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Aug-13-2007 06:07

Do any of you know loved ones who died? Can you write a poem for them?

Aug-13-2007 06:35

"I had a cat named Snowball
She died! She died!
Mom said she was sleeping
She lied! She lied!
Why oh why is my cat dead?
Couldn't that Chrysler hit me instead?
I had a hamster named Snuffy
He died..."
-Lisa Simpson.

Aug-13-2007 06:41

Or perhaps this one, from Four Weddings and A Funeral

Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone. Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone. Silence the pianos and with muffled drum, Bring out the coffin... let the mourners come. Let aeroplanes circle, moaning overhead, Scribbling on the sky the message: He is Dead. Put crepe bows 'round the necks of public doves, Let traffic policemen wear black, cotton gloves. He was my North, my South, my East, my West. My working week and my Sunday rest. My noon, my midnight, my talk, my song, I thought love would last forever: I was wrong. The stars are not wanted now, put out every one. Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun. Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood, For nothing now can ever come to any good.

Which came from a WH Auden Poem:


Stop all the clocks, cut off the telephone,
Prevent the dog from barking with a juicy bone,
Silence the pianos and with muffled drum
Bring out the coffin, let the mourners come.
Let aeroplanes circle moaning overhead
Scribbling on the sky the message: He is dead.
Put crêpe bows round the white necks of the public doves.
Let the traffic policeman wear black cotton gloves.

Hold up your umbrellas to keep off the rain
From Doctor Williams while he opens a vein;
Life, he pronounces, it is finally extinct.
Sergeant, arrest that man who said he winked!

Shawcross will say a few words sad and kind
To the weeping crowds about the Master-Mind,
While Lamp with a powerful microscope
Searches their faces for a sign of hope.

And Gunn, of course, will drive the motor-hearse:
None could drive it better, most would drive it worse.
He'll open up the throttle to its fullest power
And drive him to the grave at ninety miles an hour.

Aug-13-2007 06:44

I think the best thing is too remember why and what you loved (about) them and write from the heart.

For instance, about one of my best friends, I'd write.

Bear, that time you ran the red light was the funniest thing ever.
Although that last time wasn't very clever.

You were my fag.
And I was your hag.

Aug-13-2007 12:04

Leddy, yer killin' me. *dies laughing*

Ooh, quick! Someone write me a memorial poem!

(Seriously, Soni - I can, I have, and it's wayy too painful to share. Sorry.)

Aug-13-2007 16:12

On the theme of poems on dead cats, you can try another by Thomas Gray with a very awesome title:

Ode on the Death of a Cat Drown'd in a Tub of Goldfish

Aug-13-2007 18:23

This poem is for the victims of v-tech :(

32 please define
A number we no longer denie
The matter is not that a man of greed did 32 bad deeds to meet his needs
But that 32 people as innocent as can be shall never again see.
And that 32 were wronged as their friends sang tragic songs.
Not songs of words. But tears. Tears that came from fear.
And all they could do was hide, wipe their eyes and watch 32 bluebirds die as they continued to cry.
The horrors are gone. it feels like they just begun
The man said he had fun.
And to that fair song bird he shouted what the heck and defined 32 neck by neck.
What is 32? I cant say and to try would be vain. But 32 song birds are songless and will never sing again.

Aug-13-2007 23:01

I know one. I sometimes sing a Ramones-song to his memory at the karaoke bar where I work.

Aug-14-2007 19:50

His Last Night


Blaring voices from a bullhorn fell upon deaf ears.
Numbness slowly seeping through the man-boy's brain,
conquering it as he tunneled through
sheet rock into the last uncaring hotel room.
Like a trapped animal he fled, seeking to preserve
all the hopes and dreams he was never allowed to attain.
All too soon, he recognizes it is not meant to be. He has to run, once again for the last time.
Cold metal burning into his palm, fleeting images
flickering through his last thoughts.
Me. You. Hope I see you again. So weary.
No more strength to fight. So much easier to curl up
and remember one last time.
Family. Brother. Mother. Lover. The friends, all too few.
Hope they understand.
Jaw clenching as he prepared for the last sound he would
ever hear.
He saw her hair, free and rippling, her mouth curving in a smile
as she gently ran one hand over him,
smoothing his brow in a loving caress.
His face relaxed as he thought of her eyes gazing upon him,
lashes fluttering for one moment, one last time,
as she once again kept his mind clear enough to focus.
And when it came, it was painless and he could feel her love all around him.

Sep-1-2007 17:52

this is for my dad mt brother and my son.
oh why did you have to go when we had so much time left together?
i'll probbaly never know now for the loss of you is breaking me into three pieces of glass and making this once great colonel look more like a scared young sergeant.