Time-bound
my hands think without me
a tick will not talk
to his old red comrade
above the world a swan
is as much of the dead
as we know
Poems on the topic: death
Poems on the topic “death” on Poets.by.
Future-proofing
passionate as a river
empty of boats
holding a wine glass for rain
and a napkin for ink
I made an end of my letters
and died in her bed
Penn’s Creek riddles
A dark waterfall of fur
slipping down the rocks at
the river’s edge, soft yoke
no neck will ever wear.
Though green, I am no plant.
Two kingdoms live in me, but no ruler.
I’m a colonist of places
where nothing else can survive.
Death comes to the hemlock trees
in grayish white clots the size of pinheads.
Melancholic
I dress myself down
done with all the toss and spoil
hold to loss
like a sand house
taking you home who are
less dead than me
Foretold
my last days
shall be underground
trees covered with earth
branches of black water
in my pocket
sand
and sudden hands
over every mouth
Practice makes perfect
I am at any time
ready for vacation
practicing to be simple
imagine the prizes we desire
in the present
this very body prepared
for his journey
down in the grave
Death angel
the clock over our revels
is an angel on a leash
I give it a while to betray us
and tally all our time
Replete
full of myself
is how we all are
how a boy that died
being dried in an oven
lies there entire in a box
how the king is quite out of ink
and weary of everything
how rain put me
into my good night
Three short poems to inaugurate a new pocket notebook
ravens
climbing into
each other’s sky
circling crying
out
above the road bank where
the hepatica has just come into bloom,
the corpse of a porcupine
carrion beetles clamber
through the quills
butterflies cluster on what’s left of its mouth
a hole spanned by the long, curved
railings of its teeth
& down below, the pale blue blossoms
swaying on their stems
Goth fitness
among sorrowful stories
the green agreement of the park
I walk to walk
pass by the dead unburied dogs
Haze
busy with dying
in her mind a haze
green and pretty
The great equalizer
in the city of the dead
the poor cannot have any bell
ring for them
we fear that public sand
fear being forced to lie there
like a little warren
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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