Not one of us passes through life without being touched by death and grief. Initially, I had only a handful of poems dealing with that topic. I did not feel a specific category on death and grief was necessary for this website. Sadly, after the loss of a child (my youngest son) in 2018, that has changed. This new topic includes 40 poems on death and grief, written as part of my own grieving process. I hope this category helps other bereaved parents find and use them as part of their own healing from the loss of a child.
FINDING THE POEM YOU WANT: As you scroll through this section, simply read each snippet sample (usually the first four lines) to get a feel for the poem. When you find something you like, click “CONTINUE READING” to view the entire poem.
(My poems about death are here for non-commercial purposes only. Please include full copyright information on every copy, emailing a request for permission before using. For internet use, a link back to this site is required. May peace and comfort be yours on this difficult path.)
image by Erik KaritsI wrote a poem of you
and your blue eyes,
then took a walk
to read it at your grave.
Arriving there, I found
to my surprise,
no trace of tree
or pot, love-gifts we gave.
This morning, rather suddenly,
the cemetery called to me.
I did not yield; my day was full,
yet every hour I felt the pull.
My washer hummed; my keyboard clicked;
the oven baked; the timer ticked,
but underneath their steady thrum,
I heard your soft song, “Come, come, come…”
image by Egor Vikhrev on UnsplashThe wildfires burn fuel to ashes. I’m melted
and homeless. Adrift in the redwoods,
resilience is theirs, not my own.
The melancholy overlays each day,
a weeping willow branch shading bright blooms.
Reminders of you wind through all my rooms
in flowers, bright and dark along the way.
You looked at me through soft blue eyes,
expressions you did not disguise
of courage, anger, love and pain,
compassion, humor, wry disdain.
Grief was a ghost with an ache in her chest
and a lot of emotions that scared me to death.
She was love with no outlet and pain with too many…
had little control and less grace (scarcely any).
Her feelings exploded on walls and on ceilings
in chaos, a state not conducive to healing;
and even when she settled down for a while,
she could never be trusted. Her sad little smile
was a lid (a loose lid) on a cauldron of loss,
and she spent every moment just counting the cost.
image by Sharon McCutcheon on UnsplashI’ve always been an early riser,
but I still enjoyed my bed.
Now I leap out like a rabbit,
scared a fox might have my head.
I wasn’t blind to them;
I saw your flaws.
But greatness was the thing that held my eye.