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Places Elegy Poems | Elegy Poems About Places

These Places Elegy poems are examples of Elegy poems about Places. These are the best examples of Places Elegy poems written by international PoetrySoup poets

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Details | Elegy |

Where are you

You flourished and blurred
like a spark on wind

Gracefully and quickly like a frightened hind
in pursuit of light

You harvested through bushy meadows
taken by blight

In struggle with plight
had you lost your might

And gave out
although never you gave up.

Where are you?
For you must be still there.

For I still can feel you
somewhere in the air.


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 | Elegy |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 1)

I picture Kashmir through lightened KL. News of another massacre darkens my eyes
Winds are thirsty there. They continue to taste the young blood.
I groom myself with exquisite things,
Sipping ice tea in ac room, I comfort myself
And Kashmir burns. Kashmir set ablaze

I can smell the warm blood of beaten corpse
Where from winds bought this smell. Somewhere Karbala reborn.
Mosques are being slammed
There windows stoned. And the black boots leave their footprints on Mimber
Even God judges on evidence
There is one Imaam left now; he hides her daughters in his shadow
A blunt knife in his hands; soon he will sacrifice them to keep their innocence
Kashmir is burning. Kashmir is bleeding
And I write.

Army jeep chases the tracks. To find the associated bodies
They are alive now. Soon they will be dead
From Patan to Sopor, And in narrow passages of nostalgic downtown
Ghosts of curfew
Haunt the houses for young souls.

From the Kupwara cantonments, search lights chase emptiness
Nothing is left now. Search lights can’t see inside the graves
A boy there went missing for two days. His father starts digging his grave.
I put my earphones on and I close my eyes. I sleep
While my Kashmir is ablaze
“It’s me poor farmer’s son. Kupwara’s charm, I feel no pain”.
I see him so alive in my dreams.
He chants songs of Mahjoor from his burnt lips. My hands shiver. He has no finger nails.
I see his smoke tanned skin. Same as that of Khayam’s barbeques
He stands at a distance from me. I can still smell kerosene
“Tell my mother to let her heart become cold. Her heart will not bear my state.
Tell my mother to let her eyes become blind. Her eyes will not withstand my sight.”
I follow him towards his tortured body. He tells me to follow the spilled blood.
His blood has made its own Jhelum. I row on it. Until it gets lost in black boots
The story will turn into legend. I find his body no more.

On the streets silence prevails. Nobody has permission to wail.
Sisters are beatifying coffins while brothers look for stones.
For bullets there will be stones
Kashmir is ablaze. She is wailing in grotesque tones.
In Lal Ded hospital a new born cries: Father register me at cantonment then take me out
Death is recruiting in dozens at a time.
Tomorrow is curfew. Death has no curfew pass.
How they want to identity you. Becomes your identity
People burn up all you identity cards.


Details | Elegy |

Stay with me

Nowhere
you are
for
Nowhere
I see you

Nowhere
you are
for
Nowhere
I hear you

So where
you are
for
you must be
Somewhere

You still exist
for 
I still miss you

Thy sight
comes
to me
by memory

Somewhere
you are
for
Somewhere
I see you

Somewhere
you are
for
Somewhere
I hear you

So where
you are
for
you are
Nowhere

Please
stay with me
for
I need thee

for
a mere
unit am I
without an ally

Nowhere
you are
Wherever
I need you

Please
let
I feel
you are
nearby

Let
I believe
you are
far
from Nowhere
close
to Somewhere

Let
I believe
you are


Please
stay with me

somewhere
anywhere
beyond

I need thee.


Details | Elegy |

Little Girl of Mary King's Close

A little girl so coy and sweet Used to wander in the street Her little dress and shawl she’d wear She’d skip and run without a care Her hair about her face would fly As wind blew clouds across the sky The sun would shine above the city Warm upon her face so pretty There with friends she’d sing a song A ring-of-roses all day long Her doll she’d carry everywhere Made by her mam who'd brought her there Where had she gone, where was she now; To give her comfort, to cool her brow? Lying there upon her stretcher Desperate for mam to come and fetch her With pustules oozing, a putrid stink In inky blackness her eyes would blink She waited for the sound of feet Perhaps dry, stale bread for her to eat Shoved below the heavy door On a plate, upon the floor But she’d become too weak to stand To get the food she’d need a hand Fear of illness, fear of death Fear of such a young ones breath Prevented them from coming in Barred her from seeing friend or kin Stuffy and close the room was small No one seemed to care at all Her doll they’d wrenched out of her arms And burned it to avail their qualms No traces of disease would spread Remaining sealed away instead She longed again the world to see, She lay there waiting patiently She thought for her they’d surely come Her father a merry tune would hum Drifting in and out of sleep No more tears of loneliness to weep Nothing but a feeble moan For she was left there all alone Below the new you’ll find a room Timeworn and hidden in the gloom It’s there you’ll feel her presence nigh It’s there she lay abandoned to die When you have to leave and go Quiet footsteps behind you tiptoe She follows you a little way She waits for you to turn and say, “Take my hand and come with me. Into the light… walk, be free.” But solitary and confined she’s made to stay As aeons pass and flit away Forsaken child of the distant past, I pray God frees your soul at last.


Details | Elegy |

My Kashmir Burns (Part 2)

Another son is dead, until five he lived.
For his long life at Shah-Hamdan he had threads tied
“Shehij ninder yee nai. Gahas Kormakh Khudayas Hawale”, his mother cries.
No news can penetrate across the mountains. Satellites work here no more
My Kashmir burns. And no one knows.
An old woman with torn scarf sits besides fire. While feeding her neighbor’s child
She sighs. Is my son dead or alive? She silently cries.
In Madrasa I hear children reciting Quran. A girl’s come out dragging her feet.
I remember her from somewhere. I remember her seeing naked. 
Oh! God she is the one who was raped.

Nights have turned pitch black. My eyes are losing the habit of sight
Midnight soldier’s set another house ablaze. At least there is some sort of light.
Many letters have been written to God. Postcards posted of those raped girl’s 
But its curfew again. No post office deliver’s the message again.
Death comes from everywhere. Close your windows mother
For bullet respects no womb. It turned Gulistans into tombs.
From the plains the visitors come to visit their God’s
They are our only witnesses but hypocrites at heart.
They say paradise is kaasmir. While my Kashmir is ablaze
They testify against us. Is anybody witnessing this? No one at all
Be witness to at least this. Open up your eyes my Lord!

When paradise is painted with colors of hell, certainly divinity loses its grace
In the news the reporter is beaten. Bamboo sticks are hungry for human blood.
Let Kashmir go to hell. A new promise in their portfolio.
Threads have given up at Dastegeer’s place. Even they are horrified at our fate.
In Maisuma boys are dragged by police. They close their dreams, end their screams
In a police gypsy.
Men shape into monsters when they are given right to anarchy.
The gypsy drives them into the dark cantonments. They will remember this day
Interrogation officer comes. After celebrating his son’s birthday.
The winds from the cantonments bring their news
Burned tires around their necks. Burning stoves near their heads.
The knife tearing up their flesh.
And the boys cry, “We haven’t batted yet. Cricket. We know nothing”.

Death wants children to be headlines
Hunger has affected the heavens as well.
Graves are full. No more space left.
We need land of the plains. For our graves.
In the ac car the bureaucrat goes. The mother’s with search full eyes
Ask about their sons they lost. They drink their tears
And he sips champagne.


Details | Elegy |

Sketch

 To make a new experience,
once I thought to walk down my home,
from Esplanade to Tollygaunge….. 
 
I crossed the Chowrungee
& walked down the foot of the Grand,
I saw an oldman to his daily daydreams',
eyes to the heaven - and hands to the earth,
leaning there to the marble pillar beside the Bata-showroom.
I crossed him and hundreds passed by,
thousands looked at him
and rest, running to the new market's new brand.
 
Little further I went…
infront of the Indian Museum,
there I saw a woman, with her child in the warmth of her arms,
sitting there crying for her life and praying for her child,
but, none looked down to the present,
rather, eager to know the legends,
and hundreds came out by the history;
rest were still in the museum,
in the future through the time machine.
 
I went on, walking down by the foot,
crossed the road and  further a two minutes of walk,
as I headed to the Victoria Memorial Hall-
the beautiful marble palace and its calm surrounding,
there the couples making their day, and ,
one making a sketch of that beautiful marble architecture,
but, none could make a sketch of that little baby's heart…
who's clothings were only his naked body,
crying for little shelter and thirst for mother's breast milk. 
He was born to make a new life,
and he's lying there for someone could sketch his lost life.
 
I realized then ,
what I thought of an experience to walk down to my home,
from Esplanade to Tollygaunge,
is an experience to make a sketch….
of the real life,
 in Kolkata.


Details | Elegy |

Last Resort

Imagine
a barren desert:
dry,
deprived of life,
where one would be sent
only in their worst nightmare.

This is a place 
where 
one's body and soul 
would surely die
This is a place
where 
drought
has deprived you of tears
- you no longer can cry,
the last hope for thee
is to find some water
- there is none,

No matter how hard you try,
there is no hope for thee
- you are losing your life.

What is left for you
is turning into stone:
your spirit
- dehydrated,
your flesh
- dried to the bone.

There is no help for thee,
you are here alone
willing to return home,
but all hope is gone.

There is nothing left,
but one strength -
thy last resort,
yet it demands 
thy effort,
the very last feeling
not letting your life
give in,
it is your will of living,
to live
for the people whom you love.


Details | Elegy |

Tragedy Strikes In New York

Something tragic happened in New York today
Many lives were lost
This unexpected act of terrorism
Came with a very high cost
Many hearts are now filled
With anger, pain and sorrow
So many of us wondering
Will this happen again tomorrow?
Fear and uncertainty consuming us all
We do not understand why the towers had to fall
As we all watched in horror
The Trade Centers crumbled to the ground
We looked to our faith and kept clinging to hope
That many survivors would somehow be found
The hour of this tragic day will be
Forever remembered through history
The question of "Why" will always linger
The reason will remain a mystery
Who would want to commit such a cruel and intentional act?
In our search for those responsible
America shall stand united, that's a fact
Though we are temporarily weakened
By the devastation with sorrow and grief
Someday justice will prevail and bring us a sense of relief
To our many dear friends and loved ones
We will miss your gentle heart and smiling face
But we shall find comfort in knowing
You've gone to a better place
Our minds still question why
So many precious lives were taken from us
Please know that in our hearts, cherished memories
Will keep you forever near

In memory of all those who lost their lives to the tragic, terrorist act on September 11, 2001


Copyright © 2001   Shari E Davis


Details | Elegy |

Bombay Missiles

From the eyes of Shangri-la and words indited in bulletin
spoken by  bellwethers and imagery on broadcasts
Felt the passing of breaths and federation menace.

The scourge abided by cause of hooliganism
By a group of libertine, 
Held, ye plot to an affright baker’s dozen bams.
He who fended collared gravely, and he who
Fathered, headed for the hills. 
Passing of breaths and the devour city
Bellowing mother’s cry and bemused father
The helpless baby yet addled with a smile.
The speechless contrarian and the stock market blues
Mongers fall back and the bollywood whodunit. 
Queried world and hastening federations 
The eventual address to make for red alert. 

Staked City and yet another lionize attack
To their day of remembrance on the cause of vandalism
Dawdled to a tetrad later 
Abided by the juvenility of their community
Held, ye plot to an heptad bams.
Office hour rushed shush dead to the world
Aghast citizenry and deplorable family
Her plighting husband to return and son’s oft exacts
Left apart for an unknown time.

Ruled by terrorism, shame upon faith
Around-the-clock yet another hark back
Abided by the army of pure
Held, ye plot to tenner explosions.
Challenges taken were overwhelm 
An arrest bore witness
Yet, 
From the eyes of Shangri-la and words indited in bulletin
spoken by  bellwethers and imagery on broadcasts
Felt the passing of breaths and federation menace.


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