Crown Of Sonnets death poems and poems about death for Crown Of Sonnets. Read and share these heartfelt Crown Of Sonnets death poems with loved ones, friends and family members. Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for non-death related poems or Crown Of Sonnets Poems.
One need not read her horoscope to know
this woman's fate, and though wisteria
cascades sweet blooms of lavender like snow
outside her door, it's still Siberia
pervading the dimensions of her mind,
for not one fickle thought or patch of moss
can thrive where bleakest shadows are enshrined.
No bittersweet, no dew drops. . . only loss
surrounds her heart. She tries to reminisce,
but like a barren continent grown cold,
she can't perceive one particle of bliss.
She's clasping grief and cannot be consoled!
Wisteria's perfume is in the breeze,
but in her soul remains a winter's freeze.
For Janice Canerdy's Sonnet Poetry Contest
Dale Gregory Cozart
death, imagery, metaphor,
I don't need mawkish photographs to see
the drowning rowboat tethered to the dock,
a withered seahorse clinging to debris
as umber water seeps through feeble caulk.
The cord grass will have grown up through the planks
to marry splinters teeming on the pier,
putrescent pillars tilted by the banks;
a pallid corpse beside the marsh's bier.
Those summers when we sailed through brackish mist
have long since gone the way of floating sculls
that languish in the asters to be kissed
by empty oarlocks perched atop their hulls.
Your August ghost still flounders on the fen
then sinks beneath in nightmares now as then.
emotions, lost love,
The hollow eyes of love are never gone
They keep within the waves of trembled tears
From days so poor when love was looked upon
And one where the deepest pain adheres
They give my eyes of love such sad refrain
To think that love would ever be so cruel
And find it was illusion self-contain
When love so grand became so minuscule
To hold love once in dreamer's mind I've flown
And found the point of rest its final breath
To know I will forever be alone
Cry now as then for its eternal death
I found a love to hold and saw it die
Inside depth of darkest pain, I ask why
body, grief, pain,
When pain hits hard, you might feel like your soul
is bleeding out, but there’s no blood to see.
Your body is the part that takes the toll,
and physically you feel agony.
Perhaps the pain goes to your heart as though
a knife has sliced right through it, or you feel
it in your gut as if you took a blow.
No cut or bruise is shown, yet it is real!
When both the body and the spirit seem
to reach their limit, tears are overdue.
You have to let those tears go! Let them stream
and carry out the bitterness for you.
An empty tissue box becomes the sign
that soon, and hopefully, you will be fine.
Checked with howmanysyllables.com
Nor thunder in the dark, nor flash, nor fire,
nor other pyrotechnics that, they say,
accompany all such events, nor dire
phantasmagorias, going astray
in the unconsciousness. I’m all alone
down by the river which impassive face
turns gold with dusk. The other side is grown
with willows. A bit cloudy; a quick trace
of water striders, playing tag; a heron,
hiding among the reeds; a leaky boat;
an empty planked footway. But where is Charon?
The obol I have brought for him to float
me far away lies on the riverbed:
the tricky death as usual misled.
Favourite Poem from May, 2019 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Julia Ward
Lace hankie tucked inside her jacket sleeve
Hard candy filled the tin beside Mom’s purse
Gray mournings, nature’s gifts for those who grieve
At times when it seems nothing could be worse
So many dresses filled her closet space
And most of them I’d sewn by hand for her
I folded them as memories gave chase
Recalling the fine fabrics Moms prefer
Her perfume bottle nearly stood half full
Its fragrance still brought thoughts of Mom to me
And when I packed her scarf of finest wool
A teardrop fell that only Dad could see
For as I stowed Mom’s things, my Dad looked on
He knew I’d pack again when he was gone
*January 3, 2020
( A Monosyllabic Sonnet )
death, dream, poetry,
The sandman will take pause and say a prayer
Then reach in to his special bag of sand
And with a sweeping motion of his hand
Bright glitter colored stardust fills the air
It falls to bring a dream beyond compare
Where castles in the sky are gold and grand
A momentary glimpse of "Beulah Land"
As we envision life beyond death's stare
And with that thought we'll take a rattled breath
The last tear of this life will find release
We'll see our shooting star, a passing flash
Exhale our soul and welcome life in death
Then build our castles on white clouds of peace
The sandman will sweep up our sparkling ash
by Daniel Turner
angel, death, grief,
Today another angel got her wings
Promoted for a job well done on earth
Rejoice! In heaven, all the angels sing
His grace has filled her with angelic mirth
Though quickly earth reclaims the pyre's ash
How swift the ceaseless seasons of the sun
Grief fades and loneliness becomes the lash
A harsh reminder of that special one
But in our times of sad and dark despair
Our angel fans the dying flame of love
No longer suffering, her joy she shares
Reminding us she's waiting up above
This life is for the living, not the dead
Our day will come, when no more tears are shed
June 21 2019
death, lost love, sad love, suicide,
Alas, I stand atop this mountain crest,
and gaze upon the valley down below;
the graveyard where your body lays at rest,
sits in the center shadowed by plateau.
My sad heart aches with every breath I take;
I wonder why I’m made to bear this bane,
and live a life that’s cruel and opaque,
while trying hard my teardrops to restrain.
This awful illness claimed your life so soon,
while you and I were living in our prime;
the heavens haled you, leaving my life strewn
across this wasteland, sadly out of rhyme.
‘Tis but a step across this steep degree,
and I will join you in eternity.
July 20, 2018
On a chariot of fire in the sun
blew a pale horse and pale rider's cold breath,
and on your grave sing the owl and raven
in the shadows of the valley of death.
Where no graven image rise from its bones,
only a cold wormwood wind on death row
pipes through the rushes and through the tombstones
where all that remains is what lies below.
But more, far more than this its sound to me
as if your soft voice my ear passing through -
and I trapped betwixt life and parody
sit this day communing with God and you.
Yet I fear life itself I shall not mourn
when Death comes to blow its wreathed hollow horn.
The years have stolen details from my mind.
Your face, once clear, has faded like a print
Within an album ready to unbind
And plunder from this sadness any hint
Of thinning strands and laughing lines around
The sweetest smile and brightest silver eyes.
I walk across the white, half-frozen ground.
As morning wanes, the wind begins to rise.
The breeze relieves my sorrow like a sigh,
And, suddenly, as if by sacred cue -
A flash of red against the cobalt sky.
A cardinal of brilliant crimson hue!
And as the pangs of grief and joy collide,
I feel your spirit walking by my side.
Written December 31, 2018
For John Hamilton's "Beautiful Sadness" Contest
Who bade your life to live as such
pervading hearts with perfumed nose?
As down thy petals tempt the touch
when all for passions sake you're chose.
With lifetimes taken to bloom no more
you flower to favor all those who mourn,
then dance to dirges at misfortunes shore
un-bowing in tribute exalting fates thorn.
When the last crimson fades and darkness unfurls
and from winters hoarfrost you wither and fall
who'll mourn at your bedside as scentless wind swirls
and answer grave's whispers when I make my call.
So dance in the sunlight as long as you will,
While a vestige of fortune desires you still.
Not Just Any Old Rose Contest
death, true love,
an ardent desire of flames was burning
its passion held captive within our hearts
the temple of bodies arced in yearning
when fingers became restless like mozart's
melodies played beneath flickers of love
as sparks grew fuller than this moon tonight
more lambent in glow than what shone above
the gleam of those stars in your eyes alight
lit the passageway of your soul therein
I could feel the heat of love searing me
as each glance sparked the flame that burned within
its brilliance blinded me, i could not see
the embers as they lie dying from sight
its death left my soul with a lonely plight
Sonnet True Love Contest
Sponsored by Brenda Chiri
death, lost love, rose,
I shall nay know all the wonders - you hold
For all too soon the winds of winter blow
Scarlet petals withering in the snow
How cruel the breath that kills the velvet rose
Tears - that canst’ bear the thought of letting go
Forever frozen in this empty soul
A broken heart forever turned to stone
A broken stem left now to stand alone
Alas! I find that life is bitter-sweet
As I stand holding only memories
Of a rose blooming in the summer breeze
Here beneath this old weeping willow tree
Once I held the sweetest rose - ever born
Now – in my grief – I hold the bitter thorn.
Author: Elaine Cecelia George
The saddest sound in all the world,
The bagpipes weep as raindrop pearls
Land to take on grass-green hue:
Tears to mourn the loss of you.
Your boys line up with shaking lips
And breaking hearts to numbly grip
Your modest coffin; spirits brave,
They trek toward your dewy grave.
We follow you through wind and rain.
The pipes still croon their sad refrain.
We bury you with roses white,
A tragic yet tremendous rite.
And as you sleep beneath the ground,
The echoes of your life resound.
angel, april, bereavement, heaven, love, mother daughter, snow,
Ave-Maria hymns lift you in flight
to Heaven’s gate apt angel does ascend
and follows lantern's light predawn of night
on star-dust wings for spirit a Godsend.
On April morn in skies of blue as you
besprinkled crystals from your seraph’s wings,
by mourning noon soft snowfall does ensue
a smoothing swaddle soothing harmed heartstrings.
In diamond-dusted frosted filigree
so sparkles soulful kisses you bestow
for scintillant reflective reverie
your glistened gift you send in silvern snow.
Beloved mother, sainted entity
you hush my cries with snow’s serenity.
December 8, 2017
death, roses are red, true love,
HIS ROSE, HER DEATH
All she had wanted was a red, red rose,
That would quell the love of that handsome man,
Alas! The rose tree was in winter's throes,
Unable to birth a rose of her plan;
So she said she will sing the whole night long,
With her heart against the thorn of that tree,
"Love is greater than life", rang out her song,
As her life blood fashioned his love ruby;
Yet, when her heart burst out in pain thereof,
When the crimson petals slowly opened,
He was not there to see her die for love,
Nor did he feel that love with blood deepened;
"Trust me baby, this is love," her last breath,
He never found out his rose was her death.
I wait while wandering in empty dreams,
where everyone is lost and dying slow.
And in the distance are, unheard, the screams
of anguished souls I’ll never come to know.
The winds blow hot or cold here, rarely cool.
Leaves flutter out of sight, disintegrate.
Relief, if ever found, is minuscule.
I do not even know for what I wait!
I’m drifting with the leaves as they change hue,
concealed among them as they fall to ground.
And as they crumble, I’ll be crumbling too,
alone (as souls unknown hear not my sound).
I ramble lost inside this wait I keep,
unwilling to awaken from this sleep.
She looks around the room with worried eyes.
So many things are missing. What became
of all her pretty clothes? With great surprise
she notices her dresser’s not the same.
The fancy music box that held her pearls
is missing too from where it used to sit
beside the picture of her precious girls
there on the dresser. What became of it?
She hears her husband walking toward the room
and cries out as she sees him on the stair.
He lies down on their bed. She feels his gloom,
and then she knows. . . . He cannot see her there!
She lingers, helpless, knowing she must go,
yet hears him sob, “My love, I miss you so.”
Written for Susan Burch's "Missing" Poetry Contest
I Might Be a Tree
In twenty years I pray I won't be gone
placed six feet beneath a manicured lawn
I'd much prefer to give old death the slip
To guzzle life instead of just a sip
Mind and spirit together playing song
I'll rest a bit but not for very long
You see, there is so much I wish to do
Yes many years can feel like just a few
The company of those I truly love
will lift my spirits like a flying dove
The flowers that I plant will be in bloom
Beauty will surround me in every room
The ground might open up and swallow me
Don't worry I'll reach up and be a tree!
For Brenda's "You 20 Years from now" contest.
Denouement, I beseech you, take your time.
I see you lurking closely by my gate.
I want to live and love and write my rhyme.
Go finish someone else’s tale. I’ll wait!
I need no resolutions in my life.
One moment to the next I’m glad to live.
I’ll take - along with good times- all the strife
along my path. Denouement, do not give
an early summing up to this nice plot
which is my life. Oh, let my climax be
a long way off! My final page is not
a page that I await too eagerly.
If my end is soon, don’t be forthcoming.
Let them say I never saw you coming!
Written Aug. 21, 2016
death, horse, love, soldier, war,
My one true love with eyes of sparkling blue
Our hearts as one it was our destiny
Heaven sent you for me and me for you
It would not last but end in tragedy.
War intervened I’d have to go away
To the Crimea with the light brigade
My true love I thought of every day
Our lives on hold along with plans we’d made.
The Captain said “suppress your greatest fears
Ride close ranks and do not come asunder”
The noise of hooves were ringing in my ears
Sounds they made were like a raging thunder.
A lance pierced me and off my horse I fell
Then death came down, my life I bid farewell.
Written on 7th February 2019.
10th grade, angst, anxiety, death, horror, imagery, war,
I can smell the coppery scent of blood
and the stench of death, excrement and piss.
A soldier lies dead, his face in the mud,
I never believed war would look like this.
My mind’s gone numb, I cannot shed a tear
I can't change reality, so why try.
For there's nothing left within me but fear
the more I live, the more I want to die.
I fear the killing will never be done
God has left my heart, and abandoned me.
For I fight a war that cannot be won
and seen more than I ever wished to see.
War is a putrid expanding abyss
where simply surviving can seem like bliss.
Jan. 1, 2019
War Sonnet Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Mark Massey
death, mother, night, tree,
within the parting of titian stained skies
a wisp of crimson elapses from sight
as a gossamery wind amplifies
lullabies falling limpid in hushed night
beneath the willow, i watch as it weeps
then cradle myself in its fragile limbs
'tis there that most forgotten memories seep
as the salty spray of loneliness brims
you reach out...a shadow in lambent light
i feel death's touch upon you through night's air
with wings wide open you take off in flight
unable to free me of this nightmare
this willow tree, though once my childhood crutch
tucks me in its folds, like a mother's touch
December 27, 2019
Best Sonnet of 2019 Contest
Sponsored by John Hamilton