Death – poetic expression

Our word for the week was ‘death’.
From the birth or arrival to the death or departure. Of anything in life. In the cycles of nature and applied to anything where there are beginnings and ends. The word was applied in different ways, and it did lead us to many discussions on varied topics.
The poems give us an opportunity to bring out something inside us; whether it is a story waiting to be told, an idea, or a pathway to express a perspective or thought.
We hope you enjoy these poems, and what the word ‘death’ brought out.
If you would like to explore you, and the world around you in this way, you are most welcome to join us.
See you next week with the word ‘elephant’.
Hope to see you there.


we are all here from a conception
totally out of our control
Sperm and Ova combined
to bring us into inception
to become a human being
a miracle to behold
to live and die not able to understand why
yet some will try many things to bring anything
to a meaning a purpose a reason to drive our lives
from cradle to grave
death is inevitable
unavoidable successes and failures
will be measured to determine
how we travelled through our time
and left in someone else’s memories
PJR    03/06/2024


Til death do us part

It started with knock
That was a shock
As it felt like a statement
That was meant to quieten my speech
Just subtly reminding me
To be good and not make a fuss
Look the part
Happy thou art (or art thou not?)

No matter what the go
You don’t show what is in your heart
Just play how you’ve been designed to be
Weren’t you ever told
You are no longer free
To live without me
As the contract states

TIL death do us part

What a strange way we have come to live life
Upholding a lie to avoid the strife
Is it really a crime to say what’s on your mind?
Or is it the best we have, to remain blind
To the end of your time?

TLaB 3rd June 2024

Death is done

The lads, hiding in the bushes
Throwing stones at his house
Mr Jones struts across the lawn
Yelling at the boys to move on
You will be the death of me
I’ll call the police, you wait and see
They scamper off down the lane
With a giggle and a laugh
They have upset him again
As Mr Jones retires into the house
Settles in his place
A grin appears upon his face
As he recalls when he was a lad
And threw stones at his Mary’s house
He would hide in the bushes
As quiet as a mouse
As she walked out to the yard
Knowing he was there, she would linger
In later years they did marry
For many a year, they were so dear
Besotted you could say,
Mary passed away one day
She was ninety-four
He smiles at the day when he was a lad
And threw stones at her door
Death is a reminder to get on with life
As he stands to put the kettle on

3rd June 2024

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