Best Cremated Poems
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
I couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
A song about old promises
Made so long ago
Created and cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke
Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Memory of a mother
Shared my dreams and really cared
Long separated by the miles
Distanced from her golden smiles
Mama…
I know I wasn’t there……
For you
Would have placed
A magic carpet
‘neath your weak and shaky legs
Would have raised
A strong west wind
Let you breathe with ease again
Would have bribed
God’s venal angels
Come and soothe your endless pain
Would have vanquished
All the demons
And bring peace to you again
Be the child
I never knew
In a land
We won’t grow old
Be the light
I always loved
Warmed my dark
And lonely soul
Be the girl
Playing games
In a world
The sun won’t set
Be the laughter
Calms my heart
I never will forget
I won’t forget, won’t forget
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me cry
Couldn’t bring myself to write it
‘Til this darkened day arrived
Song about old promises
Made so long ago
Created….cremated
Ashes of the words I spoke
I broke my promises, oh mama
Now you’ve gone away
I’m broken
Drowning in the pain each day
I’m drowning…drowning...drowning…drowning
This song is for my mother
Let her hear me…….
Do not fall in love with people like me. I will take you to museums, and parks, and monuments, and kiss you in every beautiful place, so that you can never go back to them without tasting me like blood in your mouth. I will destroy you in the most beautiful way possible. And when I leave, you will finally understand, why storms are named after people. Caitlyn Siehl
In this episode of suppression,
I refuse to speak, as you know
words could flow in sorrows.
But a melancholic mind
is the nemesis of a poet.
Forcing fingers to bleed
raindrop tears into ink,
where metaphors are an adversary
and you don't need to confess
that there are no more verses
that can be called sacred
when crimson waterfalls flow in veins,
so, I curse my merciless muse,
which ignores the heart's plea
..... yet, I wonder if there can be love without poetry.
Once, when my garden nourished snowdrops,
upon the arrival of robins in spring,
I was your golden orb,
but you no longer bask in my glory
and impatient crows follow my footsteps.
Now that you've bloomed,
it feels as though my purpose
has been abruptly stolen.
I curse those premeditated prophecies,
spoken from an omniscient tongue,
so I wander like Cupid without arrows,
mute like a flutist without a flute.
Hoping to sleep forever in an asylum
of wildflowers you have left behind.
Upon the return of silence,
I'm no longer the thorns upon your rose stalk.
Once strong branches reveal empty nests,
as my roots become exposed over cold earth.
covered with autumn leaves -
I feel their anguish as the breeze
scatters them under oblivious feet.
You were forbidden,
but I was not the only sinner.
Never powerful enough to
become the ringmaster in your circus -
I hope you never tame.
I'm trapped within an aura,
resembling cremated affirmations -
yet, I know my spirit will ignite again.
I remember when you
only saw the moon,
so I paraded for you
a galaxy of stars.
But just like planktons
on a beach - nothing shines endlessly.
Spiritual injection,
soul to the bone marrow gene therapy
Regeneration revived me,
when grace was bestowed abundantly
Dipped my soul in the water,
emerged with a spark of godly desire
I wanted to be holy ...
be elevated higher
I felt the fire
as it began to burn within
The flames of purification
burned away all my sins
And the fire kept burning within
Melted away my stony heart,
reshaped it into a new spiritual organ
More generous,
more compassionate
More empathy,
more circumspect
What now burns within,
grows more intense everyday
My old desires all burning away
Embers of the past cremated into ash;
buried under the tree,
next to the leaves of all my ill-gotten cash
Resurrected bones born in the fire ---
I walk by faith on the water of troubles,
every blessing from above now doubled
What burns within ...
is a gift from the Everlasting Almighty
What burns within ...
birthed a new spirit that guides me rightly
What burns within ...
cleared away all my doubt and pain
What burns within ...
fallowed my soul to be born again
But wherever you are, I no longer want to be:
for you are thunderstruck moonlight,
and I am a scarred sunset ~ a secret in saffron,
melting into the myth that floats forever,
within silenced dunes of scorpion stones,
where the cryptic coldness of sand feels like~
Cupid’s daggers piercing through
my aching skin and bones.
Frost-kissed vines wrap around
my wintry heart,
screaming for a sacred release
from the tethered torment
of satanic sapphires,
breathing within the haunted caves
of unending nightmares ~
and the twilight that wanes
behind flatlined promises.
Tonight, I feel like arrows of angst,
ricocheting within these woeful walls
of my melancholic mausoleum,
mirroring the heat of a burning breeze ~
like an epitaph lost in the sweltering air.
The clover of golden green glimmers,
like fireflies around my wrists,
luring distant ravens,
croaking above paralyzed dreams,
to untangle the crooked lines of lies,
crawling within clouds of comfort,
oblivious to Lilith’s serpent slithering
around my fragile feet in slow cadence,
pushing me to the darker dusks
drawn above the prying
valley of putrid prunes,
where these wistful musings
will remain as mere voiceless ashes,
cremated in vain,
with flames of forgotten folktales
echoing as faded music within a glass urn.
So, if tomorrow I’m gone, remember me ~
I still breathe silver snippets of hope,
a frozen quiescence,
etched in seven arcs of stardust,
longing to be anywhere but here.
Perhaps as the last verse of your poem,
or could I be the lone rose,
forever thriving in the galactic gardens of love,
where hate and greed, tangled in
jinxed jewels,
dissolve into nothingness ~
like rusted ribbons of the crestfallen lunar.
I hope lilacs and lavenders will bloom
in hypnotic hues, to calm raging rivers flowing
within the arctic arteries of a dark poet,
longing for a home
away from hellish hands,
so I can serenade songs of survival
and rhapsodies of resilience,
while watching every tear I’ve shed
crystallize into pearls and diamonds,
like born-again stars in violet skies.
He prepared the pie
With greatest care
Within the pot
My brains and hair
For hers had been
A lofty perch
Just a peg or two
Would never do
Cremated remains
Formed the shell
Into the plate
My crushed bones fell
I could still see
But could not yell
The pie's aroma
A story to tell
My innards baked
Hour by hour
The smell of blood
And blackened flour
Words poured in
Enhanced the flavour
The humble pie
For her to savour
Fork to mouth
My body consumed
From the plate
My heart exhumed
The baker says
She's eating crow
The taste is bitter
She eats the pie slow
The true recipe
He does not show
Humble pies plentiful
Stacked row on row
The victims many
Some you may know
If he invites you
I beg you not to go!
For Sheri's Plentitude of Pie Contest,
I went with a halloween twist.
Inspired by one of my favorite bands, Rise Against, and the song is called,
“Ever-changing” (Acoustic). Please listen to this song if you don’t know of it. It’s raw &
powerful.
“Have you ever been a part of something? That you thought would never end. But then, of
course, it did.” –Rise Against
“I fell in ‘Like’ with you”
With her smile
I melted unto oblivion’s redemption
Candy coated perceptions, windows’ gap
Seeping brilliance refreshment
Uncertainty resolution, polished
Absorbed into closeness sun
Yet these eyes still…see
Butterflies taking notice, missing you…as you stood in front of me
Strong, yet soft legs
Foundation of my face to rest upon
Scars…fading
A cremated sin
Yet, elongated moments of silence
Created abruption’s new face
The face of change
When she turned to me and said
“I’m not sure, anymore”
Emotional lullaby, rocking me to sleep
New battles with spectral flashback
Trying to get under my skin, a drunken tick facing demise
Phoenix’s sunrise, rejuvenating my recycled defenses
Yet, today, these rays just aren’t bright enough to burn sadness away
And with these sounds of storm clouds & Fall on horizon’s breath
These grounds are so familiar, yet bittersweet
This heart doesn’t want to be enlightened by karma today
It wants to be held for how it shines now
Denied…distance wins again today
Slavery whipped punishments in miles and blocks
This must end
Because I try to keep lines open to get a call from you
Yet all I hear are booty calls with busy signals
And yet something has kept me here too long
But can they leave me, if I’m already gone?
Something has kept me here too long
Karma’s laughter
But, through it all, I will shine
…
How I wish my mere presence can bring joy’s tear to her eye
Sadly though, now, the lines are drawn
Yet I wonder if this feeling is gone
Have the best parts of this…come and gone?
…
Maybe I’ll never know the truth
Perhaps she was misguided by jealousy’s deprivation
Deteriorating heart’s splendor
While I fell in “like” with her
Perhaps “Better Man 2.0” appeared from Cloud 9’s fallacy
While I fell in “like” with her
Perhaps
She held onto the past
As I, drawn to waterfall’s edge
Allowed myself
To let go…and F
A
L
L
© Drake J. Eszes
“We adore those who hurt us. Yet, we hurt those who adore us.” -Anonymous
George Bernard Shaw,
A critic with a vein of comedy and language, quite raw;
He wrote in a movable shack, he liked photography now and then,
Ladies man, died at 94, cremated and planted in his garden.
________________________________
May 27, 2015
Poetry/Clerihew/George Bernard Shaw
Copyright Protected, ID 05-677-690-27
All Rights Reserved, 2015, Constance La France
Written for the Standard contest, Cleri-who?,
sponsor, Kim Merryman, Judged 2015
8th Place
I have a little something that I want you to see.
It’s a sample of great-grandpa’s secret recipe.
Blend of ingredients in the right combination;
hidden formula passed down to my generation.
Great-grandpa was a man having great longevity.
He lived to the ripe old age of one hundred and three.
This stuff was a contributor without any doubt.
When he was cremated, the fire wouldn’t go out!
Grandpa took over after great-grandpa passed away.
That’s why the legacy continues up to today.
The neighbors didn’t show the slightest inhibition.
Because grandpa made big bucks during Prohibition!
Another generation passed, and my pa would say:
“My son, it’s time to make some more of that stuff today.
But please boy, bring out the still without making a sound.
Somebody told me there’s some G-boys coming around!”
So my friend, I want to make a toast to you right here.
May you be filled with happiness without pain or fear.
So down the hatch with this stuff that I want you to try.
L’chaim, happy landing, here’s some mud in your eye!
Hymns of salvation
That my own body
is my greatest enemy
was unknown to me.
Deluded,
O Lord, I was reveling in its pleasures.
The ones that
do not listen to Your tales,
never speak the truth and won’t feed the starving,
worry not about what is right and what’s not,
would not obey the Guru,
do not remember Your name;
O God, why should anyone care if such folks
are alive or dead.
O God, fed up we all are
kinsfolk with weeping ,
relatives with cremating ,
moms with giving birth ,
I with getting born.
20/Nov/12
Form: “Suzette Prime” with the syllable count, per line, of 2, 3, 5, 7, 11, 13 etc , all Prime numbers.
For: Su Crous’ Prime numbers and Philosophy contest.
By: S.Jagathsimhan Nair.
* The philosophy of the poem is borrowed from the hymns ( in Tamil) sung by one of our( Indian) saints named” PATTINATHAR”, revered for his words of wisdom and deeds of miracles. The reference in the 3rd stanza is to the innumerable incarnations each soul has to go through, age after age, till it gets freed from the cycle of births and deaths on attainment of salvation. Here he is praying to God for his own salvation : ” In this never ending cycle of births and deaths ; times without number, have my close relations wept for me whenever I died, my near ones cremated me as many times; times without number, mothers gave birth to me and times without number I was born into this world. We are all totally fed up, going through this process repeating itself again and again. O God, deliver me once and for all from this terrible fate”.
Stanzas 1 and 2 are self-explanatory.
For SKAT's contest on 15 Jun 13
I lay in my hospital bed after giving birth, Could hear the murdering, raping
Hutus approaching my bed
My baby was no more. They ravaged me. Left me alive...........
Could hear the battle getting nearer
All I was worried about was my mother, Home alone...
My husband was away was he fighting, Was he alive......
Clutching my dead baby staggered towards home, The smell of blood filled the
air. Then I saw them, The valiant Tutu's, Fighting for us. here and now
The sound of machetes clashing together. Limbs flying through the air. Like
boomerangs.
The screaming ....The misery.......
When I staggered home. Found Mother in the water butt. Hiding from the
savages. She was alive and ok.. So traumatised
Many twisted bodies on the ground. Dragged them into a pile, trying to
remember who they were. To keep a record , for posterity. Poured paraffin over
them and cremated them. Praying for their souls
We buried the baby in the hard red earth. Couldn't cry, had no tears we were.in
shock......
Date was April 7th...
So tired, we slept. Hidden from view...
I am alive, my heart beating. Yet I feel dead. Dead inside....Why I ask myself.
Why is it happening....God only, knows.
Why?......
Penned 22/08/2014 for the Genocide Speak for the Lost contest.
I used 100 days slaughter of Rwanda.
You can see the skeletons of some of the twenty percent of the tutus that were
killed,
Can see the open mouth of the cry of pain. They have been kept. A reminder to
the future generation
April 7th is called Genocide Memorial Day, the week following is a national
mourning week.
It is for sure, not springtime here
Shorter days now how bare His trees.
And looking back draws eyes to tear
For waste and loss of all my greed.
To sail the seas and not return
My ship sinks in the straight of dire.
Its keel has split, its hull to burn,
A spark to start my driftwood fire.
My greed will feed this driftwood fire.
Heap high this waif to be no loss.
No wisdom from my follies liar
Burn high! Oh! Burn you holocaust.
My ship of dreams I build no more
Fragments be hacked my vain desire
To toss like trash and be ignored
Upon my filthy, driftwood fire.
Self-indulgence fed driftwood fire
Now as to turn from what it seems
Left to me a works of priers
Never to sail my ship of dreams.
I pondered from my window long
Fanning my passion ever higher.
I cursed His name to sing my song,
A blast to stoke this driftwood fire.
Arrogance torched this driftwood fire.
Let my sins perish with my ships.
To right my wrongs I now aspire.
So let them burn without my kiss.
Resurrecting souls dreams have killed
To pull myself from deep quagmire.
And warm my heart which time has chilled.
Remorse now fuels my driftwood fire.
Self-pride will feed my driftwood fire.
These cords of which I gladly burn
Dreams or follies of mud are mire
No loss to me and no concern.
I've heard the sirens song too long
Uncharted seas with sails which tire.
With all my dreams and fancies gone
Let crackling rings my driftwood fire.
Steam hisses from this driftwood fire.
Stream's me toward sweet isles of peace
Bright flash and gleam of my attire
Shall fall in lour of my decease.
For fortuned Isles my eyes have cryed.
My dreams I leave to whom I sire
I'm cremated before I die
Consumed within this driftwood fire.
Upon my filthy, driftwood fire
When in my grave I take my task
Point for my Lord my vain desires
As chilled ember and cooling ash.
It's true that I could be more lovin'
as I shove you head first in the oven,
but I can't help but feel so elated
that with you your breath is cremated.
7/16/2018
Here lies the arsonist, Ash James -
Although, he would have chosen flames.
It amazed us, once, to see the grave of a notorious pyromaniac in a local grave
yard - I know that she would have certainly preferred cremation!
Within these walls
The walls were too high
Unable to break through
I struggled and fought
With determination
Oh God how I tried
I climbed so high
You remained locked inside your walls
Your past still haunting
Scars still healing
The pain you know
Re-occurrence you fear
The walls were too wide
Bridges too weak
Crumpling under the weight
Suffocating
Choking us with the debris
I walked the universe in your shoes
Understood your pain
My heart desperate to comfort yours
Relinquish your ghosts and your sorrow
Bestow you with my soul
Prove myself
Free you from your castle walls
The walls were too heavy
Crushing my dreams into rocks
They destroyed us
Trampled our emotions
Broken bridges
No way across
We got so far
Just one last hurdle
Too much and too soon
We are rubble
Just dust
Cremated but still living
Lost and alone
I tried so hard
But failed in the end
I struggled and fought
But I lost
You remain locked
Deep inside your walls
A human tragedy
Trapped by his own fears
You are now past
A memory in my heart
One I will never forget
My love will not waiver
Patient until the end
I will always be there
If and when
You are ready to let me in
...inspired by 'Cul-De-Sac' by Allen Tate
The golden sheen had turned to rust,
the laughter to a pile of rags,
the joy to ghostly lamentations,
how the weighted second drags.
Blind and deaf to consecration,
weak the beatings of the heart,
barren now what once was fertile,
love's become a dying art.
The chasm of their lives together
broadens with each passing day,
echoes barely audible
now rattle in a death-mask play.
He spends his time in retrospection,
trying to ignite the flame,
all the tinder is but ashes,
all their tenderness a game.
Passing in the hallway, they will
glance away in silent grief,
post-it notes and conversations
miss their mark, the practised thief.
He concerns himself with models,
crafting planes no one will see,
for an unborn son or daughter,
generations not to be.
Would a child have made a difference?
(would that he were strong and able),
tiny sneakers, matching socks,
another place to set at table.
Living with an empty feeling,
she tries not to blame or doubt,
busies with the darning, dusting,
looking for a quick way out.
Finances keep them together,
stocks and bonds, annuities,
the only glue that holds the airplane,
slim and thin prosperities.
Fifty years, and inching slowly,
they will not be One with God,
separate, they make arrangements,
he cremated, she to sod.
There was happiness and laughter,
lo, those many years ago,
back before they wanted children,
the physician told them no.
They are dead and gone, I'll warrant,
separate, and in repose,
Heaven opened, they crossed inward,
What they said? God only knows.