Death poetry 

305 creative works found

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  Desert Forms 7
  by Elena Ray

  Skeleton of desert plant. Studio still life. Photo based mixed medium image. Extreme image softness, textures, and grain.

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  Tortoise Shell and Plant Skeleton
  by Elena Ray

  Skeleton of a desert tortoise shell and bush. Photo based mixed medium image.

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  Tiger
  by Mundy Hackett

  Tiger Tiger, Tiger, burning bright / In the forests of the night; / Dappled light on furrowed brow, / What careless loss hath man wrought now? In what distant fields or woods / Has your kind been gone for good! / Oh lost hope is not our creed, / We used our greed to do this deed! Stripes of onyx on amber strides, / We raped your kind, you can not hide! / And when thy heart lay still and dry, / Perhaps by then we learn to cry! Bullets, traps, dogs, the like, / Chased you deep into that dark night. / At times you taunted from bamboo lairs, / Places so tight a man not dare! Your kind is leaving, / tis sad our loss! / We beat our chests, / death has no boss! Stars threw down their spears on you / And water’d heaven with their tears / You lay their, dying, filled with fear! Did he who made the Lamb make thee? / Another day you shall not see. Tiger, Tiger, burning bright, / In the forests, one last night: / What immoral hand or eye, / Took your fire and made you cry? Adapted and altered by Mundy Hackett, based upon the famous poem entitled ‘The Tyger” by Sir William Blake! Save the tiger, save the planet, save those things which we wantonly destroy through our greed and incessant pursuit for domination of the natural world. The planet is a living organism, the tiger is but one example of the fire beating in it’s heart, but with each tiger lost in the wild the fire burns a little less brightly. Don’t let the fire go out, save the tiger, save the world! / / / / Part of my line promoting awareness and raising funds for endangered species globally. This is also available as cards and prints. All proceeds (100%) are going to the Wildlife Conservation Society for endangered species protection. Because without these animals I would never be able to bring their beauty to you, I am going to pledge to donate 100% of all of my sales proceeds from cards and prints of the imagery in this series here on Redbubble to Wildlife Conservation Society / Portfolio Areas / Tigers / Wildlife / Macro / Landscape / Birds / Abstracts / Cats~wild and domestic

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  For Mark, an American soldier, who gave his life in Iraq
  by Bonnie T. Barry

  Mark, an American soldier, gave his life for his fellow countrymen in the war in Iraq. The only one of his unit to survive the initial blast, he battled for life as he was flown back to the United States for medical care. His family flocked to his side and surrounded him with love in his final hours. Not long after his arrival in America, he died on home soil in the arms of his loved ones. His mother Kim, my husband’s first cousin, wrote this poem, “Is it you?” as she struggled with grief and loneliness for her young son. She asked me if I had a dragonfly photo to accompany her poem which relates the tale of the dragonflies that seem to hover near her in a show of consolation. This image is our collaboration, our joint effort, in memory of Mark Graham who defended the cause of freedom with steadfast determination and a valiant heart. May he rest in peace and may the angels surround him and his family now and forever. (100% of proceeds from sales will go to the Mark W. Graham Foundation; see another image, “Is it you?” in this portfolio if you’d like a green dragonfly. It will print better in the card size). Taken from the Mark W. Graham Foundation website, here is additional information about the foundation to which all funds from the sales of these images will be donated: “The Mark W. Graham Foundation is a non-profit organization which provides support for young people of character and military families in crisis. It honors the legacy of Mark Graham, a fallen soldier whose strength of character and gift of service to his country are an inspiration to all who knew him. Mark was a Lafayette, La., native and his death opened the community’s eyes to the reality of war and the sacrifice soldiers make in their fight to keep our country free. He was married to Stephanie for a little more than a year when he died. Mark was 22 years old.”

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  Is It You?
  by Bonnie T. Barry

  When I posted “For Mark, an American soldier, who gave his life in Iraq,” I didn’t realize that it would not print well as a card, so I’m adding this image of the same poem by Kim Graham and a different dragonfly photo to accommodate those who would like a copy of this in card size. 100% of proceeds from sales will go to the Mark W. Graham Foundation. According to the foundation’s official website, “The Mark W. Graham Foundation is a non-profit organization which provides support for young people of character and military families in crisis. It honors the legacy of Mark Graham, a fallen soldier whose strength of character and gift of service to his country are an inspiration to all who knew him. Mark was a Lafayette, La., native and his death opened the community’s eyes to the reality of war and the sacrifice soldiers make in their fight to keep our country free. He was married to Stephanie for a little more than a year when he died. Mark was 22 years old.

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  Death's Door
  by Adrena87

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  Trust Walk
  by Jason Ray France

  Graphic Art/Original Photography by Vickie France Reads: Trust Walk My trust walk has just begun… / I trust that you are still with me, / still in my heart, still a part of me. I trust that I can still hear your voice, / feel your breath on my face, / and the strength of your embrace. I trust my heart, for it knows the truth / that my mind can’t comprehend- / your spirit, wisdom, and love live on. I trust that when my walk here is done, / I’ll rest with you again- / true love such as ours, never ends. I trust while some things change, / others never do- / and my home will always be with you.

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  Sorrow of Indian Summer
  by Mundy Hackett

  Sorrow of Indian Summer She asked if I had any memories / I lie and utter yes, a couple. / How sad that must be for you, / I lie and utter no. / Do you miss her, / I lie and utter no. / Is the soul swallowing darkness / deep within my icey gaze / not transparent enough? / It is so sad, I am so sorry for you, / I lie and utter thanks. / Dead is dead, matters not how, or why, or who. / Once gone, forgotten or not, / dead is dead, woman or beast, / least of least, rest in peace.

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  LUST is DEAD!?!
  by Shellie & Steve Hill

  Taken in the cemetary across the street from the Harding Memorial in Marion, Ohio. As-Is. Featured in / Amazing Graves / Husbands and Wives Walking through a cemetary / In the middle of the day, / We turned and read a tombstone / That said Lust had passed away! We thought for a moment, / “How can this be?!” / We had to take this picture / To ensure we weren’t deceived. When looking at this picture, / It’s sad but true to say, / Here stands the solid truth / That Lust had passed away. From the beginning of times, / Going back to the apple and poor Eve, / Lust has been around, / Why, oh why, did it leave?! What do we call this feeling now / When we take a quick roll in the hay? / We can’t call it Lust, / Because Lust has passed away. I guess we’ll have to find a different way / To let unbridled passions flow, / Lust, poor Lust, / Why did you have to go? Wait! Can there be just one Lust? / Could the family tree have spread? / If so – that means- / Lust can’t be completely dead! So enjoy the pleasures it fulfills, / Every minute of the day, / The gravestone may mean death, / But Lust’s Spirit still remains. Whew! We were worried for a second, / Panic started setting in. / What’s everyone waiting for?! / Get back out there and sin!

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  from out of the star spent night
  by avalyn

  Acrylic and oil on canvas. A volume of emptiness / ached into her ears / breathless through bone / asking each hair quivering breath / to listen the quiet was a tearing / beyond death a merge with all that had ever been her body sagged into ether…......

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  Death of Words
  by J. D. Adsit

• another human tragedy
  by Jordan Busson

  i can barely sense / each fluttering / of your pulse / like feathers / against my skin / your ship / leaves with the next tide

  Written 13 June 2009.

• in memoriam
  by Jordan Busson

  without the field’s fragrance / of white lilies in a clenchèd fist / or the mournful notes of song and prayer

  This is my translation of a poem by an Afrikaans poet, Marlise Joubert. Afrikaans is my second language. The Lucebert referred to is a Dutch poet, who said “All things of value are defenceless”. Translated in March 2009. Below is the original: sonder die veld se geur / van wit lelies in ‘n vuis / of die trae note van gesang en gebed / sonder ‘n graaf of ‘n word van eerbetoon / sterf hy op die vaal handdoek / op ‘n skoongeskropte tafel / eerloos / en ek onthou Lucebert: / alles van waarde is weerloos sonder ‘n sug en sonder protes / sterf hy stil en donker / terwyl die bloed oor die lip / bly stoot / terwyl die pyn die gapende wond verlaat / en elke pupil al groter rek / om verlossing in te laat / terwyl my kind se hand / die troetelkop bly troos bly troos / en ek onthou Lucebert: / alles van waarde is weerloos sonder dat hy weet dat ons hom groet / word sy lyfie riemslap onder die naald / lê die swart pels in ‘n boog gestol / half verleë die wit sokkies / van sy pote oor mekaar gevou / die bors se wit ster / gevlek en rou / en ek onthou van Lucebert so moes ek hom verlaat / sonder ‘n lied of die veld se geur / en ek onthou terwyl ek huil / teësinnig teen die misreën op die ruit / my vingers om die stuur geklem en koud / dat ook hy, ja tog, / soos ‘n mens van waarde was / ‘n keelronde warmte kon gee / met kromgeskuur teen jou kuit / weerloos in sy dierlikheid / en onvoorwaardelik elke dag / veertien jaar lank / getrou op ons tuiskoms kon wag

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  Genesis 21:16 Let me not see the death of the child. And she s lifted up her voice, and wept.
  by TREVOR IRWIN

  PLEASE READ THIS APPEAL. My name is Trevor and I am an Irish Missionary and Founder of Philadelphia Misison Charity. http://www.philadelphia33.org/ This is Naomi and she lives in Ungwa/fada village , a remote village in Nigeria. In this one village, there are 15 children with Chronic Rickets. Naomi is in terrible pain and and barely walk. her pelvis and both upper and lower limbs are bowed and twisted. Yet she always tries to run to em each time she see,s me. There are 14 others just like Naomi in Ungwa/Fada village. We need your help to provide a clean well, plus seeds, fertilizers, clothing, Medical care and tools so the whole village can survive. This is were God has called me to serve him. I ask not for myself, but for these precious children. Rickets can be stopped. We can do it. Lamentations 1:16 For these things I weep; mine eye, mine eye runneth down with water, my children are desolate. This is what I feel every day as I do what I can to help these children. My sorrow is deed and I am only sustained and comforted by God who is giving me those who he has hand-picked to Pray, encourage and give to these poor. His word is sure and I will Never give up until I and the Philadelphia Mission can reach all in these villages with Not Just The Christian Message, But with the materials and help they need. My sorrow is that i have little money of my own to help them. Lamentations 1:12 + Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow+. Come and partner with the Philadelphia Mission today. Join me and our small mission charity, and bless a child. We need each other. ALL MONEY RAISED FROM SALE OF MY ART, DONATED ART AND DONATIONS MADE VIA OUR CHARITY WEBSITE, GOES TO HELP THESE PRECIOUS CHILDREN. WE TAKE NOTHING OUT OF WHAT YOU GIVE TOWARDS CHARITY OVERHEADS. WE ARE NOT SALARIED AND COVER OUR OWN TRAVEL EXPENSES. SO ALL THAT YOU GIVE GOES TO THESE CHILDREN To make a donation, or find out more, Please visit our Charity Mission website: http://www.philadelphia33.org/ Camera: Canon 400D. Lens: Sigma 50-500 Telephoto. ISO 800.

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  I, Ghost, In the Hall
  by Maureen Maliha

  I, ghost in the hall, / Am the living Ghost of this house, / Where the carousels’ music / That had played for Angelina / Plays, still, inside my head; / Where the dead walk- / Where they won’t get out- / Not out of my head / My bed / My heart. / They give me no quiet. / No peace, no rest. I, ghost in the hall, / Ask to be allowed / a once nightly, gentle / Roam. / That’s all. / Don’t fret for me. / I’m just following them down; / Don’t call me back to bed. / I always come back around. When night swallows color / From the sky; / When all the world seems / Desperate for more; / I, ghost in the hall / Wander most desperate of all, / Not for more, but of less, / Less memory, / Less regret, / Less lessons learned from / too many ghosts that wander / between my mind’s walls. I, ghost in the hall, / drift / As though in some nightly quest / To put all the ghosts to bed, to rest. ** / 12:30 Am

• you cannot know the fears i have
  by Jordan Busson

  you cannot know the fears i have / of grey walls in a room that shrinks slowly / to the breadth of a silent scream

  20 august 2009.

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  Meet Me In The Light
  by TriciaDanby

  For me this symbolizes the moment when we pass away and go on to another place … Meet me in the light / When the time is right Meet me in the light / When it is my final night Meet me there and wait for me, / Meet me there and make me see. See the light of eternity / See where everything is and will be. Words by: me Picture taken in a mall ;) / Worked with contrast and a bit of orton effect

• Star Dancing Deer
  by tkrosevear

  Another dear soul has chosen the light of eternity’s love / As she walks beyond pain, to the peaceful flight of a dove May her soul fir…

  A day after our granddaughter departed, we received word that a dear and close friend had collapsed, hospice was called in and she will soon be departing this earth plane, transitioning from life to life. / This writing will be part of her sacred transition, as the pipes of the Tribe of All Nations sing her soul/spirit to Great Mystery and the Great Star Nation she will return… / May her spirit fly to the heights of peace! ENIGMA – Beyond the Invisible

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  Where Do We Go From Here
  by Gil Guelfucci

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  Killing Time
  by F.A. Moore

  Killing Time The poem incorporated in this artwork is from select stanzas of Spiritinme’s / Out of Touch, Out of Reality, a deeply moving and personal piece about her pain. I hope you will read it in its entirety. I have other friends who live with tremendous physical pain, and know that this feeling of wanting to die, or hide in a dark place is reality for them, as well. Spiritinme is known to her friends here as Cynthia or “Cyn”. We didn’t know each other before this collaboration, when she sent me her poem, Out of Touch, Out of Reality. She told me that time had become “the enemy”, and that she just wanted it to stop, and stand still, until there was a cure for her illness. I immediately pictured one of the angels she called on, as stopping time. Imagine my amazement, when I went to a favorite, but little used stock provider on deviantart and found the image of a male heaving a sword over his head. There was my angel to stop time for Cynthia. And with tears welling in my eyes, I tell you, I wish it was real. “Killing Time” / Graphic Art by F.A. Moore, October 2009 / Incorporated Poem by Spiritinme / Dimensions: 6152×6152 pixels / Resolution: 300 ppi Special thanks to stock providers: LinzStock (male model), Marcus J. Ranum (female model), and tia-stock (clock). This was created for Digital Art Compilations’ Writers and Artists Together Challenge. I hope that I’ve done Cynthia justice. Thank you Cynthia. FEATURES 2009-10-30 Killing Time in About Time 2009-10-23 Killing Time in Textures Unlimited DETAIL click image or description to see full scale. / / Detail of ‘Pain’ and ‘Spirit’ / Detail of ‘Angel’ and sword / 45% scale detail of Poem and ‘Spirit’, highly compressed

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  Poe
  by ZOMBIE RUST

  Edgar Allan Poe (1809–1849) / Quick portrait. Inks.

• I Died many Times Before
  by Assef Al-Jundi

  I watched, fascinated, as the massive snake / made its way from the roof / down the wall in front of me. / I held a long stick in my hand, t…

• Cut Me Loose
  by Kristin Reynolds

  let go of my hands / i can’t touch the stars / when you hold so tight! / these 4 mile tethers / attached to your dreams are choking me; / e…

  stream of consciousness deminished hexaverse.

• it was The Poetry that saved my soul
  by Kristin Reynolds

  I wake / an earthquake / in the rain; / a sacrificial lamb of light / followed by a dream… *The power and the glory, / forever and ever, ...

  This is a true story. / This was a very vivid nightmare (or rather, one of my “dreamalities” as I have dubbed them, where the dream is real; a lucid dream in which both my subconscious and conscious came to the late-night party.) / anyway… / before the black-robed devil’s; the minions of The Black-maker (my also dubbed eveil step-father…who i could feel in the background, behind it all) dragged me into the portal of hell…those words came out of nowhere (and everyhwere) in my head… / and when I began reciting that prayer, the black robes writhed and screamed their way below the ground, dissipating in agony and defeat. / The Black-maker? he left pissed, I’m sure. / I woke up then; shaking like an earthquake, still speaking the end of the prayer. Outloud. / It was my own voice that woke me. / I will never forget that experience. I wrote 2 poems about this dream…this is one of them.