recollections, eviscerated by the butcher of reality,
quarrelling emotions, sporting stark tattoos of injustice,
the stench of mother's milk, turned to rancid butter,
icy pearls, burning down scarlet, wind chapped, cheeks,
prompt visions of her in a delicate, white lace gown,
alone, cold in the ground, the worms feeding on her flesh.
Jan 11, 2018
Jan 11, 2018 at 7:31 PM UTC
Those thoughts, that we once lit upon, in such a rage,
(Oh! how ablaze they once were and Oh! how quick they flew)
Scribbled posthaste onto the now much duller page,
To immortalize- as only the penned word can do.
And so, if ever apt,... regress to way back when,
(at least for a time, at least in mind,...return alone)
To dig them from their coffers - let them live again,
all of the greatest passions our souls had ever known;
To resurrect the fire that only youth can start,
(Recover- , a breathless moment or a wanton gaze)
Exhume instead- , a tear, shed from a lifeless heart,
To bestow the elegy of our departed days.
Jun 24, 2017
Jun 24, 2017 at 10:42 PM UTC