"tombstone" poems
Silicate, emotionless sedimentary,
Darling, it is cold, doesn't care wheter it breaks or if it is swept away in a stream, cut into small pieces by the sharp rush of flowing water,
While it may hold no emotions, it can be the bringer of hope, bliss, happiness, sadness but also spite and envy, or a simple fulfilment,
Look at the wedding-rings, their stones on top to embellish beauty such as the insurance to be with the other through thick and thin,
Some diamonds are rough, but they are stronger than stones, if that is enough, harder and almost unbreakable, sorted in line moliculary,
When the kiss of death puts us to rest, a tombstone is the sad, cruel remembrence of a former life, sprouting blossoming and blooming, before returning to the soil it once had found its origin, its beginning,
I will try to be your wishing one, your shooting star, racing through the glory of the starlit nightsky to catch a moment of your passion,
Burning up within the atmosphere of your warm embrace, dearest.
Drawn by your gravitational impact on me, I will be your comet, returning to you each day without burning away as rapid as a meteor.
Darling, alike a blazing Sun you make me melt.
~ Umi
Apr 9, 2018
Apr 9, 2018 at 6:25 PM UTC
TWO loves had I. Now both are dead,
And both are marked by tombstones white.
The one stands in the churchyard near,
The other hid from mortal sight.
The name on one all men may read,
And learn who lies beneath the stone;
The other name is written where
No eyes can read it but my own.
On one I plant a living flower,
And cherish it with loving hands;
I shun the single withered leaf
That tells me where the other stands.
To that white tombstone on the hill
In summer days I often go;
From this white stone that nearer lies
I turn me with unuttered woe.
O God, I pray, if love must die,
And make no more of life a part,
Let witness be where all can see,
And not within a living heart.
17.7k
.
**•i've depleted my font,
my creative well•for each
day passed, with a story to tell
•staining white and barren land-
scapes•by sculpting my words into
myriad shapes•from factory fumes to
a wedding ring•an ominous tombstone
to a flash of lightning•an hourglass to track
elapsing time•the untold story behind a loved**
nursery rhyme• |
with this i conc- |
lude my 30 day run o
•it's been quite a stretch but
all in good fun•rest assured that
more will come when the time is
right•for now i'll turn off my
bedside lamp and bid
you all a goodnight•
.
Dec 13, 2015
Dec 13, 2015 at 11:05 AM UTC
when i was a freshman one of my friends told me that there was a girl who was talking about me
asking why i was pretending to be straight and that everyone could tell that i was gay
my friends and i laughed it off like children and i quipped “i’m not pretending anything, just ask anyone and they’ll know”
now, i think of the rainbow socks, the only thing i own with a rainbow on it, being shoved down to the bottom of my sock drawer as if it would pop out at any minute and proclaim it’s existence if it were any higher. now, i think of the rainbow highlight that i applies in the bathroom at midnight, pausing every now and again to make sure i was alone. Now, i think of the pride nail art that i scrubbed off my nails minutes after i painted it on. now, i think of the last word in a poem that i wrote and turned in, scared i was being too obvious with the word they.
now, i think of the horrible creature sitting in my chest that simultaneously begs to never tell my secrets and to also scream them from the roof tops. i think of the sludge that lives in me and climbs up my throat, whispering safety into my ear while also ripping apart everything it touches. i think of the pain i feel whenever i say that i’m gay, because it makes things easier if the works sees me as a girl who loves other girls.
before thinking of this poem i had sat back and wondered how many bottles it would take of the various prescription medicines that my parents kept in the kitchen cabinet to **** me. when i remembered the name they would put on the tombstone i stopped and walked away. i remember the time where i couldn’t walk away and i had reached in and grabbed a full bottle of ibuprofen and i took a single one, hoping that my screaming head could be sated by the feeling of a single pill crawling down my throat.
i had a dream last night about someone called addison.
they looked me in the eyes and before i even knew what they looked like their physical form flickered until they were a bright shining star in a vaguely human form.
they sat next to me as we floated in a void on a picnic blanket and they put their arm around my shoulder which felt like a hug from someone i used to know but had forgotten
i stared at their glasses that looked too much like mine as they flickered in and out of existence and they told me i was not where i was supposed to be.
i didnt ask them where but they heard it anyways as if breaking into my thoughts. they answered that they could not tell me and when i thought why they said they didn’t want to spoil the fun of a brighter future for them and me.
i woke up with the taste of lavender on my tongue and the desire to change my name.
Aug 6, 2018
Aug 6, 2018 at 1:11 AM UTC
She's very much alive
But she is dead to me
The decision wasn't mine
She wanted to be
A tombstone in my mind
A grave inside my heart
A perpetual funeral
That has no end or start
There is no wreath to set
No flowers to lay
The only place that this exists
Is buried in my wake
Nov 30, 2015
Nov 30, 2015 at 8:43 AM UTC
When I die,
I don't want to be buried.
I don't want a casket.
I don't want a tombstone.
I don't really want much of a funeral.
I simply want whomever desires
To say something about me
To do so
(Whether it's good, bad, or funny).
I want to be burned
In a cardboard box,
And as I'm being cremated,
I want someone
To read a poem that I have written
For that very occasion.
When I'm all turned to ashes,
I want them to put me
In a cheap little container
And throw my ashes into the wind.
Maybe over a field, a forest, or the ocean--
Whatever, so long as it's windy there.
Mostly,
I don't want my loved ones to have a
Specific place to visit me
Because
I want to be the one
Who visits my loved ones
So I can give them kisses
When the wind
Brushes their cheeks.
Sep 27, 2010
Sep 27, 2010 at 11:21 AM UTC
from my bed
I watch
3 birds
on a telephone
wire.
one flies
off.
then
another.
one is left,
then
it too
is gone.
my typewriter is
tombstone
still.
and I am
reduced to bird
watching.
just thought I'd
let you
know,
******
9k
summer in the park
kids hopscotching on pavement
dad checking email
the oldest known song
carved on a lover's tombstone
- “pretty much YOLO”
digital tombstone
her face no longer ages
she is immortal
relaxed at the beach
at home - panicking mother
phone dwells in the lake
so long out of touch
childhood friends reunited
- thank god for Tinder!
Apr 27, 2014
Apr 27, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
An old grave hidden away at the foot of a deserted hill,
Overrun with rank weeds growing unchecked year after year;
There is no one left to tend the tomb,
And only an occasional woodcutter passes by.
Once I was his pupil, a youth with shaggy hair,
Learning deeply from him by the Narrow River.
One morning I set off on my solitary journey
And the years passed between us in silence.
Now I have returned to find him at rest here;
How can I honor his departed spirit?
I pour a dipper of pure water over his tombstone
And offer a silent prayer.
The sun suddenly disappears behind the hill
And I’m enveloped by the roar of the wind in the pines.
I try to pull myself away but cannot;
A flood of tears soaks my sleeves.
6.8k
I will love you so fiercely
that the sun's love shall never again feel the same
nor hold you hypnotized in its beauty.
I will drill my way
down
to your heart
though it may be a tedious task.
I will peel you
layer by layer by layer
until all that is left of you
are your organs and your soul.
But;
Once I too am inevitably consumed
eroded
by the tide of this ordinary life.
If I have not ******
the life
out of you
in an attempt to show you how strong my love is,
And if you happen to outrun this love of mine:
Play hopscotch
on my tombstone
and pour tea parties in the graveyard
in my memory.
I promise to attend.
Sep 17, 2014
Sep 17, 2014 at 3:00 AM UTC
Through the laurel branches
I saw two doves of darkness.
The one it was the sun,
the other one was lunar.
I said: 'Little neighbours
where is my tombstone?'
'In my tail-feathers,' the sun said.
'In my throat,' said the lunar.
And I who was out walking
with the earth wrapped round me,
saw two eagles made of white snow,
and a girl who was naked.
And the one was the other,
and the girl, she was neither.
I said: 'Little eagles,
where is my tombstone?'
'In my tail-feathers,' the sun said.
'In my throat,' said the lunar.
Through the branches of laurel,
I saw two doves, both naked.
And the one was the other,
and the two of them were neither.
5.9k
On my way to work,
Whenever I pass through
The Holy Trinity church,
After a brief prayer,
The tombstone of a martyr
My eyes never fail to search
As his eulogies sensitive cords
Are sure to touch!
I admire
The tombstone’s design
A flickering torch,
Whose tongue
Is the martyr ’s statue,
That talks loud his virtue!
“Holy Trinity
Till I crossed the river of death
Allegedly, striped of my health,
Poisoned by evil doers,
Who hanker
By unfair means
To amass wealth,
I had been
A public servant
Adherent to my faith! ”
“Holy Trinity
To abide by
Your commandment-
Don’t steal-
Was my desire
Also to pull out millions
From poverty’s quagmire.
Across the board development
Working better than one's best
Efficient resource utilization
Also drew my attention! "
“Holy Trinity
A generation
To corruption averse
Is all-out
The bad scenario
In my country
To reverse.
A generation for
A developmental ******
That has lust.
I have come to understand
The coming up of
Many a lass and lad,
Whose rights that demand
I need no more reward,
When in front of you
This way I stand
Justice to demand! ”
Children of Oromia,
Ethiopia’s elephantine branch,
You have to detach
Your state, your country
From the impudent
And the corrupt
That still exercise
The outmoded
Colonizers’
Divide and rule
As a fool .
A corruption fighter
Development’s workforce
Is also a hero
Like Ethiopia’s
Valorous and dear sons
Balcha Abanefso
Geresu Duke,Abdisa Aga
And Jagama Kelo.
Children of Oromia
Giving to divisive guys
A deaf ear,
You should hold your
Country Ethiopia,
A cradle of mankind
And civilization, dear
Do not forget
Adding up
Is the current road map
Evil doers
Killing a hero
Could not bring
The change drive
To zero.
As a poet what I can say
“Evil doers
Stop to opt for
Devilish way!
But if you
Keeping going astray
You will go
To the grave in
Ignominious way!”//
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 7:09 AM UTC
No matter how many times I'm called beautiful
or pretty, of gorgeous, or any other comment,
I will always cry when I hear the name
You try to call me adoringly...
It is dead.
I bury it here
In the words.
I write its tombstone.
May 3, 2021
May 3, 2021 at 10:52 AM UTC
a bottle of scotch had bad dreams.
bullets twitch, junk sick
in 3 inch thick
mustard ****
toe nails clipped from yeti
lay strewn about the **** stained corpse
of a motel six dixie cup -
root canal trophy,
next to
a black fez
with scab tassel
upended.
down in it. belching apnea
propaganda
and belladonna
waiting for curious george
to find a shotgun
and a yellow
hat
and a brick banana.
blowflies inhale the rank damp
of a fresh ****
the odd dog whines
like a clown in -
a blender.
[ the ]
house wins
with a marked card; jabbing fat fingers
into acned rosacea
bloated with sleep lack
and mortgage
back stab
chasing twenty ******
with a hollow point
pull from an acid
flask
while hailing a black cab.
tinsel sutures
stitch eyelids as a mercy
shattered bone knit
hand-grenade
cozies
old glory, at half mast
half wasted
fifty stars, no light
dragging on
the grounds of immunity
to do a line
of coke stock
with a basset hounds'
finesse.
your taxes at work
in columbia,
hiding from a lost farm
in Idaho
your american dream
turning tricks in shanghai
for a counterfeit
egga roll
your meme, devoid
like an ice cube
tombstone
your freedom, parking cars
for italian escorts
smoking skin flutes
for ferraris
and white teeth.
your integrity, sold to a hedge fund
for astroglide and a pez dispenser
packed with prozac
pressed by ' Jose the butcher' s abuela
in a narco slum
that ain't seen radio
since cinder blocks
had wings.
Dec 26, 2012
Dec 26, 2012 at 2:40 PM UTC
Take me to a pub
So I can drink and get drunk
Forget all my sorrows for five minutes
And after the five minutes are gone
I shall grab the phone
And shout my anger with similes and curses
And melancholic poetic verses
Take to me to a pub.
Take me to a pub
So I can drink and get drunk
Then drive my tombstone of a car
And empty my rage in shifting gears
Of crashing death
A representation of the life
Of advanced products of simple humans
Dumb enough to die
Take me to a pub
Take me to a pub
So that I can meet some girls
And maybe go back with them home
And smoke some ****
And ashes
Of the dead people of the past
Which has now become a part of my mouth
And in my mouth
Mixed things
With either a sharp taste
Or a sharp color
Or a sharp texture…
Like multicolored knives entering my veins approaching my heart
To rip it apart
Take me to a pub…
Take me to a pub
Where I can die
Under tables and cups
And bartenders
And miserable people trying to laugh
With eyes that are not theirs
And faces that are not faces
Like animals unstrapped for one night
And once they wake up the more impossible are the braces
Shaped into bubbles that are suffocating
With no hope for air
That it becomes unfair
Take me to a pub
And then blame God
For my torment and bad hangovers
Saying why God!? Why did you let me go to a pub…
And after I wake up for reason
And logic, discover my flaws
I go back to my illogical ways
Because you are taking me to a pub
Television takes me to a pub
Politics takes me to a pub
Consumerism takes me to a pub
I feel like I’m the hot girl of the night
Because everyone is taking me to a pub
Grab some beer
Some *****
Mojitos and some Absen
Leave my mind unaware
And my thought absent
Take
Me
To
A pub
Now!
Mar 30, 2013
Mar 30, 2013 at 7:15 PM UTC
Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.
Be silent in that solitude
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.
The night—tho’ clear—shall frown—
And the stars shall not look down
From their high thrones in the Heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given—
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee forever.
Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish—
Now are visions ne’er to vanish—
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drops from the grass.
The breeze—the breath of God—is still—
And the mist upon the hill
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token—
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!
4.5k
When you die I will surely mourn,
I will miss the warmth of your embrace,
A blanket in the cold cruelty of the night,
I will miss how you'd tell me,
"Darling, it'll be better in the morning"
But it'll only be better after the mourning,
Oh Mother we're all going to die,
That's certain,
And there will be just as much not to miss,
I will not miss your words sharp as blades,
Cutting away slowly at my insides,
And the way they stuck like severed tacks in my mind,
I will not miss your beliefs,
So isolated and different from mine,
Your good intentions and fouler methods,
I will not miss the strike of your hands,
Like thunder,
Or your temper,
Like a hurricane,
Nor the vigilant and wary eye of a self-proclaimed victim,
An agent in broad daylight, lurking, critical and hideous,
But most of all, I will not miss your condescension,
Oh Mother,
I know I told you I'd never bow,
But just this once,
At your tombstone,
I will be free of it,
The best of the worst and the worst of the best,
I will mourn,
I'll take a bow for you,
Good riddance, I'll miss you,
Adieu, I love you,
And Mama?
Godspeed Mama, Godspeed.
Mar 29, 2014
Mar 29, 2014 at 12:13 AM UTC
Screaming
What's the use----??
Flower of the Graces
"The Tenth Muse"
"Everyday Use It"
The earth revolves
Around the sun
Minerals Love it
Drink it vitamin C
Mass of energy A-B-C
The gravity every day
We cannot use it_
Became the play money
Copied tainted not the
Bee's honey here's
The everyday economy
One lick of hope the
envelope not much
company
Everyday- Einsteins
Big profit scope
The brainstorm Reign
All signs detour cabin
Choo Choo train caboose
You nailed it the moose
One footloose
The one-man show
Two women know
The odds to their
advantage
Someone is the traitor
Mom is the Tailor
The zigzag lines
Crazy cat felines
"That's It" punctuality,
Use your capability
"Technet Technology"
take a walk favorite park
Shiba Inu rollover
The bad ones the
Millionaires homes
flip over the do
or dare
We cannot pay
NYC token fare
Words are our power
For Sale quick sales
Being sold
Too hot whats cold
Those emails trying
to delete
(More casualties
Tombstone mummies
Democracy leading us like
dummies chewing Bear
Valentine gummies)
Like the "Elephant Stampede"
New Orleans parade
Every day please donate
We never know about
our fate too early or late
Every day new Providence
Demon computer virus
Love comes with confidence
Love yourself and Venus
Apples and oranges minus
Use it You have a voice!!!
City clean up cockroaches
Swap your fake Rolex
Watchtower index
Trump tower complex
"Eiffel Tower Use It" to be kissed
Every day we need to cleanse
The "Godly Shower" be blessed
Practical Everday Use It
Magical write poetically
Precisely the right piece puzzle
You are the one
World it's you to dazzle*
Feb 2, 2019
Feb 2, 2019 at 9:54 AM UTC
When I die, will you sprinkle my ashes over the eighties?
Maybe I'll come back as a newborn L.A. baby
Some say you do it for the attention
But God knows there's no pretty boys in heaven
Apr 26, 2014
Apr 26, 2014 at 11:35 AM UTC
Metal bones dropped over another
clashing sounds across the night of smoky denials
in a city of thieves, paupers and scholars.
Worn down and without memory, someone's father
brushes off the dust of a young person's tombstone.
The oblivious student bends over information
into another alarm bell of insatiable chases.
Huddled in a street corner
like sprites of another dark jungle,
workers in uniform and hard hats share
stories and spare time as if nothing else matters
but this fading incomplete point in time.
Overhead looms the impending bright dangers
and dim warnings being built
From metals and soil into another giant promise
trying to excuse itself as it rips through
the city lungs, calmly abiding
and seeming always ready to die or live through.
Sep 10, 2018
Sep 10, 2018 at 8:59 AM UTC
Written on the tombstone head
the letters drip with red -
light and dark
have fallen stark,
the blinds made out of lead.
Squares of ink,
blood in the sink,
all prayers have been said -
laying on
a field of song,
her wishes have been fed.
Feb 21, 2025
Feb 21, 2025 at 2:53 PM UTC
I'm supposed to live with
No Regrets
And I want to
Really badly.
But I've already got regrets
I regret not telling you I loved you
And telling him I did
I regret leaving
And then coming back
How am I supposed to die now when
My tombstone will have the words
"Too many regrets"
Oct 11, 2012
Oct 11, 2012 at 11:43 PM UTC
After a great while the paper elephants march
In their sparse herd they lumber along
One by one, their thick legs slam into the earth
Like pennies on a timpani
Leaving slight imprints in the dust
No one is quite sure where they come from
All we know is they just are there
Some raise their children before witnessing the elephants
A lucky few will even see them a second time at the end of their lives
It is not uncommon for generations to pass without the paper elephants
Sometime the periods between their journeys are so long the elephants are dissolved into folktale
The paper elephants are bestowed an almost supernatural quality
The stories are birthed in secrecy between the lights of candles
In the ears of the men in the corner
From the hushed lips whispered in acquiescence.
Every story is different
Every story has the same ending
Every story has the same moral
You do not touch the paper elephants
Perhaps the stories have some truth
If anyone knows the validity they have been dead for quite some time
No matter, man’s superstitious nature will see to the protection of the elephants
The paper elephants are called “paper elephants” because it describes them quite nicely
From a distance they look just like normal elephants
Lumbering over from side to side
But their skin is like paper
Their essence is like paper
They travel together
Even the old and young
When it rains the young hide under the larger elephants
Lest they get wet and melt into the earth
It is not uncommon to find the soaked remains of an elder elephant
Crumpled by a sad consequence
It always serves as a reminder
The old exist to protect the young
Most likely the elephants can be found roaming through our graveyards
Here their pace noticeably slows down
Often enough, they can be found sitting next to a tombstone
Resting their trunks over the epitaphs
Strange things happen when the elephants are in the graveyards
Sometimes laughter can be heard
Sometimes sobbing
As the elephants rest the blue mist rises from the graves
The blue is the most reassuring shade
The misty fog rises and fills the entire yard
Until it is absorbed by the paper elephants
With a long sigh the elephants continue their journey
After many such stops
The elephants arrive at the tree
Gnarled and ancient, it welcomes the elephants with silence
As it has for years and years past
It is here the elephants have yearned to arrive
Under the knobs and strikes of its branches
They bend the knee
The young watch to learn
The adults look up to the sky
And release all that they carry
The hopes, dream, and memories of those long gone
Ascend to the heavens
The paper elephants collapse exhausted but content
And look upon their children one last time
They weep before leaving this world
Not for their children’s sorrow
But because there are no paper elephants to carry them to the next world
Jan 16, 2012
Jan 16, 2012 at 3:37 AM UTC
Nero: Deep cover another 187 on these hoes with my flows ya know I riddle like little Italy Punisher life Frank castle I slice ******* up like cattle I'm a lover but undercover like Eddie Griffin my brother I'll slice up ******* and leave they men in the trunk nervous with trauma twitches I'll cement up your shoes I'll use my pen to get the message to you headless hunters I'll be the soul edge and slice the heavens asunder I can feel it in my head and soul I'll reap with the flow and grow the flowers on the tombstone I'll make ya ***** moan and groan while I **** her in your stead while she gives me head I'm deciding who's the next to be blessed from the deliverer of death
DaSH: Kept the switchblade in a balled up fist
Probly ******
Off a lot of *******
But got longer lists
Like ******* who tasted blood soon after my ******* gotten licked
Threw up on my ****
And promptly dipped to get the shotgun grip
***** spit
Got me not wantin to work these long *** shifts
I know im sick
Smell my aroma tell its ebola when
I walk up in the room
Shut up talking and get a stronger whiff
Im the kid who was too demented to have gotten picked
For any extra curricular
Anyway I was busy plottin how to get to ya
Radio waves confuse em make em **** themselves
Silly me Billy Madison was happenin
And i was in the back with Chris Farley doin smack again
Rappers get smacked with used **** pads
A ****** *****
Is all I'll ever be in their eyes
But in mine,
All I see is bodies burning alive
Feb 9, 2015
Feb 9, 2015 at 12:51 AM UTC
A foggy night on the streets of London
A man full of bitterness and separation of boundaries
It’s business details being the flow
It’s the life of Ebenezer Scrooge being uncanny in go
Having no respect for life
Doesn’t even want any advice
Scrooge’s business partner Marley who died years ago
Mr. Scrooge’s curtain is a story in being certain
As Ebenezer was asleep
Mr. Marley’s spirit walks in his soul to keep
Mr. Marley awoke Scrooge and caught him by surprise
He wanted Ebenezer to arise
Marley shouted, “Ebenezer Scrooge and open those eyes”
As Scrooge awoke, he couldn’t believe it was Marley that spoke
In fact, he thought it was one big joke
Marley told Ebenezer tail and there would be three Ghost in his prevail
It would be the spirit of the Past, Present and Future
This sounded strange to Scrooge being peculiar
As Scrooge’s sleep went on, the presence of the first ghost being ever so strong
The wind that blow through the house and the voice that brought chills
Yet Ebenezer was trying to have a cast iron will
The spotlight was on Ebenezer being his still
The Ghost was at the house where he belonged
A Ghost of Christmas past of Scrooge’s previous beginnings
Life as it was and leading to the present
The thought on Scrooge’s business partner who died long ago
Scrooge having no care but a future of beware
The future having possibilities of Scrooge’s no more
His life won’t have any remembrance to explore
An open door with no floor
Yet words hidden in the fog you can’t ignore
The Ghost of Scrooge’s future to change his ways
Otherwise a tombstone that will bear his name and what it will say
“A man lays forgotten and dies being rotten”
Suddenly Scrooge felt asleep, asleep asleep
It was Christmas morning, and the sun was shining
Bells were ringing and Scrooge opened his window
A Young boy was passing by
Scrooge was happy with tears in his eye
Scrooge asked the boy, “What day is it”?
It is Christmas Day Sir
Scrooge quickly got dressed and went to Cracket’s house and gave a Christmas gift and Turkey
He marveled at Tiny Tom
Scrooge finally saw the true meaning of Christmas within himself
Those three ghost were not like anybody else
The Christmas bells were ringing and so was the caroling
Scrooge being a man from when and a man with giving on can
Snow starts to fall and it was Christmas with no stall
The Londoner’s say Happy Holidays to all.
Dec 6, 2014
Dec 6, 2014 at 1:41 AM UTC