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Poems About: FUNERAL

In this page, poems on / about “funeral” are listed.

  • 337.
    The Power Of Emptiness

    Oh child!
    I can see your patient eyes
    Gawping at an open space
    Watching dark angels riding snails read more »

    Stella Sisanda Qishi
  • 338.
    Last Rites

    They say smoke from Beowulf's pyre
    rose heavenward in wispy trails
    emanating from dying embers
    of a noble funeral fire read more »

    Michael Pruchnicki
  • 339.
    Cantankerous Celts

    Wild and reckless they were indeed
    in defense of their heartland

    redcoats and the black and tans read more »

    Michael Pruchnicki
  • 340.
    The soul likes to roll in unspeakable things

    the holier it is the more drawn
    it is to deer crap and tuna fish

    oh dress me in perfume read more »

    Mike Finley
  • 341.
    I believe

    I believe
    by TD Euwaite

    if God was made of mortar and stone read more »

    T.D. Euwaite
  • 342.
    Family: The Affair With Wind And Speed

    My Knight on a motorbike, my nephew
    once he is licensed with the confidence
    to lift, off we go – read more »

    Margaret Alice
  • 343.
    Death's Viewing

    The church bells ring
    A crowd fills the room
    They sit in silence
    Observing the event read more »

    Cheyenne Ashley
  • 344.
    Who Knows

    I’m sick to my stomach,
    Running from the harsh truth,
    I’m terrified,
    Scared of what will happen next, read more »

    Victoria Black
  • 345.
    Conversion of Innocence

    You never lose your innocence
    until you walk toward death.
    The heartbeat stills, the void immense,
    airless swirling, earth without breath. read more »

    melissa mundy
  • 346.

    boat stave ribs and thin jutting hips
    a cacophony of defiled desire
    heaving through pretty pale blooming lips
    she writhes alone on the funeral pyre read more »

    Katelyn Hinman
  • 347.

    There is an old cemetery on the south side
    where the casual visitor may happen upon
    one of those old-fashioned gated plots
    dedicated to a family of local renown read more »

    Michael Pruchnicki
  • 348.
    Always, it is poetry time

    Life is filled with work to do,
    Always there is, with me,
    Poetry time, an escape, like you
    Were so tirelessly breathing read more »

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