Best Burying Poems
THE BURYING OF THE VIRGIN
The gloom of death gone bad so near that night,
as circumstance played out a mournful tune,
and echoed through my brain, as if it might,
give credence to the shadows of full moon;
and buried I my virgin, thin and bare,
she bathed in lilac, head down to her toes;
I laid her sixteen feet, to keep her there,
and marked her with a name that no one knows.
Then lest the devil wolves, who loved her dear,
should get a sence of lilac in the night,
and smell their way from there to over here,
to raise her from her tomb, as sure they might!
I could not bear to end her chastity,
and so she died a virgin willingly!
She was an early purchase, just a child,
of seven years from gypsies passing by,
and in her eyes, the look, both free and wild,
yet of her bondage never questioned why.
All ladies saw her beauty, as she grew,
and changed from childhood to maturity,
to be more woman than they ever knew,
and virgin that she was, was due to me,
but at her end, her body was afire,
and yearning for the love I would not give,
lest I should lay to waste, in my desire,
the greatest beauty of this life I live!
So sleeps my virgin, as she'll always be,
unless my passion gets the best of me!
© Ron Wilson Arbuthnot
aka Vee Bdosa the Doylestown Poet
Friends, neighbors, countrymen,
I come to bury Caesar not to praise him.
Of course he was no famous emperor,
although he was proud and tough enough
to think he was the king of our alley.
Poor Caesar, a life cut short
by some irresponsible driver
squashed him down in the middle of the street
and kept on going, a reckless fool.
So bury Caesar we must,
even though he has no coffin to speak of,
no flowers by request, that's to be expected,
but why he was not given any proper shroud?
No prayers are said, poor Caesar,
but tears flow quickly enough
for he was loved by all, children and old folks;
and now I cannot fathom
how I’ll miss his welcoming joy
when I come back from work,
or our lovely trips in our large public garden.
Who will wake me up early in the morning,
when I will never hear his awful barking
at each blessed dawn of day....poor dog!
Note: This is actually a repost of a poem I once deleted but never reposted.
"Bloody Valentines for Burying White"
Sometimes delightful
sometimes cyanide
that one
speaks her mind
burying white
6ft deep
in the slick
hot pink
coils of her mind
scales for weighing
the delightful slights
of rose burning
war-torn
bloody valentines
(LadyLabyrinth / 2022)
“Only Shallow” / My Bloody Valentine
https://youtu.be/wdXGll5sc6Y
LYRICS/ “Only Shallow”, My Bloody Valentine
https://genius.com/My-bloody-valentine-only-shallow-lyrics
Of all the things I do resent,
Time takes most precedence;
For He's a Thief- the giver of Grief,
And a Lover of the Present...
Today he plots to plague my thoughts,
And wrought His plans for Pain!
Ideals are fraught, my Mind hath caught-
His buried hatchet in my Brain
Written in the glacier, will soon be obliterated --
The ice-caps are melting.
We are the 'creepy crawler' huddling for space --we got it,
just to ruin our stay.
Written in the glacier -- a human tale
is just as vulnerable as you and me.
Green we desire; brown we make.
Breathing chemical and pouring sewerage --
Life thus, turns out to be a shadow -- not real;
Life is filled with synthetic fiber -- 'not real' --
Still we breath.
If ever...things change.
I ask my human conscience.
She says -- the fabrics of life can hold no more.
Dissolving ! Dissolving !
Orders Dissolving !
Nobody ever forgets where he buried the hatchet. ~ Kin Hubbard
Riley was a control freak
barking orders at his wife
who'd scurry like a timid mouse
knowing if she didn't conform
a barrage of blows would rain down on her body
Of course, he made certain
not to mar her pretty face -
he needed her to look good
when she collected
his beer from the local store
leaving home at the same time every day
she was always back within the hour
But...unbeknownst to Riley
his wife Lou had caught the eye
of Sid the store keeper
they would steal passionate kisses
on his coffee break
which coincided with her visits
Sid knew her life was unbearable
and secretly he hired a hit man
to do the deed when Lou was out shopping
Riley was felled with one blow….
Nobody ever forgets where the hitman buried the hatchet!
Quotable Poetry Contest
Sponsored by Regina McIntosh
10/18/20
Of desert sands
And arid lands
Of highest mountains
Proudly stands
Of open plains
Of fertile soil
Where no man has touched
His hand to spoil
Of forests vast
And verdant gloss
Of river snakes
And silver dross
Africa stands huge and humble
In poverty it seems to drunkenly stumble
Of violence powerfully fed
Its bloody rivers washes red
Washing away a future splendid
As riches are pillaged
Whilst ruffians spend it
Oh Africa, continent of my heart
How widows howl as crowds depart
Sinking boxes into the soil
At the end of a futile toil
We all saw him seize his mum’s shoulder
And smile but in his heart a boulder
I knew you didn’t catch the second;
I happen to have a mind fecund.
What my eyes snatched was a masquerade:
A face vandal might want for a raid
But this he’s not acting on purpose;
Just not here to hear what lips propose:
Mark is a heir planning Dad’s funeral
While, for now, no crate of mineral:
One thousand guests who cherish cold beer;
Why would normal eyes not announce fear?
Yes, not about ideas voicing
Nor over man’s cash gifts rejoicing,
Your hand, too, should ransack the pockets
And watch Mark’s eyes pop out of sockets!
Burying One’s Head in the Sand
By Elton Camp
An ostrich doesn’t really bury his head in the sand
But, to some humans, that idea sounds really grand
There is no need for me to lose weight
The problems of obesity won’t be my fate
For retirement I won’t bother to save
Before then I’ll be lying in my grave
I won’t do a regular program of exercise
For even the man who is toned & fit dies
There’s no need for me to go to school
Wasting that way is only done by a fool
I want no job with regular hours & wage
For I want to be free for fun at my age
There is no risk to random sex that I can see
Because I am not ever going to contract STD
My faithful mate I have decided that I’ll dump
The one who is loyal is nothing but a chump
But millions of people have learned, to their sorrow
What we do today will have consequences tomorrow
You don't know how this feels,
the pain compacting my chest,
the pressure bearing down,
laying my heart to rest.
Ashes and dust assail me,
filling my aching throat,
gasping and flailing, a drowning man
unable to keep afloat.
I feel I'm in a grave
whilst dirt is shovelled down,
covering up my face and eyes
consigned to the cold, cold ground.
I cannot breathe without you,
I don't know how to survive,
the thought you don't love me
is burying me alive...
Common Wisdom is not really either. For example ..
1. Let the past bury the past
Can not be done that way.
Use funeral parlors, or celebrate a dead person's with memorial
When Jesus said similar words, "it was to rebuke a procrastinator, "Let the dead bury the dead." The living dead make much of human traditions including ceremonial matters. Real life is in God, his living word. Not in idols!
2. What goes around, cones around.
How much time you have?
If it's a shooting star, comet, quasar, or even an Everest climb, you need intervals at the very least.
Burying The Hatchet
©Ben Burton 4/7/2018
When burying the hatchet, make it deep
Thus none who travels by might ever see
That designee of senseless, squandered time
Wherein the guilt lies not in any crime
Save arrogance or stubborness gone wild
Which should have been abandoned as a child
The path that leads us to maturity
Yields tolerance for those who disagree
For rancor clouds the hearts and souls of men
And festers, making enemies of friends
Much better to omit uncommon ground
Since harmony exists in huge amounts
Still, civil disagreements can be good
If hatchets are confined to chopping wood
Take away the memories burning within my heart.
Rid me of grief I've felt since we were torn apart.
Offer me a brew of magical potion so I can forget
This wretched anguish born from things that I regret.
Songs of sorrow stumble me; I can't listen any more
Sedate me with wine until I lie cradled on the floor.
Echoes of his voice have left my emotions oppressed.
There is no consolation, and my heart cannot find rest.
Please allow my dire heartache a semblance of peace.
I am drowning in misery and desperately seek release.
Often plagued by thoughts that easily overpower me.
How much longer will this strife last until I am free?
How do I bury yesterday's burdens in the ground?
Must I mourn forever, in black ash cloth gowned?
April 13, 2021
Rhyming Couplets Contest
Sponsor: Janice Canerdy
The rose withers where you lie
Despite the watering tears I cry
I placed it there upon the place
You lay in peace and eternal grace
Embracing the piece of smooth cool stone
I placed a kiss there for you alone
The love I feel I can not hide
I long to see you on the other side
©Donna Jones
The Ass scolds the Crab
that dug a large hole nearby,
worried that his reputation
would be ruined thereby.
For when folks see that dark
hollow there in the ground
with just the ass nearby
and no one else around,
they'll rib each other with
such a question so crass:
"What do you call that hole
belonging to that ass?"
Indeed, when folks have picked
their favorite point of view,
no blame-shifting or damage
control can save you.