Poems on the topic: death

Poems on the topic “death” on Poets.by.

AnxiousDave Bonta

Bellwether

I could expect to age or boil over a compass busy with the north napping in a riot having been rescued from the dead I know no certainty
CheerfulDave Bonta

Street culture

not liking the horse desire I walk out not liking death I eat a piece of pie who lives in an outhouse so he would not be seen thrust his head into the grave we drink and talk and read verses in the street
SadDave Bonta

Hawking

a wing coming from sea at the death of a master a great gust calling our thoughts away
ContemplativeDave Bonta

Small time

among the dead I could be a sorry stranger but I consider providence from the bottom of a clock
SadDave Bonta

Axe

It was late. The lamplight gelled around you like pine sap thickening into amber. You were forgetting how to read, losing words in the exact reverse order of how you learned them decades before, until the book open on your lap seemed as blankly comforting as a glass of milk. Death had come, but not for the reasons usually alleged. He found himself enchanted by your bones, which were light as piccolos, & your skull’s smile faintly visible under the skin like a subliminal advertisement for eternal spring. The clock stopped in mid-tick. Your eyes took on a faraway look. Was I supposed to run after you? I was tired. My trademark guitar had long since gone electric – an axe, as they say.
SadDave Bonta

Burial

we bury her in her fine clothes rain doting on the ice
SadDave Bonta

Polished

a body in a grave is without any breach of civility though its mouth is all drawn in like what teemed at so late a supper
SadDave Bonta

Six feet down

this grave I occupy you may have after me by accident or angel like a long last word I could not say and so must be
SadDave Bonta

Little death song

at the undertaker’s I shall lie in the light I shall have no body to give to age to tend
AnxiousDave Bonta

Endarkenment

morning comes white among great supplies of visions all seeming to save us and yet my one head being out this night is a thriving ship of the dead
AnxiousDave Bonta

Utopian

where the plague grows where desires make a rough freight promise me night comes to pay one day
AnxiousDave Bonta

Inmate

I have gone good and dull left alone in a hole caution now used against any door to another time where it seems I fell down dead but am pretty well

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