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Age Funeral Poems | Age Poems About Funeral

These Age Funeral poems are examples of Age poems about Funeral. These are the best examples of Age Funeral poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | I do not know? | |

Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom

(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)



Solomon Mahlangu: My Blood will Nourish the Tree that will Bear the Fruits of Freedom:



Solomon Mahlangu was trained as an MK soldier with a view to later rejoining the struggle in the country.


He left South Africa after the Soweto Uprising of 1976 when he was 19 years old, and was later chosen to be part of an elite force to return to South Africa to carry out a mission commemorating the June 16th 1976 Soweto student uprising.


After entering South Africa through Swaziland and meeting his fellow comrades in Duduza, on the East Rand (east of Johannesburg), they were accosted by the police in Goch Street in Johannesburg.


In the ensuing gun battle two civilians were killed and two were injured, and Mahlangu and Motloung were captured while acting as decoys so that the other comrade could go and report to the MK leadership.


Motloung was brutally assaulted by the police to a point that he suffered brain damage and was unfit to stand trial, resulting in Mahlangu facing trial alone.


He was charged with two counts of murder and several charges under the Terrorism Act, to which he pleaded not guilty.


Though the judge accepted that Motloung was responsible for the killings, common purpose was argued and Mahlangu was found guilty on two counts of murder and other charges under the Terrorism Act.


On 15 June 1978 Solomon Mahlangu was refused leave to appeal his sentence by the Rand Supreme Court, and on 24 July 1978 he was refused again in the Bloemfontein Appeal Court.


Although various governments, the United Nations, International Organizations, groups and prominent individuals attempted to intercede on his behalf, Mahlangu awaited his execution in Pretoria Central Prison, and was hanged on 6 April 1979.


His hanging provoked international protest and condemnation of South Africa and Apartheid.


In fear of crowd reaction at the funeral the police decided to bury Mahlangu in Atteridgeville in Pretoria.


On 6 April 1993 he was re-interred at the Mamelodi Cemetery, where a plaque states his last words:


‘My blood will nourish the tree that will bear the fruits of freedom.

Tell my people that I love them.

They must continue the fight.’



Mahlangu died for a cause!



Salute!



The Struggle Continues…




(special thanks to a friend who shared this tribute to Solomon Mahlangu)


Details | Epitaph | |

The Unknown Soldier

I stand at your grave.
I do not know your name.
I know not where you are from.
Where you fought,
nor where you died.

The horrors and pain you suffered,
were not in vain.
The death and destruction brought you pain.

I weep at your grave,
for the life you gave.
I weep for the Mother,
that gave you that life.

I kneel before your grave.
I bow my head in gratitude to you,
The Unknown Soldier.
Forever Remembered.


Details | Ballad | |

My Cousin Alf

Written by my Cousin Susan Northwood who thinks she cannot write. She wrote this poem for me. pleaser let her know that she can write very well, she is also an excellent artist. By the way, I am back from my holiday, and glad to be back with you all.





My cousin  Alf.

Whilst searching on the net one day
A name jumped out on me
Peter Duggan, as he is known
My cousin, that he be.
A crazy man, a writer too
Speaks his mind, I kid not you
He loves to argue, and debate
Gossip, and trivia, he does so hate.

He wrote me emails, all the time
And many poems in rhythm, and rhyme
His words were calming, made sense to me
Helped my fears,and anxieties.
Life for him had not been kind
Bullied, beaten, and a troubled mind
But here he was, helping me
With all my anger, that He could see

As time did pass, my life got better
Thanks to him, and all his letters
Back and forth, we wrote like mad
Happy laughing, and sometimes sad.
Now here in Oz, I've come to see
My cousin, and his family
Yes he's just how I imagined
Loves all life, and writes with passion.

He argues, talks, and often shouts
Sings, and laughs, but what about?
Yes, he's blunt, and can be rude
He'll shock you too, if you're a prude
But underneath his suit of armour
There stands a man, who's met his karma
All he wants is peace in in life
No more trouble. fights and strife.

There's many souls who cannot cope
With this loud, outspoken bloke
But I know where this man is from
He says it in his words and songs.
So for me he is not Peter
Or Billy, John or Ralph
He simply is my cousin 
Also known as Alf.

Written by Susan Northwood, for Peter Duggan.


Details | Rhyme | |

Speech of Tears

Speech of Tears – Zamreen Zarook

Drops of tears from our purl conveys a lot,
Each an every shedding has a ballot,
By identifying the core, our hands should allot,
Because, some might be extremely as shallot.

Chipper and blissfulness gives you cool tears,
Whereas in console and divesting flow hot tears,
Fear and pains give drains of tears,
Nothing that can be patch with dollars.

Some deliveries are automatic,
While some productions are acoustic,
Another drain says I am really bombastic,
Tears are at last solely cubistic.

They convey the emotions,
People go in search for solutions,
They become happy when they are with the precautions,
Reactions again as the tears, it’s the real abbreviation.


Details | Narrative | |

Heartbeat

They ran laughing
Into the night.
Hand in hand.
Heart in heart.

Twenty-One, and Nineteen.
Forging new pathways,
Skirting danger,
Laughing at the wind.

It took only 
A second,
A heartbeat,
For the driver
To mow them down.

It took only
A second,
A lifetime
For love realized
to be lost.

But years before
He stood next to his father
Who said the choice is yours.

And the proud young man
Checked the box
And signed his name

Not knowing
That the heart
He gave the girl
Would not be
His to give.

Seven hours
Of waiting,
Praying,
Hoping.

Seven hours
Of holding breaths
And hands,
And the heart
Began to beat

Again.


Details | Ballad | |

From The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand - THE RUINS OF THE ANCIEN REGIME




Farewell, then, AUKN boss,
The next this year makes three.
By the time they find a substitute,
Slovenes will be at sea.

He tried to cover his behind;
AUKN boss of bosses,
As every week, balances grew bleak:
He weighed merits and losses.

With all this he'd no time to eat,
And round and round he flew.
And now he's split in a hissy-fit;
So helmsman, too-de-loo!

Day after day, day after day,
He drifted on the ocean;
Guano-vernment rained on his ship
Their suggestions for promotion.

Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Corporate boards crosslink;
Cousins, cousins, everywhere,
Let's take you for a drink.

Accountants talking rot: O Christ!
Missions, visions - oh please!
Yea, slimy characters need legs
And slimy policies.

So has he done an hellish thing?
Not hired who? We dunno:
Was it absurd, to have a separate curd
From the whey Slovenia owes?
This wretch won't play, after 60 days;
Pissflaps, he'll have to go!

God help ya, gospod Bencina
From the fiends, that plague us thus! -
It's time to go — shot like cross-bow,
The AUKN boss.

Ah! walk-out day! what evil looks
Had I from Ernst and Young!
Who's at a loss? AUKN's boss
Wouldn't take a bung?

"You'll be" quoth one, "abolished - no
Stigma to double-cross."
He chose to go - why? We don't know:
Harmless AUKN boss.


Re-reading the original gave me a great idea for dinner until I realised all the storks have all flapped off to Africa for the winter. Pity, as I have some ancient marinade from Tuš. Like the subject of the poem, I didn't have the stamina for a Coleridge-length effort.

Story: http://www.sloveniatimes.com/total-mess-in-state-owned-capital-asset-management

The National Poet Of Slovenia In A Language People Understand interprets important Slovenian affairs for the non-Slovene speaking world. www.maria.si


Details | I do not know? | |

The Women



The Women



(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)



Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,

they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.



They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,

and white was right in South Africa back then,

but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,

you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.



You, my mother, would not, could not break,

You stood firm, you stood tall.

You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.



You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,

the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,

my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,

by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.



You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.

You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,

you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,

you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.



Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,

all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.



I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,

the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.



I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,

you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,

of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.


I salute you!



(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)






Details | Narrative | |

In memory of Bob

In memory of Bob
A true story.

It was in spring of two thousand when I first saw Bob. I’d just started working at Perth Dental hospital, and in fact it was my first day there. I walked up to the front door of this building, but it wasn’t yet opened. So I turned around and went to sit in the bus shelter which was just outside the building. As I went to sit down I noted a dark skinned gentleman sitting there with a happy, benign look on his face. He was about five feet eight give or take a little, and he was rather a thickset man who looked like he’d done his fair share of hard work in his sixty years or more.

     There was something about this Gentleman that I could not quite put my finger on. He had a certain charisma about him; not the phony kind of charisma that one seen in the car salesman or the philanderer who messes with women’s heads, no, Bob had a kind of friendly smile for everyone that he met, and he seemed to draw people into him with his love, and gigantic heart. I knew as soon as I met him that Bob was most definitely for me.

      As Bob looked at me and smiled, the whole world seemed to open up. He said “Ow ya  going mate” in a loud ebullient manner, then we started to chat. Bob was like myself, a thinker, and straight away we started philosophizing about this, that, and the other, and it was like we had known each other forever. Then all of a sudden I found Bob talking about death, and the difference in the way the Maori people faced death, compared to the rather the silly way us white folk look at the subject with great fear in our hearts. Now this had always interested me, and  somehow it just seemed natural to talk to this Maori gentlemen on this subject, and we spoke about it till the doors opened and it was time to work.

      I don’t think anything happens just by chance, and I definitely have this feeling that Bob and I were meant to meet, and I really think this was a major destiny thing. I have found during the course of my life,  that as I am aging, I can feel something pushing me into a certain direction, and I always felt that Bob was part of all this; and I had much to learn from him. Although I have never believed in organized religion, and never followed one I have always felt deeply spiritual, and I have met many people who I learned from, and Bob was most definitely one of them with all his great wisdom and patience. As I came to know Bob, we had many dialogues together, on many subjects. Bob used to love music and could always have time to plonk away on his guitar. He used to come round to my place and we would play songs together, though both he and I were no Eric Clapton’s, I would bang around on my guitar and play the harp, while we would both take out turns at singing. We’d have a smoke or a beer or two, and we’d play songs all day long,  ahhh, I remember those days well, the memories are so strong.

     Bob was one hell of a man, I could tell that he had been a wild one in his youth,
But when I knew him in his sixties he was an icon of wisdom and virtue; he had a kind word for everyone, and gave all his time to anybody who needed him, always.
He used to hear me waffling on like an idiot, trying to make him like me [as I always did] but never once did he tell me how foolish I was, he would just smile knowingly at me. He used to stand there at the window for hours, just drinking in the trees, or the clouds in the sky, and yet he was so aware, I used to try to sneak up on him; it couldn’t be done. His awareness was incredible.

     Then one day Bob fell ill with terminal cancer, and he knew that he had very little time left on this Earth. He lay there sick for days in intolerable pain,  but you never heard one complaint from him, even when he only had days to live, he was still worrying about the welfare of others. When the day finally come for Bob to leave his shell; he was lying there in deep sleep, when all of a sudden he woke up, with a smile on his face. His children asked him ‘Dad, do you want some pain killers” Bob laughed, compassion written all over his face, and he said to them ‘Not one of you has a clue, have you’ and he died with a big smile on his face.

   His daughter got in touch with me, and told me about his death, and also told me that his last wish was to have me watch his soul leave his body. I felt very honored about this and went and sat with his body [as Maoris do]. I got the most peaceful feeling come to me [which I presume was his spirit leaving his body] as I watched his silent body, a Mari war stick and a beautiful rose lay across his chest. I still see it, and I feel blessed by it. He was my Maori warrior, and I adored the man.
 


Details | Rhyme | |

The End

The End

When it comes our time to be laid underground
Our voices now silent...we utter no sound

Our minds stop working and our thoughts disappear
We've finally ended those life living years

Some souls go up..some souls go down
Our bodies remain..six feet underground

We're thought of often from friends true and strong
After days turn to months some forget we are gone

So when you look in the mirror each morning think this
After a while you'll no longer exist

So grab life by the horns and enjoy each day
And if it's possible try to keep the grim reaper at bay

Love your wife your children and all of your friends 
Your cousins your brothers ..all of your kin

And remember this..... Someday you'll be gone
So never live your life sad and alone

Smile each morning and throughout the day
Your time here is short...the days fade away

Enjoy your life... while it's yours to keep
Until the time comes for everlasting sleep.


Details | Lyric | |

WHISKEY LULLABY

written 17th Sept 2013


             "WHISKEY LULLABY"
                          sung by Brad Paisley and Alason Krass

Just married, he loved his new wife,more than anyone saw
 a day after they where married, he got drafted off to war
Overjoyed to finally return home to his bride
 he walked in, to find she was in bed with another man
With just a slight second, his heart died
 pain overwhelmed his entire soul, he picked up a drink
And started to drink more every day, to try to forget
 as time passed, he drank himself to death, with a note "I'll love her till I die
they buried him beneath the willow, as she watched she filled her soul with regret 
 left to blame herself, she began to drink his memory away
As years passed she slowly drank her pain away
 they found her next to his grave, holding his picture as she passed away
They buried her beneath the willow, and they were together again
 and the angles sang a whisky lullaby
So when you find your one true love, be faithful and true
 for no amount of alcohol will mend a broken heart for whatever you do!
 

 I chose this song for my mother and my father both became alcoholics after they separated and my father passed away at the age of 42years old, my mother still lives but never stopped drinking she will be 58 years old she took off with his best friend from the age of 12yrs old


Details | Free verse | |

The River home

It was a home on the river we lived .
It was the ghost of a young man whom had taken his own life.

I still remember the vision of him walking by me with a blank stare 
We,  as a Family of  seven , moved into this river house 
Panoramic views right out to the river , I should mention

I was home alone as a child , looking out at "The Julia Belle Swan " as she went by .
Upstairs in that room as I saw a figure walking by , with very nice features , auburn hair 
I thought he was my older brother , a handsome young guy 

Then I realized the young man was not my brother , a  apparition he appeared .
He was not there to scare or frighten , 
the message I believe he wanted to shed light on, so clear.

He walked right by ,then disappeared through the window, out to the River .

The Ghost knew I could see him , a gift I have been given
when I was a younger child of five , I had once died for a short time. I was lifted by Jesus in Heaven . Death is not for us to decide .

Later in the years we moved from that home , every home we lived in had a story 
or a presence of its own . My Mother had told me later , a young man took his life there .

 Keep fighting your way through life and its despair , 
you are important to someone whom cares .  If you feel alone and want life to end , Please pick up the phone , call anyone ,  call for help , call a Friend .

"This is not fiction , it truly is a gift I have been given "


Details | Elegy | |

BYRON'S BONFIRES

BYRON’S BONFIRES

Byron’s life was full of fire
Some from passion’s strong desires
Some from temper, child spoiled--
Too much paper--desk embroiled

But he suffered sacred fire
Shelley’s wretched funeral pyre
On strange shores his friend succumbed
Drowned so far away from home

Fighting valiant-- Greeks allied
Keeping paper by his side
Used a fire to keep warm--
Daunting rain that did him harm

After death friends burned B’s words
What a shock if people heard
Thoughts that Byron dared to write
Deeds he carried through by night

Thus his words sung to the flames
Protecting friends from nasty names--
Luck-charmed  chimney to embrace
Ash-thoughts of man so wrong defaced.

Victoria Anderson-Throop   12/03/12 ©
Juja, Kenya   Africa


Details | Narrative | |

I WAIT FOR YOU DEATH

As you grow, happy moments shrink,
At some day, skin aches when you smile,
These are just ordinary lines, or
Maybe just exaggerated tales,
‘D thought so but no fraction of idea,
It could be real, as real as you dwell in it,
Just like another story,

How a freckled face glance down,
Why arched brows are falling down,
The crow lines of eyes say it,
When it aches to smile,
Wearing it which was disowned years back
Don’t spell or stare or nod,
May face lays as in absence of suspicion

Knot of rope around my neck, 
What changed or happened,
Somebody sprinkled dust on freshly painted canvas,
That Blush of youth _with self-indulged soul,
Beauty reflected in the eyes wide open,
Then agonizing hand interfered,
So made me wore this,
The face you don’t look at.

I have told enough, misery loses its grief,
If explained to satisfy that deaf ear,
Let it prevail, the dust,
Let me blacken myself in the stained canvas,
For that is what meant, and so,
Let this veiled face pray, in the shadow,
For the last breath, not for shrine,
Lived in mundanely and so did suffer,
Shall die in that ordinariness too,
If life asked you about my tiredness,
Don’t blame a name but a cure,
Which is desperately awaited, let her know.


Details | Free verse | |

Never So Gracious

A full moon night to my delight what is so wrong with doing what's right nothing is right after so long no use in complaining time to move on The Dream Water one day might take me away farther from the comfort of familiarity I float on my back then shut my eyes my body now sinking into ocean arms open wide Now swallow your son back to his nature when he is no longer needed to stay here the next generation are dooming themselves they need my experience to guide them through hell Why should I bother on my own, I strive through I turn my back on the thought of bothering to save you alone in this world my, is it spacious I'm finally smiling, never so gracious.


Details | Rhyme | |

Beyond the Frontier

Where am I? Why is it dark?
This isn’t what I had in mind when I left the park…
Why isn’t the wind whispering…the songbirds singing?
All I remember is a telephone ringing…
A scream and a crash and a pain in my side…
Is this what happens after one’s died?
I don’t feel like myself, I feel wild and free,
Yet I’m cold and alone, 'stead of filled with glee.

My whole life I’ve studied, and pondered, and prayed,
Trying to fathom what would happen this day
But now that it’s here, I’m beginning to fear
Maybe the afterlife’s not what it appears…
It’s certainly not what I’ve been told by my preacher
Or my parents or brother or best friend or teacher…
Is it a bad thing, or is it good?
Maybe it’s just not quite understood...

While I was on Earth, I just couldn’t wait
To meet good St. Peter at the heavenly gate
And ask him a question or query or two
“What was my purpose?” “What good did I do?”
“What’s it all for?” “How does it all flow?”
“Can I have one more body, one more try, one more go?”
But where is the angel? Where is the gate? And
If this is Hell, then where is Ol’ Satan?
Am I a lost soul? Am I forgotten?
Am I to be left here until I am rotten?

Lo and behold! what, now, can this be?
Is this a wonderful spiritual epiphany?
Is this the magical feeling all souls receive
When they leave Earth? Oh! was I that naïve?
How could I have not seen the realism?
Why was I consumed in man-made idealism?
This is more wondrous than all I was taught
Oh, all the times I argued and fought
With others, ‘bout how their views were asinine
Now I see, theirs were just as wrong as mine!
Little I thought was actually correct!
How, why, did I let others petty beliefs infect
My untouched, my pure, my virgin mind?
I regret all the hours I self-tortured to find
That compared to what I see now, I was empty and blind…

Wait - - What is this that I see?
What is this gateway that is revealed unto me?

Now a door is opened to my immortal soul
I am expected now to enter my life’s final goal…
I am scared, intimidated, but still I am glad…
For the truth I have just seen is anything but bad.
This is the end of my journey, I’ve nothing to fear,
For now I am going Beyond the Frontier.


Details | Ballad | |

The ballad of Tich Thomas

The Ballad of Tich Tomas
.
A dog was howling in the night
Perhaps she knew the truth
That Tich would not be coming home
This dog needed no proof
That the man who she loved so
He’d come to her no more
Because Lance corporal Thomas was
 A victim of the war.

Now Tich, he was a country boy
His farm it was his life
A boon to his community
He’d give in times of strife
He learned his trade in farming school
With honours he’d come through
Then settled down to work his farm
That’s what he planned to do.

But then, one day it came to him
The news he did not need
He’d been called up for army life
He went off without heed
To do his time in Puckapunyal
To get him set for war
He soon made it as Infanteer
So he joined a fighting corp

He worked real hard and gained a stripe
This showed he had potential
He earned his skills in jungle fighting
And then there came the call
For he to go to Vietnam
To five RAR he was sent
Charlie company was his unit
When off to war he went

It was in April sixty six
Our man went into battle
There in the Phuc Tuy provence
Those guns did roar and rattle
Our Tich he fought real gallantly
So brave was he, but then
The shrapnel done it’s evil job
He joined the fallen men.

They brought his body back to those
Who were waiting for him there
The whole town came to welcome him
And helped with grief and prayer
They buried him with all the honours
That came to fighting souls
Who died to keep their country free
Courageous in their roles.

More honour it was placed on him
By the country where he’d fought
They built a statue in his name
And his likeness it was caught
By the sculptor who did honour him
And carve him into stone
And now Tich Tomas guards the park
As he stands there all alone.

If you’re ever down in Nannup town
Go to the park that’s there
You’ll see the statue of young Tich
As his spirit everywhere
Will fill the souls of those who see
This fighting man, so brave
Who’s body lies so peacefully
In his own town, in a grave.

2007


Details | Rhyme | |

Forty Lost

Time moves on,
and soon will tell,
when asked for whom
they ring the bell…
 Forty lived
…and forty lost,
you left before twilight.
When it’s half as much,
at twice the cost,
you’ll  bask
in perfect light…
We live in castles
…made of sand,
we come as a stranger,
but leave as a friend…
Remember now,
your last first kiss,
those times will be
profoundly missed…
Your smile indeed
could cast a spell.
You learned to
play a bad hand well…
With all our hopes
and dreams in tow,
we are old too quick,
and wise too slow.
Life’s an elaborate
complex dance...
Would you live again,
if you had the chance?
 
 Copyright © 2013


Details | Free verse | |

My Time Has Come

My Time Has Come

My time is over here in this body
I am being called home as my work is done here
I hear my Lords voice calling me home
Although I know I will miss this old world 
With all that I have seen and done
All the People I have met and talked to
My body can go on no more for it has reached it’s time

Rev. Samuel Mack, OMS
Copyright 2013

http:paladinnews1.blogspot.com


Details | ABC | |

In your memory

Thank you for the beautiful memory
you left on my mind
you are not dead
 but you are not here,

to me you are gone,
cos i cant feel you the way i used to,
everything you used to do are left untouched
the space you ocupied is empty,

our yesterday is fading away like the rainbow
so beautiful but so short,
how can i forget the endless yesterday?
when you are here with me.


in loving memory of my sister (you are not an angel but you did what an angel can do,you fly to heaven.)


Details | Free verse | |

Like the frightened Jackrabbit, I run away from Love

Jump up and down like a jackrabbit
running through meadows
running from what?
Could it be heartbreak,
a venemous snake that hides in the grass,
hiding with fangs ready to pierce the tender skin
upon the tight, bronze flesh of everyday life?
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now!
I need a vacation a long way away from the faceless smiles
and ignorance of young girls, who don't look at you,
who don't show you love and respect.
Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye now,
as jumping spiders hop everywhere, crawling eight legs around me
my soul black like carcoal, but my heart still beating
slower this time, not like the days before
and like the jackrabbit running from anything and everything,
I run to seek love and vanish away from the empty voids
that people call, their souls.
Recording a film with no tape,
talking to a woman you love, but not having the guts to tell her how you really feel
Jump my boy, like a jackrabbit, take my advice
tell her before she leaves
turns down the endless avenues of endless dark love
the trees grow taller, taller than you
and you sit there feeling away yourself die, missing out in life.
I cannot see you lose your love.
Say it, say it, Say it!!! Tell her! Tell her! Build the guts up!
Build up the courage, tell her how you feel. Take her by the hand and never say goodbye! Never say goodnight, stay with her till the flight comes in the morning
of the first rays of sun shine through your dorm room take her and love her!
Do not be like me, the jackrabbit! I see no happiness
Reading poetry it makes me sad,
to write of others falling in love and I never finding the one.
People tell me, you'll find yours, have hope
but I am a frightened little jackrabbit
who flees from sounds of deep emotions, not having courage to fall in love,
not building the guts up to tell her how I really feel.
She walks alone, I find my oppertunity and sing my love song
She smiles and moves on,
please tell me I cannot fight anymore.
All I have to say is Goodbye, Goodbye, Goodbye
I need a vacation
to go to some sandy beach on an island of love
and write and write and write, the same poetry that depresses me
but makes you all fall in love with words!
Fiction about love stories, please kiss me
Blue eyed death comes, plays a game of chess with me
I bet twenty, he bets my soul
Kiss me death, the only love I'll ever get,
besides my poet friends who kiss my ass
Listen to my heart, truely, I don't write of beauty
I write for the sorrow soul, the fleeing jackrabbit
running away from love.....


Details | Epic | |

The death of Syria

              
                    Slaughter in Syria by the pound
                  The rebels take their place under ground
                  Shell shocked children in a school of fire
                 Assad revels in his twisted desire.
                  The armies of the Bear unleash their goods
              Assad  taking his anger to the neighborhoods.
                 A world in sorrow a place of death
                   the people of Syria take their last breath.
                 The world is a stage in a tyrannical flood
                  the smell of death the rivers of blood.
                The flight from horror is a fanciful dream
                 for the people of Syria nights filled with screams.
                 The leaders of tomorrow should now take heed
                 for the rebel in the streets are a different breed.
                 They die for their country they die for what's right
                  they cry out for their freedom to the Heavenly light.
                 What will be the outcome in a future so bleak ?
                   for peace and love is all they seek .

                                                By Larry Hays  
                                                                                                 
                 
                 


Details | Rhyme | |

My Heart Held a Funeral

My heart held a funeral today
The love I had for you in decay...
I enshrouded myself in black
While sobs my weak body wrack
My face swathed in filmy lace
So others the tears could not trace
The requiem played in my mind
No solace could I find
By the casket, I sat still
Forcing myself at will
To accept my tragic loss
I look at the golden cross
On the box in which lies entombed
That which my hidden feelings exhumed
The idolatrous image of you
All I held noble and true
That which I had adored
Which in my heart I had stored
I had to bid farewell
Whether to heaven or to hell
Your image would take flight
To bright day or morbid night
The funeral must come to an end
My heart in need of a chance to mend

But, you...you are not dead
It's only true in my head
You are still alive
And oh, how you thrive…
Breathing and moving
Speaking and wooing
Teasing and dreaming
Smiling and scheming
Alive...deliriously alive
And oh, how I must strive
For you're close, still bright
You fill my eyes with delight
Such a sight to behold
A heart I thought was pure gold
But your soul….
Ah…your soul
For me has died
And I mourn and I weep
As this secret I keep
I beat my chest and wail
All to no avail

I thought you were fine	
Exquisitely divine…
But what could I do?
A fault was found in you
One that I could not ignore
And so I frantically tore
My garments in lament
I had thought you...heaven sent

Today I attended a funeral
And I know recovery will be long
The secrets in that coffin belong
I rise to leave the funeral hall
Where from the pedestal you did fall
Still weeping…weeping
My wounded heart keeping
The tale of the great demise
Of your image in my love struck eyes

Eileen Manassian Ghali


Details | Free verse | |

Death

Death had come.
Death had killed.
Death had left.
Death had taken my friend.

The only one I trust.
Leaving me here alone, 
Depressed.

Death had come.
Death had killed.
Death had left.
Death had taken my family.
 
The fire burned our home.
Turning them into dust.
Burning loneliness into my heart.
Quieted.

Death had come.
Death had killed.
Death had left.
Death had taken my life.


Details | Lyric | |

A Dying Hymn

O my graveyard
How I do find it hard
That I must sleep with you

“Until we meet again”
How sweet that sounds, my friend
But we both know it isn’t true

O my own death
How I’ll cherish that last breath
When I’m waiting here for you

I know this life must end
And how sad this is, my friend
But there’s nothing we can do


Details | Free verse | |

But with the evil, came the good

All turned down to the worst
as the children lost innocence,
as the bums drank their last breath away,
as the man eating sharks finding their way,
to the over-crowded sandy beaches,
as the man turn to the woman
and gave her a slap across the face,
as the thef steals in the night,
as the coward goes behind his loved ones' backs,
as the oil lanterns spill over and burn the bridges
to salvation and paradise.
Something always happens to the good guy,
a knife in the back in the midst of dawn,
his woman leaving with another man,
he dying slowly of cancer,
or suffering from intoxication of the blood.
Poison. Poison, ravages his body,
oh, how could God let such things happen
to such a good man?
His life work, his social life, his nirvana
all destroied, burned away, turned to dust.

But with the evil, came the good.
Yes with time and time again
repeating itself in a circle of time,
across the crossed faces,
as blue eyed Death smiles
and as the girls grin,
Everything came into place,
Anyway with evil, came the good.
Indeed it had came right to his front doorstep.


Details | Sonnet | |

For the Late Midsummer

Show me a clear midsummer’s day, and I
Shall reveal the coldness lurking beneath
For which the mortals heave a knowing sigh
In kind, the winter bares her savage teeth


Yet we, who know better than to implore
Play games with Time that are cruelly coy
Always to have less than ever before
And thus is the fickle manner of joy


To depart tenfold as quick as it came
Seeking first the ones who try to hold fast 
For all who dare speak that elusive name
Breathe tender eulogies of summers past


Fear not, for the blush of this earth entombed
Shall run our blood until we are exhumed


Details | Free verse | |

Skin Deep

Achilles' heel 
You’re another day older
The world’s much colder
She…

It’s not your fault
They were taken 
Don’t blame yourself 
for God’s mistake
Is…

Her beauty reflects your own
Her life reflects your future
Chasing rabbits will get you there faster
Loss of faith will bring you there faster
Watching…

The ball drops
It’s clever to see
What happens to us
And here we are
Waiting…

Yes, 
Take the evil out of this
You’re stronger
She’s stronger and always,
Loving…


Details | Free verse | |

Her Final Words

"No." She whispered before drowning into her sorrows.
Her life had been a simple happy one. 
There were no pains and no troubles.
Life was life and people were people.
Life was simple.
and life was all about tomorrows.
Life didn't know about sorrows.
Her sorrows.
Those same sorrows that she drowned in never existed. 
They were never there, but where?
First to be sad in the naive town of joy.
Sorrow became contagious and what was known as happiness no longer was there.
It was non-exististent. 
A meager thought 
and a blessed memory.
She tried and tried.
She failed and failed.
Life was no longer hers.
For Pain was her only possession.
Her curse.
She lived and she died.
Yet, her legacy was passed on.
Never was it gone.
"No." She whispered before drowning in her sorrows, 
"Save them."


Details | Dramatic monologue | |

The Murder Of One Lead To Another

The Murder Of One Lead To Another


My death caused yours. I left without a fight like I had all those times before. Murder by my own self-indulgence. Looking how I had left you to your own devices, if I would had known that would be the cause of your death would I have been less self centered? Can you hear me singing to you as you slit your wrist and separate soul and body? Slowly slipping away as I sing the song of the 7 veils. I yearned for you, as you loved for me could we be the most perfect couple to die for selfish wish. What fools we are leaving this world just for a death we know nothing of. 
Stop! Return! Don’t leave me just yet! Are the words I hear as I return to living breathing state, I was returned back to this world? For you I could live on, for you I could die by your side, for you I would make you live forever with me. I was murder, you slit your wrist but in the moment of leaving this world we both was called back by the body we left behind. We came back hand and hand together to stay side by side. I was murder you slit your wrist, but in that last moment I came back for you and you came back for me. Did you see it our nearly over soul ready to be devoured and consumed by our greed? 
I was murder, as you slit your wrist. We tried to destroy our suffering and we nearly destroyed our bond. My death led to your death but in our final moment we were called back to this unforgivable world. Murder by self-indulgence, suicide of a broken heart, which was our ways out of this world. Thank you for calling me back.


Details | Free verse | |

The Bird that is Loved and Loathed

It burns and it stings.
It hurts.
More than drowning beneath 
the ice.
More than remaining in a 
kindled flame
She hits and I no longer cry.
Why mother, why? 

It burned and it stung.
The markings remained, 
returned, and were relived
Looking, loving, and little 
known loathing were the known 
ways of living.
Never was their pity for the 
child that cried
Never was their relief for the 
child that tried

You were that lovely bird that 
understood the complications of 
felicity 
Nothing looked the same in 
those dewy browns of yours.
My everbeating would cry tears 
of joy.
The others-they were yet to 
appear.
Caring Mother, o' so fair
 You were that beautiful bird 
filled with care.

The others came and were not 
alone. Their two suitors sat on 
the throne.
Rampage and rage why did you 
come?
I began to wither and wither 
slumping along. So very soon I-
the child of fines- became a 
human raceme. 
The droops of the Lily of the 
Valley became the slumping of 
my heart.
My lovely bird the enemy had 
taken you and the person you 
were is far from near.
For that divine nature left its 
intricate self and you became 
irretrievable my big bird.
All of your fairness died.
With that went my pride.
 
Mother, Mother what moved 
you so? 
Your intense spirt vanished only 
to supplement a monster. 
Mother, Monster and your tar 
filled lungs. 
How did I kill that liver that was 
so, so strong?
The lesson of pain was one you 
came to learn.
My darling bird why did you 
turn?
 
My lovely bird and your big 
brown eyes
I'll tell you once, but never 
twice.
Pain is only a flower for it 
blooms and dies
And a mistake can be killed as 
quickly as lice.
 You dear bird hurt me well. 
Though, haven't you heard?
Weakness is a souls greatest 
strength.
You brought me up, then you 
brought me down.
You haved helped, hurt, and 
hindered my blazing spirit.
A hero in my heart-I left you 
down in your deep black 
slumber. 
Escaping those terrible nights
To go for the town of delights. 


Details | Free verse | |

Bon Voyage

tattered, yellow napkin
softly settles into the murky lake
as it absorbs it's last spill
our names in gold, still legible

this ring, never fit, seldom worn
"I love you" etched innermost
I know you do, I just couldn't say it much
now I can, but you don't hear

it's cold out, especially on the water
our favorite time, autumn's change upon us
our old craft, tattered sail I told you I'd fix
before your birthday that never came

now why bother, It's the final voyage
a muted splash as the ring follows
and I sit, shivering silently in the blue dusk
the cold urn between my knees

now raised, and poured
a cloud of dust, your earthly remnants
ashes to ashes to water to earth
our dreams unlived, dissolved like you

in the muddy waters we once loved
nothing left for me: no us, no time
I follow your lead, but not softly, not muted
a last gulp and it's really not bad

Sinking, thinking, wishing
watching our boat bobbing beneath
silence is screaming, I gasp
I'm warmed as I see your smile.


Details | I do not know? | |

They Left so Abruptly

They Left so Abruptly

(for the countless South Africans, of all colours, who dedicated their lives for freedom and democracy)

the valiant ones
countless
many known
many more nameless

the truest sons and singers
husbands and poets
lovers and wives
daughters and farmers
workers and sisters
brothers and friends

they left so abruptly
with quiet pride
steely courage
gentle dignity

they left so abruptly
leaving us our tomorrows
brighter
hopeful
filled with promise

they left so abruptly
so that we may breathe
the breath of liberty
the air of freedom
the warmth of justice

they left so abruptly
leaving with us their parting gift

freedom
inkululeko
swatantrata
liberte
azadi
vhudilangi
libertad

they left so abruptly
yet we remember them all
today
in the days that slipped away
and in the many more that we await

they left so abruptly
yet they remain
hewed into our memories
etched in our consciences
engraved in our hearts
they left so abruptly
and yet they endure
with us
within us
now and forever more


Details | Free verse | |

Reflections of Love

I need to heal and fast,
I can feel the time running out, all too soon.
But can't push myself out of the agony,
The threads of pain pull me back like a puppet.
 
I seem wrong to be grieving now, odd one!
Everybody else is no longer black,
Me, haven’t seen the sunlight for long;
The mansion, its corridors, the rooms  now my world.
 
The wound in my heart is still too fresh,
It forbids me from a sunset on the beach,
It forbids me from running or skipping,
It forbids me from laughter and joy...
 
In denial: they say but it's not all true, I accept
I know he is dead, He is no more
But do I dump him in my past and move on?
The thought makes me hate myself!
 
He would want you to smile again, live further..
Strangers tell me his likes and wants, the know-it-alls.
I look straight ahead and avoid their prying eyes
It’s a losing battle, I know but let me lose in grace...
 
Visitors keep pouring in, with flowers and tears.
He was a man loved by many, the crowd proves it,
Everybody seems shocked and pale but not as lost as me
I glide along the windows, reliving the shadow of memories...
 
The moments were many, uncountable even,
It crushes my soul to think, they are all I have,
I see his fingerprints on the window panes,
I search for mine too, just beside him they lay...
 
The garden is being watered, but by a strange hand
The plants understand the master is now below them, 
He will never enjoy their colors or drive away moths
His ashes and scent scattered around the mango tree..
 
I smile at the garden then burst out laughing,
Before I know, warm tears run down my nose
But there still lingers a smile, wet with glistening tears
I am happy he lived, he lived full and more...


Details | Rhyme | |

How do you wanna be remembered

Has that question ever sneaked its way into the conscious of your third eye? 
Have you ever took pause from your self and viewed yourself as a he was or she was?
Release that parachute from flight and ground your soul with the memories of others thoughts.
The limits down here are not as high as the sky. 
We get one chance to imprint the fixture, the movement... The tone of a legacy left by indifferences that makes you you!
The day my handkerchief floats no longer and drifts to the ground, I envision the power outage of the world. 
Darcel stood a monument that people just had to get a glance at. 
Darcel spoke with his heart while even in defeat. A lyric can’t harmonize the music that D. Sharp stands for. 
A silence of over joy for him applauded over the art of tap. 
Heads rolling back accepting the embodiment of fruits picked from me. 
Screams of loss jamming frequencies of those trying to pick and hold on to one of the many memories of me.
GOOD OR BAD
I call on the locksmith that is you and you and you to unchain what is me, myself, and I with a twist of your key. 
God allowed me to plant it, to water it, and nurture it within a bunkered facility. 
Some might say he aint this and he wasn't that but remember.
I say remember because at one point in your life I was perfect for you. 
I aided you to or from a circumstance that gave u clean air to breathe. 
Now aint that some shit!
That’s how I will be remembered!


Details | Free verse | |

Eric -RIP-

Why did you leave?
Oh companion of mine
Why did you leave?
Twas it really your time? 
Did you see no point in staying 
another measly day? 
By my side if you were oh the 
things I would say! 
Judge you, I would not
Tis not in my nature
The emptiness I feel from your 
passing measures to that of a 
crater
A bullet took your life
One blast and it's through
What pains me to know is the 
gun was held by you
All you left behind was a note 
for family and friends
Inscribed were many ' I love 
you's ' 
And your deep heartfelt 
amends
No need to say sorry
For you lived a full life
I shall always remember this 
through the pain, struggles, 
and strife
'You don't know what you got 
until what you got is no more'
Oh how this saying is true!
As the tears stream my face 
and I reminisce of you
With anger in our eyes and 
pain in our hearts
We lay you to rest
Hoping that solace will 
overflow in our lives
We miss you Eric 
This is in plain black and white
Had we the power we'd wish 
you back to life
I take comfort in knowing one 
day we'll meet again
Beyond the pearly gates 
reunited  as friends
This is NOT goodbye
Only a brief farewell
When shall we meet again?
Only time will tell


Details | Free verse | |

Talitha Cumi Rise

' Talitha Cu'mi - - - Rise ! ... '


        (Tal' i-tha cu' mi)
(An Ancient Arabic/Syrian Phrase)



(Mark 5: 41 / John 5: 28, 29 / John 6: 39 /  John 10: 3-15, 27 / John 11: 23-27)



'Talitha Cumi ... Rise!'
Said The One Who Can Save All Lives
Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
Death's Cut Will Not Be Your Knife
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise! --

Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
From Your Bed & Your Good-Byes
Talitha Cumi ... Rise!
Hear My Voice & Recognize
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!

'Rise! From Upon Your Bed
Greet The Brightest Day Instead
Greet The Blessings On Your Head
The Blood of Life For You I Bled
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!' --

'Talitha Cumi ... Rise!'
Said My Beloved Lord Jesus Christ
'I Covered You In My Sacrifice
and You Praised Our GOD For That Price
-- Talitha Cumi ... Rise!' --

'Little One - Open Your Eyes
Loved Ones - Dry Your Eyes
'Cause Resurrection Ain't No Lie
Wake Up! ... and Walk Eternal Life!'

Tal i-tha cu' mi  ... Rise!


         Written & Copyrighted ©:  9/26/2013 
                  by:  MoonBee Canady


Examples of a Resurrection:  The Spring Season, Butterflies from Cocoons, 
A Buried Seed, A Healed Skin-Cut, A Revived Heart (and) A Human Being
(and the song above is how I felt after my Lumpectomy Surgery) Oh yeah!

MoonBee


Details | Light Poetry | |

You Are Next

YOU ARE NEXT!


Wedding coat finery
covering my wretched dismay.
After pinching cheeks
aunties would always say,

“You are next!”
as if saying made it so.
Countless times it happened
no matter how often I said no.

Until I discovered how to stop it
using this little ironic gem;
now when I see them at family funerals
I started saying it to them!


Details | Blank verse | |

Amicitia Funere

The music was somber and slow,
an old, out of tune pipe organ.
The lights were dim, and flickered,
the air heavy against my lungs.
My slow steps are silent, muffled
by the tear stained, worn out carpet.
It was just the two of us there,
standing on either side of the room.
Your eyes remain downcast, angry,
while mine burn stinging red.
We sit down, a suitable distance,
and fear speaking the first word,
for once we begin, it's the end.

"We are gathered here today", at last,
and so you stand, hands cradled
around a well worn box of memories.
I watch you stride to the front
and place the box in the coffin.
You stand back, still looking away,
and then it's my turn, at last.
My box is falling apart, duct taped,
and stuffed to nearly overflowing.
Gently, down beside yours, it lies,
and then we're nearly through.
The lagging music continues to play,
and as my heart begins to break,
we both leave the darkened room.
And that was the funeral of our 
friendship.


Details | Free verse | |

My Thought's of Pearl Harbor

During the time of our sleep
When not even mice would make sounds
The planes they did creep
Hunting their targets like savage hounds
And when they struck
The ground it rumbled
There was no time to duck
As the ships crumbled
Men and women died that day
Which made many families blue
They had awaken the USA
Even though we started World War Two
That day in December 1941
A new strenght had been born


Details | Free verse | |

Typical Wednesday

She sits there, knitting
It’s the same deal with worker bees
A continuous addition, to completion
Shameful, that I keep tugging this loose thread
She's knitting for nothing
I think she knows too
Stubborn woman