Best Grave Robber Poems
I want you to feed me my only fear,
to make a ritual of the ruddy rain I hear
deluge my dreams with Love's broken mirror,
our inspiration fragmented into faithless drear,
to deliver the division of two hearts once near
on a cutting board of Venu's neurotic nightmare,
take me to where yearning is taunted by stoic stare
to the edges of erotic emotion wounded from passion threadbare,
lead me to fear's chasm split warm and wide on a Goddes's tongue of despair,
I need that soul spasm hyperextending the phantasm of my boyish beliefs unfair,
If I could fall in love with you again
a star hunter I'd be, feigning capture in your solar reign
equiped with erogenous eon, violating your violet virtue from within,
I would be your fuel of fury and flirtation, speedily skipping across a galaxy dim,
an unstoppable windfall of cosmic conquest bursting from our indefatigable union,
If I could see you one more time in truth
you'd be a Queen, lean like love keen, sexy as sabotage with no proof,
intuiting when to kiss, and when to kill, dressed to thrill in vermillion fox,
a King me be, knowing how to war, and how to water the woman that gives me shocks,
would throw roses and lava into a world desperate for heros gone mad on Creativity's roof,
I don't know how Love says goodbye,
I don't know how it sounds, how it moves
or know when the Death Dance begins or ends,
how deeply does Love get buried in the pits of private agony,
how will I remember the anniversary of our Dia de Muertos,
will you paint your face like a sugar skull and grin from misery made merry,
a grave robber I will be, rubbing fragrant memory on the lips of our love gone by,
feeding you the fear you've taught me -
J.A.B.
. 1~
She walked ~ faint footprints left behind
A maiden's journey~a silent remind
of long-ago days in deerskin dress
A shelter of skins won under duress
She walks with wind along the Plains
Feeds quail and birds the corn remains.
Her voice, an octave or two below
returns their music as she sows
She prays for peace and for the rain
She wants her lover back again
and corn that reaches up so high
it paints the blue across the sky.
She wants those days before men came
took their children, killed their game
She wants the breezes in her hair
and mourns those days of little care.
~2~
An archaeologist~grave robber, some say
Yet before each dig, she takes time to pray
For this is where people lived and died
Birthed their young, laughed and cried
She finds the footprints under deep sand
Preserved for years by Nature's hand
And, next to them, some bits of corn
A wonderous find, and yet she's torn.
Put on display for tourists to stare
hallowed ground ruined, many despair.
A tug at her heart, the call of a bird~
She decides to leave site undisturbed.
As she moves on, she throws some corn
For quail and birds to feast upon
Perhaps nuggets will one day rise ~
As stalks so high they paint the skies.
First person shooter,
on a hate tour of duty,
swinging a bullet sling blade
Buying a death row ticket,
worth fifteen minutes of fame
First person murder shooter;
womb-to-the-cradle-to-the-grave robber,
using your Automatic Revolver
to solve your anti-social mental problems
Sharpen that sling blade
on a coroner grindstone wheel
Gather the scythe-shredded corpses
from the harvest killing field
Take the bullet-riddled body bags,
with warm blood dripping still ...
and kevlar
coffin
bury them on Tommy Gun hill
Guns and Roses —
Automatic Revolver 15 bullet salute
Let the gun pallbearers put ‘em in the ground,
and the saltpeter pew mourners
put the rose flowers on the graves
AR-15 bullet salute ...
Guns and Roses —
giving society another senseless violence eulogy
Guns and Roses —
weapons of war killing innocent children of peace
Guns and Roses —
ricochet death purchased with capitalist ease
No background check to vet tranquilize
the uncaged rage,
wearing a Second Amendment disguise
Empty thoughts and prayers,
full of politician hypocrisy
Thirty pieces of silver tongue lip-cluckers
offering a gun lobby: no gun control policy
A paid, no-money-back Judas apology
Snake oil teary talk rubbed on dry soul skin,
allergen empathy-free
Guns and Roses —
sacred shell religious philosophy
Guns and roses —
kinetic death violence theology
Gun manufacture worshipers
love deifying the work of their hands
They love to praise their golden trigger head
silver handle arms
brass chamber belly
lead barrel legs
paper green toes idol
Saying: Let your scimitar banana-shaped heart
always remain sharp
And may your lead scythe sling blade soul
never be dulled
Guns and roses —
waxy ears don’t hearst hear it ...
bulletproof hearts so iceberg smoking cold
Guns and roses —
plastic carnation petal spirits ...
metal detector salvation black market sold
I want a different job, something like working at the zoo,
I'm ready for a change and it certainly is something Gnu.
A Baywatch lifeguard on the beach, I have not done that before,
but my swimming skills are rusty, so now I am quite unshore.
Maybe an Egyptologist, in my pith helmet parading,
but not a grave robber as I think that would be dig raiding.
A Matador in sunny Spain, the arena crowded full,
but livestock I don't fancy, no, I am not adore a bull.
Perhaps a Lighthouse keeper, flashing warnings across the sea,
my own boss and all by myself, yes, I think that could beamy.
I could try breeding horses for the track, that would be good,
but maybe such a career change would not be under stud.
I'll stick to making circuit boards, desire for change has gone,
so I'll stay with what I'm good at here, and calmly solder on.
They only come out late at night
Vampires with shovels,
sucking dry the remains of skeletons
It's a morbid occupation
that demands amoral nerves of steel
And a taste for the ghoulish,
an appetite for dining on casket top meals
Windy whispers in the dark
doesn't faze them at all
Critters scurrying about
is just a regular office call
It's what's to be found that makes it all worthwhile
Buried deep beneath the ground
in miry pits, adjacent to
massive headstones,
are the spoils gathered when the dead was living
In the grimy hands of grave robbers
it now belongs
Unpaid wages over time did 400 kilotons accrue,
as lit fuse broken promises counter-clockwise grew
Lively resentment crouches mule heavy
on bent backs of the burdened weary
Next generation anger arise in poverty acres anew
Black burned the sun, moonlight shaded widow blue
Sleep is a dirt orphan trod on by the burying shoe
Deserved rest gets only paper hope nary —
Unpaid dead weight
Scales of injustice weigh stolen sweat revenue,
reparation debt is a promissory note long overdue
The yellow brick toil comes late shift early,
forced labor of bloodshot eyes be so work teary
Restitution patience is grave robber bad news —
Unpaid dead weight
A shriek came beyond horizons.
The scream grown weary.
With the sun overhead,idle in me.
Grave robber behave.
For the cries of rust is your slave.
Kingdoms come for the rocks below.
Bellow from the metal skin.
A body shines so thin.
Stone scratches surface.
Like the wind scratches all.
Kingdoms came with arms lame.
Remove the limestone of earthly skin.
Expose the scraping deep within.
Cries that shred the summer nights.
Unearth the hole it made in the day sky.
Bring about the clash of rust.
Bring about the shrieks of skin.
Vocals not by sword.
Nor axe,knife or machine.
Though of a rusted mole clashing with a stone heart.
Ripping the dirt apart.
Like animals tear through the silk of sand.
But this time it is of human hand.
A shriek bellows.
Of shovels,the rusted moles.
Break the land.
Date:3/6/2019
Before I die
I want a mouth filled with gold teeth.
So, when they excavate me after a thousand years.
They'll think I was royalty-maybe even a king-
To fool an archeologist (grave robber) I think is a noble thing.
Good kings should be buried like the common man.
No monuments or pomp-- Purple garments or crowns.
Just a simple pine box in the cold-cold ground-
Somber Force
Regenerated compassion of brilliant plights
So dark in color or tone, gloomy.
So dull
blacken is the light, blinding is the darkness
So dark in color or tone, gloomy.
So drab, dingy, shady, ever I'm restrained subdued sober severe austere
Blacken is the light, blinding is the darkness
Earnest serious grave robber sober unsmiling poker-faced coffin bearer
So drab, dingy, shady, ever I'm restrained subdued sober severe Austere
So dull
Earnest serious grave robber sober unsmiling poker-faced coffin bearer
Regenerated compassion of brilliant plights such an enlightenment such a… Somber Force
11/13/19
Written words by James Edward Lee Sr. 2019©