Best Burry Poems
She is Pacific ocean
Tranquil from outside
tumultuous from with in
Shallow it seems from the surface
But deep, very deep it decends
And what things it carry inside
Lively Coral reefs
And Volcanoes
Ready to errupt...
A world that can never be uncovered...
She is a cloud
Floating on air waves
Struggling to find a place
Where it will shower all of its gems
And those won't go wasted
But will reborn the dead soil
And the sleepy seeds
So precious, so full of potentials...!
She is a butterfly
With the heart of an eagle
Standing like a mountain
Against the Tsunamis
That rise when stones are thrown in the sea
Fragile yet very strong...
Emotional but Taciturn...
She is a moon
Having different phases
Which come out to roam every night
To enlight the valleys
To listen to the untold stories
And go back in morning to burry them....
She is light, she is beauty
A food for thought, a key to imaginations
And yes she is a flower
Scared of taking her hands of her face
For she will be cut, put in vase and eventually thrown away
Fate has this in store for flowers
She is but she is not
She exists but she does not
Like stars on a full moon night
She is there, and she is not!
She exists yet she does not...!!
________________________________________
~Paghunda Zahid
Placed 01 in Brian's J. Select any form any theme poetry contest
What do I say?
On this cherry day
At my own funeral
Where I execute and burry
The Burdon I once carried
Where I let go
Of the life, I’ve faithfully married
Rest in peace woman of excuses
Who endured others abuses
That never demanded an apology
Or handed a lifeline to rescue me
I put you to rest
Ashes to ashes
I bury the lashes
From the wombs of untruth
Sayonara
Beautiful Liar
Femininity…Of the enemy
I bid you goodbye
Au-revoir
You coward
The regret, guilt, and remorse
Has run its course
Bon voyage
Weakened frailties
That reigned champion in the lifelong fight of
Me VS Me
Grim Reaper
you can keeper
She was a stronghold
I never needed her
The sorrow of my soul
I am let you go
So that I can fly
© 2018
My house is not always a happy home .
Journee’s we all take – from time to time -
take me into thoughts travelling on roads to the past,
where I walk with ghosts, that sometimes haunt,
along with spirits that fly – free – into the sublime.
Both sojourn with me to places where dreams,
nightmares find refuge, incubate, where they be
- the facts of life – one carries with them to the end.
For sanity to survive, one must make both friend.
Unlike most else in life, they are with us forever,
even if we burry, no longer see them in the light of day.
Like most else that moves on, they will not fade away,
just hide in dark corners of our house until night key
comes to unlock the subconscious, set the ghosts free.
That is the nature of the psychological, mind game
that human nature - the gods – have ingrained in you and me
and that is what ties us together as one, in there, we are the same.
B. J. “A” 2
August 22nd 2004
If I were a bird, would you clip my wings
then cage me away with pretty things?
And, if my wings were to be clipped
why not just burry me within a crypt,
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
For to have wings that cannot soar,
then why not nail me to the floor?
Tonight I shall make my final swan song
knowing I have been locked away so long.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant so kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So still the caged bird, she sings
without her sky, without wings.
Sometimes laments, sometimes sighs,
sometimes she whistles her own reprise.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So then curious is it, the caged thing
who finds she has the heart to sing?
Because it would seem a great strain
to be caged seems twisted and profane,
for a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
When asked, why do you sing, bird?
The answer is a simple word,
hope, for escape from behind these bars
that keep me caged from the stars.
For a cage is too small for a master of sky,
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
Birds should have no master, no kings
and love cannot be clipping wings.
But now it seems I must live confined,
in this hand crafted cage of your design,
but a cage is too small for a master of sky
I was meant to kiss the sun, soar, and fly.
So must I wait for these wings to heal
and relearn how the wind may feel.
If I must be caged, still my heart sings
of the day I can again use my wings.
James, your words are like echos of extacy
forclosing with your sweetness on the bargain of my heart
so scratched and bruised, wounded from betrayle
and yet...your words from so far away, bring happiness with every glimmer
so softly i wish to kiss thy tender lips, pressed like sweet poison against my skin
to look into your eyes full of dark shadows, opening doors of light with each breath
so sweetly i wish to bring your blood, rising to the surface
to paint my ivory lips with color, sweetness, like a vampires kiss
within dreams i fall aslumber, gaining with each star, another moment
to be closer to your warmth, pulsing beneath cold skin, a heart
pain eching itsself a mirror in our eyes, shared death, shared life
feel my fingertips lace your skin, roughness tinting the sweet tender passion
sweet, tender passion...will you join me in sweet tender passion
arising from our own warm, in the throws of blankets
we burry ourselves deeper, not to be disturbed by rising daylight
be mine, vampiric whispers, none else wilt hear mine all but thee
i stare into your eyes, with in my fragile dream
vampiric mesmarising, trapped within my spell, captivizing
to kiss your lips, and paint them in the color of my blood
so pale, we lay together at last, forget the scorching sun
for like Lestat we have gained the power to survive with it touching our skin
children of the night, prisoners of loves plight
will you be my lover? i beg in tears of hate
my hate burning down my face in tears of pain
my love like fire burning in my eyes
the only way ill survuve to love and hate...you
will you be my lover, my vampiric lover
my blood lover, to kiss apon the moon pale skin
a vampires sweet midnight kiss
before we fall into, our slumber
she calls to he, James, will you be my lover..
Loose Pocket Change
A whistle blew
And out went candlelight
It’s wax ,cascaded and crystallized
It’s tears, warm and heavy, emptied into the deep
A bouquet of wilted flowers
Before the grave
Dark shadows of death
Stalk and circle those in blackouts
Black birds crow and fill the mind and burry the spirit
Sunken fishing boats
Bare hooks
Empty nets
Loose pocket change
In a pit of a bag
Stolen instruments
Black water under the bridge
Dirt and grime consumes it
Garbage and human remains float
Garlic peeling at the harbor
Women’s work
Men burn firewood for charcoal
Children get home schooling
Come feeding time, children fight
Typhoon blew stick houses down
Rice and grain swept away
Momma pawns everything
To open up her shop
Placing a bet on her life
A promise to feed her husband and lad
In the ruins of the slums
Hunger bury those who go without
Marckincia Jean
Free verse
09/17/19
She is a Pacific ocean
Tranquil from outside
tumultuous from with in
Shallow it seems from the surface
But deep, very deep it descends...
And what things it carry inside
Lively Coral reefs
And Volcanoes
Ready to errupt...
A world that can never be uncovered...
She is a cloud
Floating on air waves
Struggling to find a place
Where she shall shower all her gems
And those won't go wasted
But will reborn the dead soil
And the sleepy seeds
So precious, so full of potentials...!
And yet she is a butterfly
But with the heart of an Eagle
Standing like a mountain
Against the Tsunamis
That rise even with pebbles, when thrown in the sea
Fragile yet very strong...
Emotional but Taciturn...
She is a Moon
With different phases
That come out to roam every night
To enlight the valleys
To listen to the untold stories
And go back in the morning to burry them....
She is light, she is beauty
A food for thought, a key to imaginations
And there she is, a flower
Scared of taking hands of her face
For she will be cut, put in vase and eventually thrown away
Does fate has this in store for roses?
She exists but she does not
Like stars on a full moon night
She is there... Yet invisible..!
She lives, but mostly in silence...!!
*~°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°~*
Like the Pacific ocean she may look cool
But her heart and mind are like a bomb
Loaded with wild imaginations and deep emotions
Her heart finds solace in the stories of teleportation
Fragile and delicate like a butterfly
Yet strong like the mountains that stand high
She stays silent like the shy Moon in june
Though a 'Stream of consciousness' follows every tune
Afraid of people and the touch of time
But yearns to be worthy and bloom in her prime
She is beauty, only for the seeing eyes
And a food for thought but only if one realize
Follow me to a place
Filled with Love and grace,
Away from this lonely hole
Where all the demons go.
Drink from a wellspring of life
As I carefully pull out the knife
That has kept you paralyzed
Contaminated you with lies.
All that sorrow
Won’t follow you into tomorrow
All that pain
Was not in vain
Watch as I make all things new
And you begin to truly pursue
All the goodness of my hand
In the future you will understand
I am not a man that will take from you
I am a lover that likes to pursue
I am not a liar
I am an all-consuming fire
Burning through yesterday’s stings
I sit patiently waiting for you to let me in
It’s all about perspective, this is true
I shed my precious blood just for you
You’re not a mistake and accident or casualty
You are masterpiece I made just for me
Don’t dwell on things you can’t change
Allow my love to rearrange
The thoughts that burry your beauty
The words that cut to the core
I know what I am doing
After all I made it all.
By: Sabina Nicole
This thing we call life has had a toll on me,
I see all I love living in captivity.
A slave to the money,
A slave to the fame,
They don’t even realize their enrolled in the game.
The things that once mattered are chained to the floor,,
I can’t even recognize myself anymore.
Waves of deception
are Distorting all I have seen,
I feel like my life is a batch of bad dreams.
The puppet master is at it again,
This time its innocence that has been stolen.
While all are intertwined in this competition to nowhere
She quietly retreats and her branches grow bare.
The sorry is stifled by the screams in this place,
The images are engrafted, they cannot be erased.
And the years keep on going
And the times they are showing.
While they burry their heads in the sand
God continues to stretch out his hand.
By: Sabina Nicole
Ossenburger, the business genius,
when he graduated from college,
he started a budget mortuary service.
Five dollars a corpse!
He was the Wal-Mart of death.
Burry ‘em, burn ‘em, float ‘em down the river,
get ‘em by the gross like a bag-o-chicken wings.
Bodies stacked like cord wood rotting beneath an eve,
he had a secret process for sorting, storing, and disposal.
He hoarded the cadavers like a squirrel hoards its nuts,
buried and forgotten,
never wondering where they’ll pop up.
Dough rolling in from all the strapped families,
Ossenburger was the drug lord of putrefied flesh.
While puddles of fat caramelized within the soil,
he donated excess funds to his fondly held private school.
He wrote off all his charity,
he hoarded up the dough,
with more babies born daily,
he kept profits up with our death toll.
Pencey held him in architectural esteem.
For all his generosity
they used his name
for their new wing.
Tell us Ossenburger about your fancy car,
how you dream of stiffs between each shift
and Jesus ignores our prayers to say how lucky you are.
Our only bit of justice, some smidge,
some smear of slight relief,
is hearing Marsalla’s flatulence
during your puffed up prep school speech.
I miss those days when my lips really smilled
Eyes were sparkling and words didnt lied
The moment i woke and brushed my teeth
Ticking clock didnt worry me for my punch time sheet
Breakfast served was to fill my heart and not my tummy
Now i miss the magic from hands of my mummy
Worries of work loads were nowhere to be seen
Few blank pages of homeworks was all the worries there have been
Now i feel tierd of waking from sleep
But alarm clock rings like hunters wheep
Friends now discuss work and people
Lost all talks of childhood those were ambitious yet simple
Now smile wore on lips is all faked
Logic are been found in the jokes been cracked
Ticking of clock marks hours of lunch or work
At the end of year i wait for hikes and perk
Birthday wishes now come as reminders on facebook wall
And friends never remembers to wish me well on call
Presents that once overfilled my little heart with joy
Now sometimes come from dear once in hands of delivery boy
Weeks and months fills boredom in year
Dreams now a days are filled with worries and fear
Lost are stories of inspiring superheroes
Those are replaced with conspiracies of back ers
Pleasent those memories grew between pages and tiffin boxes
Left only to strengthen my soul between heeds of corporate foxes
Bonds of life long brotherhood those once were sworn
Could it remain simply there whole life long
Dreams and ambitions that left our eyes with glitter
Lost them on the ups and downs of corporate coster
Vacations that braught fun time whole day
Whether be it rain or burning heat of may
Nights those bought sound and sweet sleep
Have now counted millions of imaginary sheep
Now booze fails to fade thoughts that make me worry
Those once stories of magic wond Simply burry
Now i am all grown that once i imagined i would
But i do really miss my all gone days of childhood
Where every day new sun shone the cloud
Score of cricket when made teams proud
Once so young and care free was i
With the age mirror would reveal the wrinkles and scars
Would i be able to live the same days once more
The modern generation
Is coming all the way
To colonize the old one to get it’s accommodation
It’s encouraging many people
To welcome it’s arrival
But once it’s welcomed
There is no survival
It’s taking away many people especially teenagers
With very simple measures
It’s attracting the south pole and the north pole
By giving them someone to go for
And that’s why people are dying in fours;
A girl, a boy, and a pair of two models
The models of the two
The models who showed the two what to do in their clue
At different times they were born
But at the same time they are gone
Take a look at the boys of today on the way
They pull the short down as if the shorts overweigh
They wear huge hats which are so wide
And turn them around to balance the head on the other side
Isn’t it too heavy to crash the brain
Isn’t it too heavy to use up the digested grain
Ah! Your parent s must have been tired of feeding you advise
They must have been tired of being kind and nice
They are just waiting for the time when the white clouds will become grey
And rain will fell from their eyes on this day
They will just worry and burry you in a day
And forget about you because you made them loose their hope
They are tired of having commas
This time they have a full stop
WAR AND CRIME
Stop stop hatred
Stop stop xenophobian attacks
Stop Tribalism
Stop Racism
From Seria Leon to Parlestine
From South Africa to America
Stop this unnecessary war
Stop human abuse
Stop gender abuse
When I'm asking that why are you fighting
Black peoples said white peoples
White people says its black peoples
Indian says its coloured
Coloured says its everyone
Why are you fighgting?
Why are you descriminating each other?
Let unite and fight for a crime
Let burry down the war and move forward
It not that I'm a cowered
I'm thinking about the kidz that doesn't know about war
We was'nt there
You and I wasn't even born
Think about it peoples
Let unite
Stop Tribal hatred
I am Hamas
I am
humanity
I am not Sin
never burnt children
nor rejoiced in their demise.
only soldiers of Zion
lack all morality
I am not War
I stand against oppression
give back our olive and orange gardens
give back our land
Zionist rapists
burry them in sand
I am Sinwar
never forget me
I sit now in the heavens
preparing your hell
When I will die
Burry me deep
Ten feet down ; fast
asleep
Place my Math book on
my chest
Tell my teachers that ; I
am at rest
Place my Pakistan Studies
book on my head
Tell my teachers that I'm
dead
Tell them I was studying
in the
grave
Inform them I tried my
best
But tell them not to cry
For they are ones who
made me
die