Mindless behaviour
Stabbing,
A corpse.
Burying,
A zombie.
Sleeping,
Through day.
Hurling,
Abuse.
Fighting,
Yourself.
Remembering,
Regrets.
Forgetting,
Tomorrow.
Hating,
Ghosts.
Poems on the topic: death
Poems on the topic “death” on Poets.by.
Behind a front
A smile,
Easy to fake,
Bringing pain,
For others gain.
A tear,
Built over years,
Full of hurt,
And worldly fears.
A fight,
Just for show,
To make others know,
Of your might.
A death,
A reason to dress,
Acting a mess,
Not really affected.
Comparison
Trees,
To wind,
They tilt.
Flowers,
To drought,
They wilt.
Skin,
To soil,
It wears.
Mind,
To madness,
It tears.
Flames,
To water,
They drown.
Smiles,
june 5th, 2017
That afternoon my heart stopped when yours did
I couldn't breath and the tears started
It was no ones fault and we shouldn't be sad
because you wouldn't want us to be
but when I think I'm never going to see you on the sidewalk or at school, my heart breaks all over again and wish this was all a bad dream
I want more than anything to run into you and give you a hug and tell you how pretty you look and ask how your day is
You were a beautiful human being and you made your mark on this world
June 5th, 2017 was the day you left and took a piece of everyone with you. I hope you're doing well homie
The Difference Between Living and Breathing
Breathing is necessary.
A vital role for our survival.
Inhale, Exhale.
Breathe In, breathe out.
Living on the other hand is
Optional.
Although, one might even argue
That by virtue breathing is living,
Hell I'd be lying if I agree;
For example, someone who's lying
Brain dead in a hospital bed and hooked up to a machine is breathing.
Is that in any way living?
Because even if I'm breathing,
I might not be living.
I might not be living because I might've been dying.
I might've been dying becauseI have had it;
The Proletariat
Bidding his final goodbyes
Tears in his wife's eyes
The scrawny farmhand
Leaves for the kill
Sons to be fed
Daughter to be wed
The scrawny farmhand
Leaves for the kill
Swift as the wind he rides
Far from where he resides
The scrawny farmhand
Leaves for the kill
The stench of death fills the air
Close to the creature's lair
The scrawny farmhand
Moves for the kill
Haiku 9
If the barrel rolls
and goes unmissed until spring
was it ever lost?
In wisteria,
the remains of a feline
she dies when we die
Hot sauce on pizza
the man’s wife died this morning,
chatter in Russian
The lost magician,
our supervisor runs out
to give directions.
I had not wanted
to give up on this ball-point,
almost New Year’s.
Black dog on a leash
* * *
How might we know
when a star dies?
(they leave their lights on)
Haiku 51
Dressed for dinner, she
leaves out water for the crows
in her coat and mask
Low hangs a boiled moon
fingers stick up through the sand
farewell to low tides
No one notices
much about anything
so I think I'm safe
Dry dirt tossed over
my blind brain at mid-evening
three layers of black
Wakizashi
behind glass at the museum
whose hand drew it last?
Little girl chases
Haiku 28
The downtown beggar
died last week; a reminder
to cherish mint leaves.
Regular waves in
successive spikes, a thin stream
ending at the drain.
Car horn from below,
“Shave and a haircut, six bits,”
staccato, then out.
Light at my old work
goes out, the very instant
my night bus rolls past.
3:05 pm,
crescent moon, halfway hidden,
scudding eastward clouds.
Spring blossoms fallen,
Haiku 27
One lost DVD
stains all my gratitude
at the sun’s return.
“High above it all”
depends very much, of course,
upon your staircase.
I’ve never pondered
all those other mini-mart hands
depleting Pop-Tarts.
Waving flies aside
across Green Lake Way from Spud,
blighted wood bleachers.
Campus Parkway,
the grey crane casts no shadow
swinging, silent, south.
Heart-shaped slice of pear
Haiku 21
He throws a quarter
and a dime, into the sun
clutching chardonnay.
Rain drips down the ledge
my friend sleeps in the back room
two hours to sundown
Southbound SUVs
caught in mid-morning commute
are varispeed snails.
I could wager on
which stone a raindrop might strike
and lose yet again.
Late-night bus tunnel
forgotten, tomorrow
the blue of train 16
Four green lights hang back
Describe a feeling — we’ll find a poem
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