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Death Poems About Clothes

Clothes death poems and poems about death for Clothes. Read and share these heartfelt Clothes death poems with loved ones, friends and family members. Also, try our sister website's powerful search engine for non-death related poems or Clothes Poems.

Poem Details | by JAN ALLISON |
Categories: clothes, death, irony, snow,


When out walking it started to snow I’d forgotten to take my chapeau With nothing on my head Got frozen, soon lay dead Hypothermia killed me you know! As I was out walking in the snow contest Sponsored by Kevin shaw Dark humour for the contest 2/16/18

Poem Details | by Lilith Rodriguez |
Categories: clothes, color, death, red,

The Clothes We Wear

There’s a lady dressed in white. 
She smiles in the morning light.

There’s a man who’s dressed in brown. 
He scowls as the sun goes down. 

There’s a girl who’s dressed in blue
Who got her hands stuck in glue. 

There’s a boy who’s dressed in red.
It’s not his clothes, he’s just dead.

Poem Details | by Miltos Gitas |
Categories: allegory, clothes, confusion, dark, death, destiny, sad,

Black clothes

Black clothes.
Shadowy souls, monotonous sounds.
Getting late. Patience has blackened out..
I stubbornly wait. Left my attitude behind.
Humble, not blasphemous.
Victim of my mercy.
Black clothes.
Shivering glances and their colours dark.
Getting late. Time has blackened out.
I savor the feelings of urge. Left my intentions behind.
Challenger of my own decay,
yet not a nihilist of the others.
Black clothes.
Poems the cracks, titles the rapists.
Getting late. Hallucinations have blackened out.
I ruined with tears. Left my motives behind.
Comedian, not played out,
parasitic entity of my mind.
Black clothes
in altar. 

Poem Details | by Julia Ho |
Categories: analogy, appreciation, clothes, fashion, grief, humanity, sad,

A Red Suit







Yet once loved.

Poem Details | by Robert Ronnow |
Categories: brother, clothes, death, hope, humor, morning, simple,

Brother Death

Even in the last days you need clean clothes; 
therefore you may be found in the laundry
mornings, small task against the larger one
of not breathing. With simple joy
men may forget to fear their deaths.
Six inches of snow reminds us of its dominance
in a pleasant way. Coming and going of sleep, 
circling of the moon around the earth, earth
around the sun. The great man dies
and this makes death more noble for us all.
It is with joy that I accept the pains
that herald my end. I do my job well.
I go to the well and break the ice for water.
The bucket comes up full of dying wonder.

Poem Details | by Amy Rose |
Categories: courage, dark, depression, faith, god, grief, growing up, hope, inspirational, journey, life, lonely, loss, lost, pain, people, places, recovery from..., sad, sorrow, sorry, stress, teen, woman, women, clothes,

Protect Me As I Sleep

Knows my real name
Is what I go by
I am freezing cold
I don’t have money
Just, the clothes on my back
I am a walking wardrobe
I am lonely
I smell like crap
I am starving hungry
I can’t find any shelter
My clothes are drenched
I look like a drowned rat!
Upon women
Is classed normal
Around here!
I wonder...
I will survive
Another day?
To wake up
Do this
All over, again!
“Protect me tonight
As,I lay my head to rest”
“I love you, dear God”


Poem Details | by Balveen Cheema |
Categories: books, clothes, death, growth, world,

Made In India

Made In India

To live and die in a world of a teacher 
And the taught was his solitary wish.
Plundered every treasury in all his books
Lavishly enriching his soul forever thirsty.

An aeronautical engineer
Lost being a pilot
Voted as President
To rule over every pilot.

Son of a boatman distributing newspapers
Simple living with half a dozen clothing
In the looming closets
Of his erstwhile Presidential chair.

Sleep slept over to follow his dream
To make India a super world power
The Missile Man shot far above the clouds
The world saluted Kalam who was Made In India.

Balveen Cheema
September 9, 2015
Contest: Storm On The Spanish Main

Poem Details | by James Inman |
Categories: clothes, death,

Fabric Denim

loose threads, holes and worn spots
faded naturally
his story told in these old genes
left unworn for so long
beloved denim lives on
hidden beneath the casket lid


KNIT YOUR FABRIC - Poetry Contest 
Nette Onclaud

Poem Details | by Taina Rodriguez |
Categories: absence, beautiful, caregiving, clothes, first love, girlfriend, goodbye, grief, heart, heartbroken,


A tear falls down my face
He looks at me and wipes it away
Grabs my hand 
And we begin to walk
The rain is falling
And the thunder burst
I feel so alone
Even tho he guides me along the way
His leather jacket covering me
Like it did every day
But today is not like it was before
the love I once felt doesn’t exist any more
The rain is cold and I begin to shake
The water covers my entire face
We see the end
Of the rode and us
But the rain continues
While I take the leather jacket off

Poem Details | by Morgan Richards |
Categories: clothes, death, food, future, poets, trust, visionary,


I want some more; I need more

money, clothing, and food. Give me more.

Stuff me full of chemically altered nutrition;

Dress me in flashy, and unnecessary, fabric;

Let me invest every cent I've earned 

on more materialistic goods and services, maybe 

I need control, but I want more.

Poem Details | by Earl Schumacker |
Categories: change, clothes, conflict, confusion, death, mystery, silly,

Khaki Pants

Khaki pants fell down a well somewhere
We don't know where
We are not mapologists
It was deep, dry and empty but no longer
As stated, the pants are at the bottom now
Khaki pants had an occupant in them at the time
Obeying the laws of physics
One person at a time is all one pair of pants can fit
The person is no longer with us
Khaki pants do not fall on their own
Decisions come from higher powers
Perhaps the pants occupant put an end to it
Or simply slipped into the hole
We will never know
Khaki pants are strange
They come in tan and other colors
But have never been accused of murder

Poem Details | by Lu Loo |
Categories: death, son,

His Old Clothes

I still hold onto  h i s   o l d   c l o t h e s   I made,
stitch by stitch on grandma’s sewing machine-
Yellow lace around the neck with blue suede,
     for this tragedy was so unforeseen.
     That day my soul  s h a t t e r e d-
     Only his life mattered.
     My heart pitter-pattered
                            seeing him die.
        It was July,
          angels did cry.
My fragile essence perished and decayed,
dreadful days are always stuck in between-
I whisper in a hush, “my life scattered…”,
                            T e a r s   n e v e r    d r y.

The Puzzle Of My Rhyme - Poetry Contest
Sponsor, Broken Wings
Date, May 24, 2018

Poem Details | by John Beam |
Categories: clothes, color, funeral, mystery, seasons, snow, spring,

Snow white

covers barren land                                                                                                                                                                white silk hiding all the shame                                                                                                                                                         a ghost until spring

Poem Details | by CayCay Jennings |
Categories: bereavement, clothes, dad, death, emotions, family, grief,

His Old Clothes

decide … phone people … arrangements need made …
cannot pick … call who … where … when … oh, casket …
My world just stray-shattered fully dismayed
     and pain’s pall stretch-burns me like thin plastic.
     Blue morning just took Dad …
     hued my fragile blunt-sad.
     My brain’s left its launch pad;
                            no thoughts compose.
        Tears full oppose
          planning-time throes.
Now at Dad’s home, where his feel has not strayed,
my known hangs dreadful on vague creased tragic.
Whisper-feels of his old clothes hang scent-clad …
                            in love’s grief pose.

... CayCay Jennings
June 5, 2018

Poem Details | by David Byrne |
Categories: death

The Dead Man's Clothes

Ward-robe, things are stacked, 
Jackets hang along the rack.
Stale smell of time that’s spent, 
Designate the absent gent.

Practised shoes beside the door,
Cease to plod the polished floor.
A wallet emptied of its cash,
A modicum of the dead mans stash.

Buried deep beneath the clay,
He won’t be coming back today.

Poem Details | by CayCay Jennings |
Categories: character, clothes, conflict, death, fashion, murder, violence,

My Laughter Could Kill Me

My own laughter could get me killed if bad guys robbed me dressed in pants belted around their thighs.
... CayCay December 2, 2019

Poem Details | by Gregory Golden |
Categories: imagination

Wearing Clothes of Death

In this pouring rain
They take away our names
We march into these trains
Who are we to blame
To live in concentration camps
The light who shines is dim
We wear these cloths of death

Poem Details | by Andrew Fairchild |
Categories: caregiving, death, grief, loss, love, pain, wife,

Sonnet 19 'How Strange It's Hard For Me To Wash Your Clothes'

“How Strange… it’s Hard for me to wash your clothes:
They will be put away for the last time…
They’ve stayed ten months in small piles, and, who knows?
They won’t be done, before I write this rhyme…”
I can’t give up her coat – she will be cold…
I can’t give up her jeans – what will she wear?
I can’t give her good care, and I can’t hold
Her…  “Would you stay a little while?  Your hair…
I miss the scent, when I would press my face
Against your sleeping shoulder, lie in bliss…
And now, one lock of hair, now empty space
On your side of the bed.  I think I miss
You…  O!  The Travesty!  Love – come to this!
But no, Love Lives!  It’s the small things, like your kiss…”

Poem Details | by Carmael William |
Categories: body, clothes, dark, night, pain,

The day I almost died

It was pouring, nightfall o'er the wet streets, On a bike we rode, hurry to go home The road was muddy, street lights hazy, blind Pitch black all around where our eyes would meet A sudden break! Crashed and skid over a stone Numb mind... My hands and legs were grazed, me prostrated, The tire over my left leg, silhouette outlined; People rushing o'er as the wide moon shone, My jeans and shirt had been torn, and naked I pined..
7/11/20 The Speaker Poetry Contest Sponsored by: Sara Kendrick

Poem Details | by David Kavanagh |
Categories: abuse, clothes, courage, death, war, woman,

Maid in Orleans


Unable to get her to admit being a heretic 
or committing any crime against God, she 
told the truth to her inquisitors, she had
dressed as a man, to avoid detection by 
enemy forces as she moved around France. 
A crime apparently punishable by death in 
those days. She also wore them to try avoid 
being raped by her jailers after her death 
sentence was passed.    

               saint jeanne d'arc

                  a terrible fate
       to be burnt at the stake ~ boy
            she wore the trousers 

David Kavanagh

Poem Details | by RUDOLPH RINALDI |
Categories: class, clothes, death, funny, silly,

PPrada with two Ps

she was always a class act 
she died at 100 
wearing adult  diapers
from PPrada
with two Ps