Tag Archives: death

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The Death Notebooks – Book Spine Poetry

A little ripple has begun… a powerful wave is coming. From Nicola to May J to me.

Book Spine Poetry – the object of this is to pick a few books off of your bookshelf and arrange them so that the titles tell a poem. You can link yours to Nicola above or use the tag #BookspinePoetry. Here is mine, although I won’t have the pictures to go along with it. I will list the authors at the end though.

The Death Notebooks

Losing Faith
Innocence
Ordinary Light
Finding the Lost Ones

 

Authors:

The Death Notebooks – Anne Sexton
Losing Faith – Adam Mitzner
Innocence – Heda Margolius Kovaly
Ordinary Light – Tracy K. Smith
Finding the Lost Ones – Sandra L. Olson

 

 

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The River and The Sea

The deep felt tragedy of this:

“If only it could bear the dead
And bring you back to me”

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No Talent For Certainty

The river travels through the land
And out into the sea;
If only it could bear the dead
And bring you back to me

We’d travel off into the blue,
And far away from shore:
But we all go where we must go,
And you’ll be back
No more

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That Bastard Schopenhauer – Poetry

To say that all we desire:
Procreate and then die!
Death is all that awaits me then —
My memory fades
with no offspring to emulate me
no one to say, she’s just like her mother
No, no one will praise
these ghastly hands nor this bitter mouth
nor these sheets of words
worn raw and bloodied
My own selfish claw ripped
away any hope of excellence
No amount of labor will bear my likeness —
No colony of bees will swarm
To protect my womb
No, not for me —
I will die as I have lived
alone and lonely upon this earth
forgotten, forgotten
and give my last breath to Death

Copyright ©2014, Lori Carlson

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Bid Me Rest – Poetry

Death hangs over me
like storm clouds
I am mere bones
feigning to be whole

If you look closely
you can see
my skeletal sockets
where blue eyes
once shined–now empty
lifeless, no beauty

See these arms?
Trace each scar
feel each vein, deaden
I’ve leeched
blood too often
no pulse

And this battered heart?
A fisted stone, hardened
by years of love lost
beats became stillness
even you cannot spark
a rapid response
no currents

I am dead
reduced to bones
bury me
and bid me rest!

©January 2016 Lori Burks

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A Waste of Time – Poetry

cemetery at night

I’ve trespassed this cemetery before
in search of your bones
I can still hear their rattle
a child’s toy
like the games we once played

I’d close my eyes, counting
you’d zigzag through stones
then duck and hide
your bones chattering
against cement
you could never hold still

I pretended to search
to give you a moment’s reprieve
a semblance of sanity
as I called out long lost ghosts
and then popped out behind you
your hair standing on end
as fright overcame you

It was a waste of time
to include you
to hope you’d enjoy these outings
the longing, the need
to be one with you there
but you were never one for the dead

I lived for the dead
slept upon gravestones
curled up in freshly dug earth
made love there, under darkness
I wanted to share this with you

It was you
who claimed I shared nothing
that I held back
kept you at a distance
roamed the streets in the night
without you
but you couldn’t understand my desires
the uncontrollable need for Death
You questioned everything
the darkness that sustained me
the need for moonlight upon my skin
the unquenchable thirst of blood
from His cup

And even when Death claimed You
You knew
I would walk these graves
call out your ghost
sleep upon your marker
and waste my time here, forever
with you

©March 2015, Lori Carlson

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This Tangled Garden

The precious flowers that color and fragrance my world
are somehow lost to me today–no, not just today
for weeks, I am now realizing
I stumble over simple explanations
fret over words and phrases

My flower garden has become a nightmare
a tangled, unkempt patch of weeds
the home of trolls and wicked beasts
all strangling my mind to the point of numbness —

Is this what my future holds?
The digging, digging for the right things to say

If I could bulldoze the entire plot over, I would
and begin anew–an empty garden
Am I still young enough, well-enough?
or will I suffer my grandmother’s fate?
Unable to plant, I will merely pass away

Copyright ©2015 Ravyne Hawke

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Fear — Poetry

you simply won’t do —
you are eschewed
all bone
a poor pathetic thing
rolling in your memories
hanging on to the past
like a sacred tome —
You have no life of your own now
You’ve been assimilated —
the we, the we!

you’ve given up control —
do you get it now?
Don’t you see?
It’s far easier to cease
than to be!
You’ve little courage —
down on your knees, pleading
the begging, the begging —

the desire to be free
is no match for fear —
you’ve bathed in it for years
it’s soaked into your skin
runs rampant in your veins
’til it settles in your heart
your lungs
drips from your fingertips
rubbed raw
from counting days on the stucco walls

How long have your passions been imprisoned here?

Twelve years, twelve years!
years like memories — wasted away

©February 2014, Lori Carlson

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Exhaustion — Poetry

I exhaust you
I exhaust me too —
this calamity of my mind
leaves a decimated forest in its wake
nothing beautiful flourishes here

And yet, you still love me —
despite the reign of terror
I unleash with voice and hands
the screaming, screaming
and objects aimed at your head —

I am a wildebeest!

In those moments of rage
I am engulfed by fire
my eyes frantically scan
for any exit in sight
but I cannot escape myself
I am trapped inside this mind
as much a hostage to my illness
as you are for loving me

I can’t make this fair for you —
no amount of wishing makes it go away
nor denial
it’s not a matter of if, but when
I will go off again —
How many times will you put out the fire?
How many times before we are both so exhausted
we are consumed by the flames?
Exhausted, exhausted
And die

©November 2013, Lori Carlson