Loss Poems

Popular Loss Poems
Cold Iron
by Rudyard Kipling

Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
"Good!" said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of them all."

So he made rebellion 'gainst the King his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
"Nay!" said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- shall be master of you all!"


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If only I had known
by Raina Hutchins

If only I had known I’d never hear your voice again
Or hear you whisper sweetly in my ear
I’d memorise each word of love you ever said to me
So when I'm all alone, your voice I’ll hear

If only I had known it was the last time I would see
The man I love with all my heart and soul
I would have held on tighter and kept you close to me
And never would have ever let you go


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And Leave Show Business?
by Ralph Burns

This elephant keeper shoved a hose up
The ass of an elephant every day. He
Told a man. The man said, So why don't
You quit? And the keeper said, You have
To understand: elephant bowels are fragile,
You only spray a little and shit flies
All over. . . .And the man said, I understand,
I think, someone has to, but why don't you
Quit?And the keeper said, And leave show
Business?I don't know who first told me,


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The Nithsdale Widow And Her Son
by William Topaz McGonagall

'Twas in the year of 1746, on a fine summer afternoon,
When trees and flowers were in full bloom,
That widow Riddel sat knitting stockings on a little rustic seat,
Which her only son had made for her, which was very neat.

The cottage she lived in was in the wilds of Nithsdale,
Where many a poor soul had cause to bewail
The loss of their shealings, that were burned to the ground,
By a party of fierce British dragoons that chanced to come round.


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The Country Mouse And The Town Mouse
by Sir Thomas Wyatt

My mother's maids, when they did sew and spin,
They sang sometime a song of the field mouse,
That for because her livelood was but thin
Would needs go seek her townish sister's house.
She thought herself endured to much pain:
The stormy blasts her cave so sore did souse
That when the furrows swimmed with the rain
She must lie cold and wet in sorry plight,
And, worse than that, bare meat there did remain
To comfort her when she her house had dight:


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Recent Loss Poems
by Mia Macias

A group of three is highly vulnerable to life, as a tripod camera is bound to tip over and shatter upon removal of any single leg. What remains is a stand of 2 legs, deemed easily disposable by any onlooker.

One day, a tripod's worst nightmare fatefully manifested and so three became two.

But to fatalistics, two is perceived only as 1 + 1, and upon the removal of one, there would equal only one. And thus, perception of our existence became an easily disposable one. Life was swept by the clumsy winds of fate, the same palm-rustling and wave-trashing breeze still heard in the dark beneath shut eyes today. The breeze which shook two in the midst of grief as they lay back to “sleep” after life swerved to a sideroad

Away from next-day good mornings and future goodnights, which were tragically spared that bad night. Driven without control over any wheel, away from the crossroads, where I see she still lies asleep each passing day. Growing smaller, and smaller with time. And where I still lie, to myself that 1 + 1 = 2 and not 3.

Where mothers of happier families fantasize about children who will one day have their own children, who may certainly live to see the children of those children.


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Cry me a river
by Grace Hough

Cry me a river
and a lake
I've been hoping for you
to feel my mistake
the liquid is deep red
from fresh lines it bled
the skin that's open stings
as I sit here waiting for your ring.

Cry me a river


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“Godly Details”

She was raised to believe – and I believe –
the world began when she was born.

She has the Earth in her eyes.

Her body is her body despite the feeling some parts don’t belong.
But I see sonnets on her skin – the wonder keeping the stars apart –
and her laugh is this life-changing thing.

I am struggling stretching learning healing suffering growing,


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The unknown soldier
by Baramundi Roy

Unknown to us, yet known to God,
as through World War 1 he trod.
He'd never fought a war before
and did not like the sights he saw.

The shells and bullets flying by
and the carnage that made him cry.
He gave his all, his life he spent
as onward and upward he went.


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Crack of the Thunder
by Jake Eld

Crack- goes the whip of the thunder, Lightning racing forth.

Crack- goes the pane of glass, a new line that will form

Crack- the first frost of the season, bringing life to end

Crack- is the glass panes mortar, expanding in the rim

Crack- says the brittle sticks, scattered about the ground


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