Best Bury Poems
"I've rode the range now fer nigh on sixty years,
Brandin' dogies and ropin' them wily Hereford steers.
When I come to the end of the trail, I don't want no big scenes.
Boys, jes' wrap me in my hoss's blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"I don't want you fellers carryin' on and bellerin' when I'm gone.
Jes' say a few kind words, git back in the saddle and carry on!
Think of me now and then when you're chewin' yer bacon and beans.
'Jes promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Promise me you'll take good care of my faithful hoss, Old Dan,
And let him tag along on roundups on the range when you can.
I love cowboyin', but boys you know I ain't a man of means.
Jes' wrap this poor old soul in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
"Buck, you kin have my scruffy boots and old sweat-stained hat.
Rusty, you take my saddle - Red, you kin have my 44-caliber gat.
Them's my worldly goods 'cept fer these jeans that's worn to smithereens,
But promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in them jeans!"
"I'd like to be planted on that knoll yonder 'neath that ponderosa pine.
If you kin scare up a preacher to send me on my way, that'll do jes' fine.
I've been a cowpoke since I was fourteen - I reckon it's in my genes.
Boys, promise me you'll wrap me in a blanket and bury me in my jeans!"
Entry for Line Gauthier's "Cowboy Poem Contest"
https://soundcloud.com/kentucky-gal/2014-09-29-07-50-37098a
Oh bury me high upon a peaceful country mountain.
By the stream of crystal waters flowing like an endless fountain.
With it's emerald green hillside dotted with beautiful wild flowers.
And tall pine trees that scent the air in a warm summer shower.
Find an old oak tree with branches full for shade.
Where the little birds sing to me from nests they have made.
Oh bury me 'neath the sun so warm and bright.
Where the moon shines full on a starlit night.
Close to my beloved country cabin made of log.
To be watched and protected by my faithful hound dog.
Oh bury me 'neath Gods great cathedral of blue.
Where eternal sleep is peaceful and true.
I buried you before, I won't bury me again,
Confusion has forgotten me as your friend.
We buried your ashes six feet in the ground,
and searched for you all over this damn town.
I try hard to forget what it was like in the end,
I buried you before, I won't bury me again.
Why do I always try to remember your voice?
Why did you feel like you had no other choice?
Last night I thought I wouldn't survive,
blame and resentment will bury me alive.
I buried you before, I won't bury me again,
I struggle everyday trying not to offend.
I'm pulled under by the current, such strong waves,
I wake up every morning and try to be brave.
Believing such lies as I saw you try to pretend,
I've buried you before, I won't bury me again.
~Written By: Laura Loo~
~Date Written: February 2, 2016~
These feelings for you I just want to bury
right beneath the caress of those cherry
scented kisses which captivate and carry
my mind to the finest places
laced with heavenly graces
where people have no traces
of our moments, of you and I
from now, from today until we die
when you smile and when you cry
be there for the two
giving my all to you
painting the grey sky blue
Pleased with us must be the weather
Since the sun shines when we're together
My sweet love, the sun will shine forever
As my weary eyes give in
I become entranced.
A day completed now
and so I give it back a glance.
Every chance I'm given,
I break it all apart
I break it all apart
I'll break this all apart.
I can be your monster or your hero
it depends upon my heart.
If I was all that smart
I would break myself apart.
We've lived so gawky from the start
and handled stones in this glass cage,
these last days are fast paced
please hurry up and wait.
Don't believe a word I tell you;
I'm a liar, just kidding.
I love dichotomies and irony
and riddles in the city.
Hey, I once escaped a mind trap
and regretted it...
because a mind trap only benefits
if you simply stay embedded in it.
So instead of salvation,
I live in a glass prison, waiting
for the walls to crack like windows
and have what I'm hiding from
come and take me.
There is a book on the bedside table
Waiting for an apology
It tells the story of how the white man lied and duped
Native Americans at every turn of the trail
A people that are here and know the soul of the earth
They trusted men’s words as oaths of truth and loyalty
And what did we the white man do
We did what we always do
We took and took and took
Until there was no more to take
And then like the nomads we moved on to fertile grounds
Leaving behind disease and white ruin
With no chance of living the dead danced at night
Beside the fires we lit to warm ourselves and ward off the night
You could see the shadow of the dancers in the bourbon that was poured
And the celebration continued through the night until the shadows
Could no longer stand and fell to the ground defeated by the spirits of white men
People
who
buried
the dead
cannot
expect
to
be
buried
by
the
Dead.
I am Joseph the Carpenter, husband of Mary,
I am the Carpenter, we were the chosen of many,
Angel Gabriel visited the Virgin Mary, Mother
Of Jesus, I was accepted as His legal Father,
We became parents sadly, our Saviour to bury.
When my time passes
And there’s no breath left in me,
Take my ashes to the oceans
And set my spirit free.
There I can rejoin my friends
There I will not be alone.
There I can make my amends
There I won’t be unknown.
Far too much blood spilled onto this planet
Makes its way to the sea.
The raining of blood by droplet
Rejoining there finally.
Don’t leave me in the cold, cold ground.
No – No imprisoned tomb for me.
Let the waves be my stone bound
An anxious tide, my cemetery.
There I can float on endless waves
A moving monument to see.
And if you leave a tear on my grave
I can float it away with me…
Bury Me
Bury me by the Ocean
Bury me out at Sea
Bury me in a beauty spot
Where the sun always shines on me
Bury me deep in Bluebell Wood
Bury me in fields of Clover
Bury me in sacred ground
With a rainbow arching over
But please;
Don’t bury me upside down
Or bury me upon my head
Don’t bury me with my socks left on
and please make sure I’m dead
Written 27th July 2018
Entered for July contest sponsored by Broken Wings
Bury Me Standing
(Finally found the poems I wrote when was 14.)
Britt Bailey was Kentucky born,
Left that state with wrath and scorn
Then he took to politics it's told
With a gun was brash and bold.
Britt and his rival had feuded so
For their guns they both did go
Britt shot man died and ran away
Rode to Texas and there did stay.
John Austin gave to Britt some land
Thinking that Britt was a gentleman
Family came and they settled down
He built the biggest ranch around.
For Judge, Britt had decided to run
Austin's learned by him what was done
And away they tried to take his land
Britt formed a group to take a stand.
Britt bravely made vow and this did say,
"On day when I die I will never lay;"
John shot Britt who had grasped a tree
Slowly died standing there would he.
So buried standing he still must be
Green light in shadow you can see
And often ground rumbles for a spell
Britt's been target practicing in hell.
James Thomas Horn, Retired Veteran
I was 14 in the ninth grade when I
wrote this a year before my dad died.
“I am the master of my fate”
O Time, breathe softly
And caress my wounds
By your wings vagrant
And let the sun rays
Enfold me in their vault
While singing their song
Of eternal peace
As I bemoan the battle lost.
Bury me not so soon,
My companion for life,
A man rich in glory vain
Striving for triumphalism
Through battles galore,
Will, how could he,
To breathe his last
Until his veins have shed
That last straw of the rebel
Burning in his heart.
"I am the master of my fate" - William Ernest Henley
Translation of " Bury Me in a Free Land " by Frances E. W. Harper
(Homage to Frances Ellen Watkins HARPER, the First Black Lady of America, 1825 - 1911, Orphan, Poet, Novelist, Civil Rights Activist, Public Speaker, Suffragette, whose memorable lines of subdued indignation arise from controlled passions of the never-daunted Soul.)
Enterrez-moi dans un pays libre
Enterrez-moi où que soit vous voulez
Dans une plaine basse ou sur une colline élevée
Faites en sorte que le tombeau soit parmi les plus simples
Mais pas dans un pays où il y a d'esclaves
Je ne pourrais pas m'endormir si autour de ma tombe
J'entendais les pas d'un esclave tremblant
Son ombre couvrant ma tombe silencieuse
La fera un endroit où règnera une ambiance désastreuse
Je ne pourrais pas me calmer si j'entendais les pas
D'un coffle en train d'être conduit vers les corvées sans repas
Et la crie d'une mère désespéramment sans espoir
Montant comme une malédiction tremblant dans l'aire
Je ne pourrais pas m'endormir si j'apercevais le fouet
Buvant son sang dans chaque entaille qu'il faisait
Et je voyais ses bébés arrachés de sa poitrine
Comme des frémissantes colombes de leur nid d'origine
Je me réveillerai secouée tout d'un coup si j'entendais le hurlement
Des limiers en train de capturer leur proie humaine
Et si j'entendais ensuite leurs cris de supplice en vaine
Tandis qu'on rattachait de nouveau leurs pénibles chaines
Si je voyais des jeunes filles arrachées des bras de leurs mères
Et marchandaient et vendues pour leur jeunesse et beauté rare
Mes yeux seront illuminés d'une flamme de tristesse
Mes joues d'une pâleur de mort deviendront rouge sang de la détresse honteuse
Je dormirais, chers amis, où le pouvoir arrogant
Ne pouvait pas dérober aucun homme de son plus précieux droit existant
Mon séjour dans n'importe quelle tombe serai en paix
Là où personne peut dénommer ses frères des esclaves inégaux
Je n'ai aucune envie pour qu'on se souvient de moi par un monument, fier et imposant,
Pour attirer l'attention admirative des passants
Tout ce que mon âme réclame avec soif
Est qu'on ne m'enterre dans un pays d'esclaves
© T. Wignesan - Paris, November 22, 2018
The rain pours down my face while lights flash in the distance
Among the ones once living, I choose the path of most resistance
Blood, sweat, tears, and rain mix as I grasp the wooden sentencer
Condemning to eternity the demons while my hands endure the splinters.
The moon has left me, I’m alone on my mission
The clouds bear down with rain relentless
But I must press on to be set free
And bury the dead that dwells in me
Digging and digging but no hole deep enough
To be rid of these skeletons with time that got tough
And hardened with hate, vile, and discourse
To infect my being with no remorse
Pain shoots through my chest as my breath becomes ragged
The time is near but there is no casket
No viewing, no service, just a body and a grave
In this place called the land of the free and the home of the brave
No more shall my dreams and my life be altered
My visions are now clear and my step un-faltered
You have lived on way past your prime
And now I must say that you are out of time
I dig further until I reach satisfaction
And as I throw me in, my face no reaction
I stand on the side as my face looks back up at me
I say a silent prayer and mouth R.I.P.
My body looks up back at me expressionless and cold
I throw on more dirt like it was foretold
That I would be burying the dead and living anew
And starting a new path without you
My body remains still as I continue to bury it
Knowing that a part of me will no longer be cherished
More tears come as I realize what’s done
But continue to move for I must move on
As I pat down the last of the dirt
The skies clear up to wash away the hurt
The moon looks down and says, “Job well done”
I look back at the moon and ask, “Now may I come”
The moon just smiles and begins to fade
And the sun comes in to usher in a new day
I pick up my shovel and walk back down the road
Fatigue on my mind but new light in my soul.
~~["Dig My Own Grave" is a series of writings in reflection of mental preparation...
~~~Each scoop of dirt rids the mess where I'm to be finally laid to rest~~~]
Cleanliness is next to "Godliness"_ or so I have heard.
Sounds good to me_ no debate, or need for another word.
I'm pulling the skeletons out from under my bed...
shining light on old phobias way back in my head.
Crushing picked bones I've had to bear....
dust to dust_ sweep em out into the air.
Brought a good shovel cuz I'm diggin my own grave.
Getting my mind right to become well behaved.
So if you want it done right_ ya gotta do it yourself...
put sleeves up, pedal to the metal, and pride_ top shelf.
Don't know your thoughts about it or your true belief...
to know it was done by my hand is the highest relief.
Every day that we live, we become closer to death...
Each thought and action may be our last breath.
As long as we live we must stumble, toil and slave....
The best thing I'll be doing is digging my own grave.