# Writing > Personal Poetry >  se muerte/death poems

## amuse

hopefully I remembered that phrase [se muerte] correctly!

this is the official death poem thread, because Koa didn't vote for tonka [sic  :Wink: ] trucks.

it's where you shake it up and celebrate life, lay down and cry, give us an insight into your culture, this is for:
teeth baring, bone chilling, teary, sad, spiritual, love-y, shout!-outs to those who've passed on, death poems.
and epitaphs, eulogies and explorations of what it may/may not mean to you.
literal or metaphoric, human, ecological, emotional share here. we have cookies 'n' tea  :Smile:  waiting.

for the christening, here's my lunar eclipse/moment:

passing through the
shadows she emerges
lighter than before

You Next!

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## Koa

awww...is it going to be like Spoon River, or what?
Do we have any limitation of syllables, lines and such? Cos I tried to have a look at the tonkatankatinka whatever you call it thing, but when I saw that it has a fixed form I just couldnt go on... Undisciplined me...free verse free verse!!!  :Biggrin:

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## amuse

hell no limitations! are you kidding?  :Biggrin:  no syllabic structure except what
your
fingernails on the
keyboard decide, lol.  :Wink: 

and sure, spoon river sounds great, tee hee hee

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## Sancho

OK Im incapable of writing poetry so my submission to muerte poems is the first verse of Canadian Poet and novelist Robert Services Cremation of Sam McGee":

There are strange things done in the midnight sun 
By the men who moil for gold; 
The Arctic trails have their secret tales 
That would make your blood run cold; 
The Northern Lights have seen queer sights, 
But the queerest they ever did see 
Was that night on the marge of Lake Lebarge 
I cremated Sam McGee.

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## emily655321

OH MY GOD. We read that in 5th grade and I was the only one who laughed.

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## Sancho

5th grade. Sounds like about my speed. hah

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## amuse

it sounds vaguely familiar,
also makes me want to laugh, how sick is that. oops, em.  :Biggrin: 
i can't deal with rhyme schemes though, there's this place in my ears/on my eyes that says "You Shall Not Pass!" and they end up swerved and screwed by the time i have to interpret them...
but this is so cute, almost just because it's rhymed. let's sing it shall we...

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## amuse

btw, sancho it's so cool to see you in a poetry thread!
ooh i have over 1000 *pats az's back

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## fayefaye

You always had the same spot on the couch.
Smiled. Said 'hey.'
And I- - 
never bothered to more than mumble a reply.
But I didn't know that you would walk out the door, never return.


And now you're six feet underground,
autopsied and stuffed, 
to look real pretty
So all the people weep.
People who never really knew you,
People just like me.

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## fayefaye

*sigh*

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## emily655321

I like that, fayefaye. It always feels like we haven't appreciated someone enough until they're gone. Regret is the worst of all our emotions. Did this really happen to you? *hugs*

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## emily655321

> _Originally posted by Sancho_ 
> *5th grade. Sounds like about my speed. hah*


Bah, Sancho. That's not what I meant, silly. Actually, most of the parents complained that that poem was too advanced and too morbid for their children to be studying. I loved that teacher.  :Biggrin:

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## Sancho

I knew what you meant Em. Besides, as Ive mentioned in another thread, Im bullet proof.

Thanks Amuse, its good to be here. Actually Ive lurked here extensively reading everyones stuff and I have to agree with Faye - I look forward to and enjoy reading your poems when they show up. I also have a selfish ulterior motive: Im trying to understand poetry. It has been an inaccessible art form for me. I understand lyrics and, well, heh heh, limericks, but real poetry has blocked me. What Ive learned here I dont think you can get in college or by reading the criticism. That is, and let me try to formulate this thought, by reading a lot of the impromptu prose and getting to interact with on-line with those of you who write poetry, I really think Im starting to get it. Which is attacking the problem backwards, rather than reading a poem and grasping the poets thoughts and feeling, Im gaining an understanding of poetry by getting to know you-all first then reading your poetry. Its really been a fascinating journey for me.

Faye, I got yours, and Im impressed with the way that youve so succinctly encapsulated a feeling that most of us are guilty of.

As far as The cremation of Sam McGee is concerned, sorry bout that one, its really just a folksy piece of frontier poetry. My grandfather (a Northern Wisconsin frontier kind of guy) loved it. He had it memorized and his delivery was such that hed have all of us kids rolling around on the floor hootin and hollerin and beggin for more.

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## amuse

your poem's really scary, faye. makes me wonder how many people i've taken for granted, instead of really being with them.
your grandfather sounds great, Sancho!
i like how you're approaching the poetry thing - kind of from the end of the maze rather than the beginning.

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## amuse

and you know the worst thing, it sounds like family or a roommie. it could be anyone close to us who just - can't think- who's just _there_. and who's simple presence we never embrace/interact with - oh, this is awful!!! very good work; it's a tad overwhelming.
dad (fireman) lost a coworker in a blaze last year, and it was awful, i remember thinking it could've been him, and how precious he is but i never really let him know i think so.

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## Koa

damn...no time to read all this...tomorrow tomorrow! 

(i'm getting sick jokes in my mind about 'tomorrow' as this is a death thread, but that would be going too far, I guess I'm sort of superstitious in that... am I making sense? no? right.)

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## amuse

yeah, totally, feels so wrong to laugh in this thread-
*help, i fainted  :Biggrin:

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## amuse

can't think of anything original today, and recently heard "you can't _always_ write"; well thank you very much, mmph. why can't my muse say nice things to me??? maybe it wants me to do something naughty instead.  :Biggrin:  here's an oldy from '02

*pas de deux*

Ain't like you'd
have won the war
wasn't for blood money.
Always someone else's
blood,
always someone else's money.
Strange little
mating dance
they do
over our
graves.

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## emily655321

Ooooh nice. I've been tempted to do an anti-war one on this thread but I wasn't sure if it would be deemed inappropriate. You never know. Seems wrong to do *ahem* MY kind of death poem on the same thread as the genuinely bereaved.

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## amuse

um - speechless at moment. am going to give up on finding stamps, head to post office and consider. i see your point...

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## emily655321

Huh? I wasn't criticizing, az. I was saying I was glad you led by example... have I changed your opinion? Oopsie.  :Frown:

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## amuse

oh, i just thought i'd better look at it from both sides...
smile, emmy, smile?
*hopes em doesn't notice her name has suddenly turned into awards show*  :Wink:

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## emily655321

:Biggrin: --> *emmy smile* <-- :Biggrin: 

*rubs jaw* ahh, can I stop now?

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## fayefaye

> _Originally posted by emily655321_ 
> *I like that, fayefaye. It always feels like we haven't appreciated someone enough until they're gone. Regret is the worst of all our emotions. Did this really happen to you? *hugs**


 Yes, he died the day after my birthday.  :Frown:

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## Koa

:Frown:  I really like that Faye's poem too... so simple and 'acute'...

I'll try an experiment...focus on the topic and write something about it. I usually end up with a blank piece of paper, or lots of papers in the bin when I do that... but maybe...the theme of death is so wide...

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## amuse

oh, faye, ouch.

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## amuse

this was pretty rough to read:
i'm sorry, faye.



> And now you're six feet underground,
> autopsied and stuffed, 
> to look real pretty

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## Koa

I like this too...so simple... and yet deep...

_You always had the same spot on the couch.
Smiled. Said 'hey.'
And I- - 
never bothered to more than mumble a reply.
But I didn't know that you would walk out the door, never return._

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## Koa

I got a weird inspiration...here we go, not sure it makes sense  :Biggrin:  :

It feels like falling in an endless booze
and silence slowly takes over this noise
the blinding colours turn into darkness
and the cold wind doesnt sting my face.

Nothing will ever touch me
hurt me or please me
anymore.

I won the battle against my existence
...or is it life itself who won?

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## fayefaye

It was a couple of years ago, if I was less crazy I would've stopped thinking about it by now.

I like your poem, koa. It captures that feeling of being sort of dead inside... which we can all, or at least I, can relate to.

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## Koa

I don't think you would have stopped thinking about it Faye...

Oh really...my poem I mean...it strangely didnt come during one moment of death inside, as most of my poems do... The beginning of it actually came to my mind whil I was wasting my saturday night in a bar with people...which reminded me why I prefer to stay home...(well it wasnt a bad night, but i was regretting having left the book i was reading...). Then I finished it once I got home...

Shouldn't I stop to always explain everything??? :Rolleyes:

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## emily655321

no. it's fun.  :Biggrin:  and i will anyway, so you can keep me company. like this, for instance: i'm typing funny because i have jelly-sticky on my hands right now, but i'd rather stay here than finish breakfast before i post. how's that for addiction? sorry, on with the poetry.  :Biggrin:

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## amuse

i kinda thought you were writing from the point of view of someone who'd just died.

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## emily655321

That's what I assumed it was. Now I'm trying to figure out how else it could be taken. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Not having success.  :Tongue:

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## amuse

em, i meant really died! se murio! there, i got the conjucation right!!  :Tongue:

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## emily655321

Haha yeah I know I was agreeing with you. Cause Faye Faye said it gave the impression of dying *inside* and you said you thought it was about *actually dying* and I said that's what I thought too. But I reread it a few to try to see where confusion arose as to its meaning, and I still couldn't find a way of interpreting it other than "I'm a person whose dying," (only much more eloquently put, obviously). But I was trying to do that, to expand my understanding of the poem, which is what I meant. There.  :Biggrin:

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## Koa

well, I guess it's that... I mean, about someone who's dying...I guess it was so obvious to me that the thought remained just unconscious in my head... But yes it's like...I'm watching my own death... (I think in the past I've written a lot about suicides and such, so it has probably become my natural way to desrcibe death...) Yay we're getting SPOOKY!!!!!

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## amuse

no! let's not be frightened into silence!  :Biggrin: 

this is one of my worst poems yet; however it helped one of my girlfriends feel better and that's all that matters. i only "heard" the first six words, the rest just sort of fell all over itself and i had actually no idea how to write it.
from spooky to cheesy:

*We*

We have set beneath this
Sun
She has planted flowers
For
The little ones
The memories
Of you and me and he and
We
We have left and gone
Beyond and our dear loved 
Ones
Wait
Some will come to meet
Us, and some we dream and
Yearn for still.
We may again some brighter
Day reunite and still we
May
On the other side of this setting
Sun
wait and wait
and
Wait

i will wait for you
and send you stars to light
your way,
i will send you love
with each and every
day

the sun will rise
again as it was always wont to do;
our love will never
leave like that as it's always been true.


for a friend whose friend who died last week

*written 3/31/04

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## emily655321

Ooch.  :Frown:  That kind of brought to the forefront of my mind the worry that's always in the back of it, that any day or week or month I may be writing a similar poem, for one friend in particular. That was beautifully put, az. ...... I can't quite figure out the rhythm, though.

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## amuse

ow.  :Frown:  best wishes to your friend from me.

my friend's friend had responded well to her last chemo treatment. she knew that, was hopeful, then heard she died a week after the fact; i got a call and was told she couldn't touch base with friends for a few days. i felt helpless after we hung up and wrote this.

which is why the rhythm's so weird. i can't figure it out either. mostly end up reading it out loud.
i added a comma after "us." it doesn't warrant a line break, but that might help.

on a brighter note, she called me a week later to say thanks, and another week later to say she didn't know if she'd let me know it helped her get to "another level of healing." i guess it was good that we hadn't talked, and as weird as this reads, it did what it could.

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## fayefaye

You heard he died and
shrugged your shoulders 
And the world keeps going
keeps turning
always
just
a
shrug
Always.

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## fayefaye

Tear-strained phone conversations 
where all I see is blue,
hollering 'you are my sunshine, my only sunshine'
Just to hear you smile
But all I hear are tears
after waiting _two months_
just to hear the news.
That the world doesn't live for love.
It lives for order.

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## Helga

I wrote this one a few months ago it's called Your Ghost.

I'm walking down the streets 
of this old town.
All these memories
rushing through my head,
these memories of you and me
walking down these streets.

I see your ghost in every corner
I feel your breath on my shoulder
I miss you.

I remember us on the playground,
you pushing me in the swing,
I remember us as we walked
down our old street.
I remember us making love
under the stars,
under the moon.

Your ghost still follows me through this town
and it holds me in the night
when I lay down and cry your loss.
I remember us dancing on the hill
under the moon, shining just for us,
I still dance with your ghost on the hill,
I feel like I'm floating in the sky.

Your ghost still haunts me,
your love still wants me,
don't let it stop,
don't ever let it stop.

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## Koa

is it about death though? it doesn't seem like... I mean, it's close to what can be felt for a lost love, not necessarily dead... (...)

faye's stuff is always stunning. (Hope this is the word...)

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## WX6[ck]

The people moving slowly
are really in my head,
When I close my eyes
I wish that they were dead.

The people that I like
are usually first to go,
Slicing off their heads
with movements to and fro.

I hate to think like this
I hate to think this way,
I hate killing people
when I go to bed each day.

Its sad that I like it
Its sad thats it's fun,
Its good when its over
....and when it has just begun

I wrote this while listening to the song, 'Adagio for Strings'. The song was played at the funeral of 2 American presidents. One being Kennedy and I can't remember the other.

(Before I go my way
I turn and look each way.
Then I walk off left
wishing I saw death.)

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## fayefaye

Too much about my life. edited.

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## emily655321

> _Originally posted by Koa_ 
> *is it about death though? it doesn't seem like... I mean, it's close to what can be felt for a lost love, not necessarily dead... (...)*


I thought it was about missing someone who died. (I like it, btw.  :Smile: )

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## Koa

Yes emily, but if it wasnt under Death Poems, I wouldnt think it was about death... yes it mentions ghosts, but ghosts could be metaphorical of someone who's not near anymore, not necessarily dead. Reading it I didn't think of death... I tried to, but I couldnt. It's very close to what I feel for my screwed ex-love story. So it could be about anything, really. It's not a critic, just I think it can be related not only to death.

And I admire Faye's ability to edit...

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## fayefaye

Sorry about your friend, amuse. I liked the poem.

koa, I like the ability to vent, to scream, I think it's important.. but it gets awkward with too much personal stuff up here so I edited out.... it's not like some sort of skill or great attribute to feel like you need to be reserved.

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## WX6[ck]

Here I am inside my box
It's dark and I can't breathe
I can't speak or move
I'm trapped inside my box

But then I see a little hole
A stream of light
Alluminates my head
Outside, outside my box

I put my mouth up to the chink
I scream and I don't care
Letting out whats inside my box
The hole just ventilates the noise

I put my index fingers in the hole
And then my thumbs
I pull the hole with all my force
Screaming ever louder

Now my box is behind me
My body is in the world
I can't stop screaming
I can't stop hating

So I go back into my box
The box with the chink
The dark sufficating box
And then I shut up

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## fayefaye

I'm sorry to do this to you. *I*lluminates.  :Biggrin:

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## WX6[ck]

:P

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## emily655321

WX6 -- I'm always impressed by people who can put emotion into literal imagery and make it turn back into the right emotion when you read it. Very nice.  :Smile:

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## WX6[ck]

Tank you emily, but honestly I didn't like they way it turned out. I find it has too many words.

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## Helga

> _Originally posted by Koa_ 
> *is it about death though? it doesn't seem like... I mean, it's close to what can be felt for a lost love, not necessarily dead... (...)
> 
> faye's stuff is always stunning. (Hope this is the word...)*


I wrote it about my boyfriend who died so it is about death in every way!

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## amuse

hey helga, i'm sorry to hear that.

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## amuse

it almost feels terrible to comment on your poem after you revealing that, but...i like the layers.

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## fayefaye

_Please don't turn around leave me here, standing here. The shadow of a ghost against the doorway, whose cold frame lends my cheek its first warmth since your kiss, Goodbye_

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## Isagel

I´ve read through some of the work in this thread and find it strangely comforting. When we lose someone I guess we all feel alone, like this is an experience that noone else can understand. But everyone will lose someone. And still we make it.

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## Isagel

So , here´s my try at a death poem. 

Then suddenly, a tuesday morning
a drop of red
like a dot without a sentence.

And then at lunch
the absence of blue on a strip
makes the meaning clear. 

There is nothing.
so there can be no funeral.
No birthday and no death. 

But now you and I
raise our glasses
for our not-baby, 

for the absence.

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## fayefaye

A baby cradled in my arms cries.
From a sadness transported from my soul to my eyes to his own
Screams with a force of feeling I recognise but no longer understand.
As I remember - - the women in her grave

Part spoken part mimed arguments over noodles, 
smiled with laughing eyes, 
like she knows something I don't,
Doesn't matter how much msg they put in; one day you gotta go.
_When you come again, I teach you to speak_
Teach me to sing
Like back in the day
Before the sunset stretched your shadow 'till it faded away.

And suddenly I'm crying.
With a force of feeling I recognise but try hard not to understand.
As I remember the woman in her grave
And teach myself to sing.

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## amuse

*i wish i knew why faye's post doesn't appear on my comp...
weird. i couldn't see page 5 until i wrote that. shuts up.*

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## amuse

that's beautiful, faye. i'm going to read it again and again.

isagel, that was so crystal clear. like everything's laid out razor sharp and sterile, simple; and the emotions are locked inside the glass, the water, the pink strip, the blood.

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