old graveyard in Kirkcolm UK, photo by Billy McCrorie‘Watching My Children at Play in a Graveyard’: A Poem by Shaun C. Duncan The Society April 28, 2024 Beauty, Poetry 18 Comments . Watching My Children at Play in a Graveyard Laughing, the children slip between the stones Laid out in rows like cracked and crooked teeth, And tread with little care upon the bones Of those who dream of better worlds beneath Grief’s gifts of plastic flowers, faded pale. But youth is too ensconced in self for fear, Too drunk on being now to dread its end, So that last loneliness the runes portend Means nothing, for the dead were never here And history is but a fairytale. But their big brother knows what numbers mean And in time’s cool precision he’ll soon see The workings of some monstrous, cruel machine, So his anxiety at what will be Shall grow proportionate to his regret For that which was; the present ever mourning It’s inability to rest at peace In plays of was and will-be without cease Until, at last, Eternity comes yawning And, in becoming memory, we forget. Upon a stone he reads life’s curt confession Then flees to search for solace in distraction, And thus his years shall fall in fleet succession; Forever wanting some small satisfaction When nothing of this world has aught to give, For all its sweetnesses are slaves to strife. But should ten thousand dawnings die unmourned, He might just win a dozen days adorned With clearer light, and he’ll remember life For one bright moment, watching others live. . . Shaun C. Duncan is a picture framer and fine art printer who lives in Adelaide, South Australia. NOTE TO READERS: If you enjoyed this poem or other content, please consider making a donation to the Society of Classical Poets. The Society of Classical Poets does not endorse any views expressed in individual poems or commentary. Share this:Click to share on Twitter (Opens in new window)Click to share on Facebook (Opens in new window)Click to print (Opens in new window)Click to share on LinkedIn (Opens in new window)Click to share on WhatsApp (Opens in new window)Click to email a link to a friend (Opens in new window)Click to share on Pinterest (Opens in new window)Trending now: 18 Responses C.B. Anderson April 28, 2024 We all dance among the tombstones, and I am reminded of a joke I heard as a boy while we were driving past a graveyard: People are dying to get in there. Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Ha! I told that same joke, which I first heard from my now deceased father, to my children just last week as we were driving past the local cemetary. Reply Mark Stellinga April 28, 2024 Another wonderful piece, Shaun, and in an ‘I’ve-written-very-good-poetry-for-a-very-long-time’ rhyme-scheme to boot! As easy-to-visualize as it gets. VERY impressive. Thanks for a great read – Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you, Mark. I struggle with brevity, so I find I need to employ more complex rhyme schemes to allow my sentences to flow. This particular form of stanza seems to have become my go-to, and I probably need to branch out a bit! Reply Mark Stellinga April 30, 2024 Nothing wrong with a well-constructed narrative running as long as 10 to 20 pages if its message is either currently meaningful, good for a laugh or cry, or both. I’ve got a bunch that would put some to sleep were they not legitimate page-turners. IMO – if they’re ‘really good’ – length is not all that critical. ‘Shorts’ are definitely more often read, but I’m a long-time story-teller, too, so my pieces never end before the full story’s conveyed. Love your work – Roy Eugene Peterson April 28, 2024 The contrast of the innocence of the younger children and the solemn understanding of the older brother is well-told and meaningful. Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you, Roy! Reply Paul A. Freeman April 28, 2024 I really enjoyed this, Shaun. The stanzas are well constructed, with innocence being the main theme of the first, jadedness that of the second, and a mix of both in the third, but ending on a positive note (which is what I personally wanted from this stanza-turner). Some brilliant lines, too. I particularly liked, ‘Too drunk on being now’, ‘for the dead were never here / And history is but a fairytale’, ‘Until…Eternity comes yawning’ and ‘he’ll remember life / For one bright moment, watching others live’. Job well done. Thanks for the read. Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you for the kind remarks, Paul. You’ve described the structure I used for the poem quite nicely and I’m glad you liked the ending. To me it seems the most obvious escape from the kind of morbid introspection that can consume us when we contemplate our own mortality is to spend time with children. That’s hardly a profound or original point on my part, but one which I think bears repeating. Reply Margaret Coats April 28, 2024 Shaun, there are four levels of “viewer” here: the small children, the big brother, the parent poet, and the deceased–all of whom get some opportunity for expression. That’s quite something for you as purported speaker to achieve! It challenges the reader’s attention as well, with a kind of “inability to read at peace.” I’ve read several times, and must simply say the poem does not correspond to my own liking of cemetery walks, which was always shared by my siblings so much that we sometimes sought out a cemetery even when there was plenty going on in the world of the living. With so many points of view, you offer line after line of intriguing reflection on life and death and the interactions thereof. An excellent use of the poetically suggestive setting and characters. Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 It seemed like a very simple poem when I started writing it, but it soon proved to be more difficult than I imagined to express what I wanted. I’m glad the different points of view came across, and I understand your remark that it doesn’t correspond to your own love of cemetary walks because it’s not necessarily mine either. The poem was inspired by a real excursion, but the character of the parent/observer is semi-fictional. We had a lovely day out that day but it was at the end of a particularly busy working week for me when I’d been more focused on the mundanities and anxieties of day-to-day existence – maintaining the life we have – than on taking joy in the very things I was working for. I also made a very conscious decision to avoid any discussion of religion and focus purely on the material realities of life and death, though if I ever get around the revising the piece I might work in a reference to the fact all this took place on a Sunday. Thank you once again, Margaret, for taking the time to read it so carefully and comment so generously. It means a lot to me. Reply Allegra April 28, 2024 Thank you for your lovely poem. Allegra Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you for taking the time to read it and comment, Allegra – I really appreciate it. Reply Gigi Ryan April 29, 2024 Dear Shaun, I felt as if I were watching you watching your children as I read your poem. As a mother, I felt the gladness for the carefreeness of the younger children, as well as the pain for the sensitive older brother, and of course, your suffering, which the children are not mindful of. I really liked the line comparing the stones to cracked and crooked teeth, the kind of observation that happens when one spends time meditating on a scene. Thank you for sharing this moving poem. Gigi Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you, Gigi. I rarely write anything autobiographical and this piece is still semi-fictional – my eldest son had a great time that day but he is of the disposition and has reached the age where we have had conversions about the reality of death, which is a difficult but important part of growing up. I had fun as well, and my own suffering in that moment was born of the realisation that such joy can easily pass by unnoticed if we aren’t paying attention. Too often we’re not. Reply Susan Jarvis Bryant April 29, 2024 Shaun, this is one of those poems that had me so engrossed in the magic and meaning of the words (philosophical words that paint pictures and conjure memories) that the fine details of the craftmanship slipped into the background to await a later study. For the moment I am reveling in the initial affect your poem has on me. I have had many a conversation on the ages and stages of life and how our thoughts on the present, future, and past change as years move on. You have captured all I have thought about and think about perfectly in this superlative poem… a poem I simply have to return to. Shaun, thank you! Reply Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 I’m glad the craftsmanship faded into the background because it actually caused me a bit of grief with this one – I don’t know why but there were just a few lines, particularly in the final stanza, which took a while to hammer into shape. Given your profession, I’m also very gratified to hear that the sentiments ring true. One perspective which is not explicity mentioned, but which none-the-less informs the poem, is that of the grandparent for it seems to me that grandparents are often more attentive to those small moments of joy than parents are precisely because they know how quickly it can slip away. Thank you once again, Susan, for taking the time to read my work and offer such perceptive comments. Reply Joshua C. Frank May 5, 2024 I like this! It calls to mind Wordsworth’s “We Are Seven,” in which the girl mentions that she and her brother played around their sister’s grave. It seems that many of us poets write about death in general through writing about graveyards. Reply Leave a Reply Cancel ReplyYour email address will not be published.CommentName* Email* Website Notify me of follow-up comments by email. Notify me of new posts by email. Δ This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. 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C.B. Anderson April 28, 2024 We all dance among the tombstones, and I am reminded of a joke I heard as a boy while we were driving past a graveyard: People are dying to get in there. Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Ha! I told that same joke, which I first heard from my now deceased father, to my children just last week as we were driving past the local cemetary. Reply
Mark Stellinga April 28, 2024 Another wonderful piece, Shaun, and in an ‘I’ve-written-very-good-poetry-for-a-very-long-time’ rhyme-scheme to boot! As easy-to-visualize as it gets. VERY impressive. Thanks for a great read – Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you, Mark. I struggle with brevity, so I find I need to employ more complex rhyme schemes to allow my sentences to flow. This particular form of stanza seems to have become my go-to, and I probably need to branch out a bit! Reply
Mark Stellinga April 30, 2024 Nothing wrong with a well-constructed narrative running as long as 10 to 20 pages if its message is either currently meaningful, good for a laugh or cry, or both. I’ve got a bunch that would put some to sleep were they not legitimate page-turners. IMO – if they’re ‘really good’ – length is not all that critical. ‘Shorts’ are definitely more often read, but I’m a long-time story-teller, too, so my pieces never end before the full story’s conveyed. Love your work –
Roy Eugene Peterson April 28, 2024 The contrast of the innocence of the younger children and the solemn understanding of the older brother is well-told and meaningful. Reply
Paul A. Freeman April 28, 2024 I really enjoyed this, Shaun. The stanzas are well constructed, with innocence being the main theme of the first, jadedness that of the second, and a mix of both in the third, but ending on a positive note (which is what I personally wanted from this stanza-turner). Some brilliant lines, too. I particularly liked, ‘Too drunk on being now’, ‘for the dead were never here / And history is but a fairytale’, ‘Until…Eternity comes yawning’ and ‘he’ll remember life / For one bright moment, watching others live’. Job well done. Thanks for the read. Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you for the kind remarks, Paul. You’ve described the structure I used for the poem quite nicely and I’m glad you liked the ending. To me it seems the most obvious escape from the kind of morbid introspection that can consume us when we contemplate our own mortality is to spend time with children. That’s hardly a profound or original point on my part, but one which I think bears repeating. Reply
Margaret Coats April 28, 2024 Shaun, there are four levels of “viewer” here: the small children, the big brother, the parent poet, and the deceased–all of whom get some opportunity for expression. That’s quite something for you as purported speaker to achieve! It challenges the reader’s attention as well, with a kind of “inability to read at peace.” I’ve read several times, and must simply say the poem does not correspond to my own liking of cemetery walks, which was always shared by my siblings so much that we sometimes sought out a cemetery even when there was plenty going on in the world of the living. With so many points of view, you offer line after line of intriguing reflection on life and death and the interactions thereof. An excellent use of the poetically suggestive setting and characters. Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 It seemed like a very simple poem when I started writing it, but it soon proved to be more difficult than I imagined to express what I wanted. I’m glad the different points of view came across, and I understand your remark that it doesn’t correspond to your own love of cemetary walks because it’s not necessarily mine either. The poem was inspired by a real excursion, but the character of the parent/observer is semi-fictional. We had a lovely day out that day but it was at the end of a particularly busy working week for me when I’d been more focused on the mundanities and anxieties of day-to-day existence – maintaining the life we have – than on taking joy in the very things I was working for. I also made a very conscious decision to avoid any discussion of religion and focus purely on the material realities of life and death, though if I ever get around the revising the piece I might work in a reference to the fact all this took place on a Sunday. Thank you once again, Margaret, for taking the time to read it so carefully and comment so generously. It means a lot to me. Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you for taking the time to read it and comment, Allegra – I really appreciate it. Reply
Gigi Ryan April 29, 2024 Dear Shaun, I felt as if I were watching you watching your children as I read your poem. As a mother, I felt the gladness for the carefreeness of the younger children, as well as the pain for the sensitive older brother, and of course, your suffering, which the children are not mindful of. I really liked the line comparing the stones to cracked and crooked teeth, the kind of observation that happens when one spends time meditating on a scene. Thank you for sharing this moving poem. Gigi Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 Thank you, Gigi. I rarely write anything autobiographical and this piece is still semi-fictional – my eldest son had a great time that day but he is of the disposition and has reached the age where we have had conversions about the reality of death, which is a difficult but important part of growing up. I had fun as well, and my own suffering in that moment was born of the realisation that such joy can easily pass by unnoticed if we aren’t paying attention. Too often we’re not. Reply
Susan Jarvis Bryant April 29, 2024 Shaun, this is one of those poems that had me so engrossed in the magic and meaning of the words (philosophical words that paint pictures and conjure memories) that the fine details of the craftmanship slipped into the background to await a later study. For the moment I am reveling in the initial affect your poem has on me. I have had many a conversation on the ages and stages of life and how our thoughts on the present, future, and past change as years move on. You have captured all I have thought about and think about perfectly in this superlative poem… a poem I simply have to return to. Shaun, thank you! Reply
Shaun C. Duncan April 29, 2024 I’m glad the craftsmanship faded into the background because it actually caused me a bit of grief with this one – I don’t know why but there were just a few lines, particularly in the final stanza, which took a while to hammer into shape. Given your profession, I’m also very gratified to hear that the sentiments ring true. One perspective which is not explicity mentioned, but which none-the-less informs the poem, is that of the grandparent for it seems to me that grandparents are often more attentive to those small moments of joy than parents are precisely because they know how quickly it can slip away. Thank you once again, Susan, for taking the time to read my work and offer such perceptive comments. Reply
Joshua C. Frank May 5, 2024 I like this! It calls to mind Wordsworth’s “We Are Seven,” in which the girl mentions that she and her brother played around their sister’s grave. It seems that many of us poets write about death in general through writing about graveyards. Reply