By Sara Elkamel
I am pleased I will soon die and with me the pressing need to make a terrible, terribly poignant film…
Explore Poems: Death
Showing 1-20 of 2,172 poems
- By Shlagha BorahWhen my grandfather was on his deathbed, he didn’t
move toward the light. At his feet, there were four… - By Elisa GabbertLook at a painting of sky. Look
a long time and notice one thing.
How someone’s wet eye stares back
like… - By E. Ethelbert MillerAfter reading my obituary
folks went to their local bookstores
looking for my books. For a few days… - By Austin AllenEven weeks after you went, they came:
Frontgate, Fresh Finds, Hearthsong—the names blurring,
the smiling… - By Austin AllenKeyed up after a sleepless flight,
we stared at the Place de la Comédie:
the stone Graces glowing pink… - By Nay ThitBefore I was born, my mother says, there was another boy. My brother. One day, half-asleep during lunch…
- By Kevin PruferThe sprayed cockroach doesn’t know
it’s already dead.
It’ll scratch around
behind the refrigerator
while… - By Kevin PruferAn antique spacesuit with a skeleton inside it.
For many years, it has circled the earth.
___
Sometimes… - By Darius Simpsonbut i know better. i know poets like you don’t do no half-steppin. especially not on your way out. especially…
- By Shann RayI . seated at a table for two inside Caffè Florian Venice
- By John BurnsideNothing is adapted to the fret
of LED and blockwork, snow-drift
gusted over ice into
the hayricks, scraps… - By Pierre JorisYou should, once I’m gone, mourn only as long
as you hear the bell, the dark one, from the tower;
as long… - By Roger RobinsonUnder the billowing heat of the white
tarpaulin church tent, my mother lowered
her worshipping hands and… - By Inua EllamsWe were wild children / we moved through space / like blades
We were tame children / we fell to sleep… - By Nii Ayikwei ParkesSome mid days, blank moments in loud
gatherings when I fall from the conversations’
sweetening threads… - By Malika Bookeri.
But Noah found grace in the eyes of the lord
and thus formed the habit of my non-naming,
there … - By Dean BrowneBrian, I’m still calling you Brian,
it’s raining and Sunday where you gig
now, or it isn’t. I can only… - By Linda HoganFor those who don’t come to the end of this poem,
some harsh and endless wave of ocean
will bring to… - By Stanley PlumlyThe end, I think, will be a little like looking down as far as I can see to where the wind has kicked…