Best Lazarus Poems
Boots
in the closet;
I wait for them to walk
so I can follow.
Wallet
in my drawer;
he needs his license, money,
not a lot,
t-shirt,
pair of pants,
running shoes,
his watch,
binoculars,
field guide,
floppy hat.
I won’t forget.
I’m ready, boots;
lead me;
it’s not too late;
it’s not.
©Kathryn Collins
June 14, 2007
I, Lazarus*, have seen the brickwork sky,
Its throne is made of night!
Its salt and lime are drying to the eye,
My wandering…
a sound! a rumble, and a flash of light!
HHHHHHH! How sweet first breath!
That tasting life had tasted only death!
And what is THIS, that thuds against my tomb?
Awaken, Heart! And greet thy new-found groom!
Who is HE, that speaks with sudden waking,
As though forgotten dawn was newly breaking?
I cannot know, though memory tells me so,
I am a Man, and not a man of dough!
O bright the door that leads me back to life!
But, bidden! I must change my sleep for strife!
Thank you, heart-friend!
I thought that you’d forgot!
Who made me breathe, ‘I AM!’ when I was not.
Forgive! I cannot hear, my head’s like snow,
AH! That’s it, ‘loose the man, and let him go!'
1/31/2017
__________
*Lazarus was a friend of Jesus Christ, who raised him from the dead
Of The Famed Labors Of Hercules
ninth poet, poet dedication series, Emma Lazarus
Through Time's mesmerizing and meandering paths,
Colossus of heroic worship rightly praised,
He that vented his strength and fought with half-god wrath;
Mighty Son of Zeus, his feats that this world amazed,
Carved in stone, sculptor Vincenzo de’ Rossi hand
Paid for by Cosimo I de’ Medici's gold,
A Titan born into brave heart of Grecian lands,
His tales endure and will forever be told.
Image of his labors, Bargello Palace once held
When bravest of heroes were admired and lauded,
Strong and powerful were dark monsters his hands felled;
As true Greek warriors sang of and applauded.
Mythical hero representing Greek freedom
A giant, famous pride of ancient Greek kingdom.
Robert J. Lindley, 2-17-2019
Sonnet, inspired by and honoring,
poem titled, The New Colossus, by Emma Lazarus
One day I fell ill and apparently died.
My sisters were grieved, one found Jesus and cried,
"If only lord you'd been here this day
Our brother, your friend would have not passed away!"
In empathy and love Jesus tears weren't spared
And all could discern just how deeply he cared.
After a prayer to his father all heard Jesus shout
With a voice of authority, "Lazarus, come out!"
I awakened quite startled for I came to find
I was bandaged up like a corpse, I hadn't gone blind!
A funny, yet obscure memory to have...
But it gives Mary, Martha and myself a good laugh!
4 days wondered
and wondered,
wondered why
for days wandering,
left far behind
in that desolate place
the staff shepherding
the long Lazarus queue
black sheep
woolen hearts
woven together
like tight poems huddled
all together, knitting
all the lost together
the rod cued
hits the ground
like a lightening strike
lightworlds away
lightworlds arrive
risen again
running with words in vein
vanity words
the Lazarus Q'd
now running in veins
it’s like you never had wings
now you feel so alive
unfurling
like Lazarus
risen
again
Candide Diderot. ‘24
deftones,
change.
He has nothing left to give.
He was fifty years old and brunt out.
The last ember of a once beautiful firework.
Soft music couldn't do it.
Pills couldn't do it.
His son couldn't do it.
His wife couldn't do it.
Sex couldn't do it.
A beautiful sunset couldn't do it.
A quiet room rarely did it.
Inspiration rarely did it too.
Laughter?
That made him smile.
Even though he had lost the knack to be funny.
The misery he felt each day overwhelmed his senses
With hopelessness.
The crowd still roared.
The sea of hands still showed.
But he was lonely.
A figure more pitiful than his reflection could ever reveal.
There was nowhere for him to go.
He had run out of options.
Life had won and death was the prize.
How he longed for it to be all over.
For reality to turn him into a dream.
the rain falls warm, the air is warm
pinched
in the middle days of
winter
the air is faceless in singularity
before the sun is even
spent
the ghosts have eaten all there was
to eat
and the woman says
we shall never go this way
again
the mourners, them veiled in frayed black lace
the old womens' votive weeping
singing spells
at the old and wretched gate
fine carriages have carried them off
the glass in the window crafted eloquent
in the chthonic fall of their
tears
stained, maybe
by the gripping slip of fingers
at the river's weaving
edge
long fingers strong from birth
we shall never go this way again
what is the color
why the grasses grow so wild. ravenous
over what? what is left
whatever the farthest from the blindness of the indesinent night
thought of with such
tremble, temple, and
pine
No doubt
you have heard of me,
but it's doubtful you'd
want to be me.
Just think.
What if you were me?
Just consider that
You were dead.
Just imagine
Coming back to life.
How would you feel if it was
said of you, "By now, he stinks"?
How would you feel if you were just
preparing to meet Methuselah, Abraham,
and Moses, and just like that, you were
told, "It's time to go back"?
Anyway, I think that most people have
heard of me whether they believe it or not.
At first, like everyone else, I wanted
to be well and live a long life. But I was
sick and dying, thinking that Jesus would arrive
in time to heal me and I'd experience longevity.
My two sisters did their best to get Jesus to me.
But no sooner had I died than I was more than
okay about it. I was relaxed and content, never
longing to go back. "A better place" doesn't
begin to describe the place I had arrived.
However, before I could make myself at home
in my new home, I was back in my old home.
If anyone had asked me about going back, I would have
told them, "Thank you, but I'm good right here, right now".
When you add it all up, my return or my resurrection had so
much less to do about me than it had to do with everyone who
was alive to witness what happened to me. Also, people like
yourself who have been reading about me for 2000 years have
been graciously given the opportunity by God to believe and hope.
Can you even fathom and imagine that Jesus raised me from
the dead, and God raised him from the dead? Awesome. Amazing.
The religious groups spent their time auguring over the reality
of the resurrection.
Jesus Christ demonstrated to us that there was no need to argue
about the resurrection when we can actually experience it. My name
is Lazarus, and because of the resurrection, perhaps you and I will
meet someday and become more acquainted.
031223PSCtest. Contest Name Easter. Regina McIntosh. 2P
too beautiful for me? okay
I arrange my fluids
in curve ecstasy
a vibrant meditation
and it is all
I will be philosopher of love
an esthete of the bodies
without desire
without passion
a pure soul
Lazarus oh Lazarus tell me where did you go
please excuse the pun but im dying to really know
is there life after death or is it really R.I.P!
is there cognitive awareness in that place we can not see?
is it just a construct of our consciousness an imaginary plain
is it abstract manifestations or is everything done in vain?
Lazarus oh Lazarus share with us your mind
because I thee unbielever is running out of time
is there a secret passage on the other side of death?
is there a reaper with a scythe sharpening it's crest
is there a heaven with pearly gates and an angel or st. peter?
is there a book of life for the winners and if there is are there cheaters?
is there hell for the demons and chambers of red hot fire?
is there a place for punishment were sinners are retired?
is it life forever after, after life ends forever?
or is it death forever after, after lifes last endeavor?
Lazarus oh Lazarus
New World Colossus Deception—2015
(Apropos The Sonnet of Emma Lazarus)
In her brazened left hand she holds the tablet year
of her shore’s liberty;
And a raised right lights the weary way to the land
of the brave and free;
But today, blind eyes look out to the wretched skies
and tormenting seas
Where frothing waves and white clouds tease hopes
of fleeing refugees.
No longer are there waiting arms and love
for a roaming, exiled family—
Greeted no longer with silent lips, but with vociferous voices
screaming no
To “…huddled masses…homeless, tempest-tossed…” children
that are to be;
Though they dare, must be aware upon these shore
is nowhere for them to go.
Their religiosity—washed with blood of the innocent—
has no place in this land;
For them and theirs—is no way a true Puritan would ever lend
a helping hand
To welcome their tried tired yearning pregnant hopes
of a new life begun.
No! Hell no! There of those here still waiting for true
and full freedom to be won!
This is the land of the Pilgrim’s pride; land where other
fleeing fathers and mothers died.
This land has only fought wars of peace; there is no place here
for you to peacefully abide.
in intriguing little crime scene
we have here eh Inspector Marsupial
a freeway overpass whore's
cardboard box and mattress
and a paperclip necklace
juxtaposed on a dissecting table
at some point a losing strategy
has to be examined
even if the last conclusion is
that we are here to be punished
for being here
Marsupial searched his pachinko readout
acting on the assumption
that in at least one setting
he could juggle us a grand total
even if the light was sub visible
which you don't see every day
bottom line you're here growing scared
blame enough to go around
manipulators of fear with a plan
wreckers of civilizations
is there anything in us that is inviolate
he was a master of pedestrian insights
with a repertoire of a priorI assumptions
packaged for the pop psych tabloids
his mouth flapping like a puppet on a string
the official Government spokesman
for the natural state of man
comrades these are troubled times
but not like before
during the really troubled times
so relax it’s an alchemist's contraption
made from bed springs and spooge
proletarian gyro-chemistry in action
every atom wanting to go its own way
cause beyond knowledge or even sense
the problem with categories is that
some blank out and obliterate the others
the banana daiquiri
had apparently reached his thalamus
clean your spoon son
that's government chow
and so began the long loud logomania
you have before you now
my rabbI assures me this is therapeutic
inductive in deductive out
forehead wrinkles along for the ride
knowing what is out of place
dawn and the bust of Aristotle
juxtaposed upon a toilet seat
shoot me I said juxtaposed again
it's not the circus of consensus it used to be
last I checked slapstick is still dead
I'm pretty sure everything
can be described by numbers
there are enough of them for the job
wheel chairs killed the fashion show
From "Engine of Didactic Beauty" available on Amazon
Artist Portfolio: http://walteralter.byethost32.com/
Lazarus was dead for only a few days
Nothing could wake him it says
not even the tears and the weeping
even the loud groaning and moaning
with his final breath he blew out his candle
He was sealed in a tomb
like a prisoner in chains
sentenced to solitary confinement
All seemed lost like a sinking ship
Yet a man of miracles the Son of Man
travelled from heaven to earth
to save and heal pain and suffering
Without a touch with just three words
The Son of Man released Lazarus
Angels rejoiced
Mountains raised their voices
Nature rose from the dead of sleep
What was easy for Him was a miracle to us
And in the excitement what is never said
Never seen was His grin even a chuckle
Lazarus was untied we were untied
Everything changed forever
She was a fiery seashell,
lost 'neath convoluted oceans
amongst opuses of pure poetry,
artistically outspoken
'tween invertebrate reality
secretly devouring mankind,
beware Herr Lucifer,
she rose from the gaseous chamber
to live amidst ashes of immortality
& renowned marital infamy,
eternally burning spirit of Lady Lazarus
In honor of Sylvia
Out of the ash
I rise with my red hair
And I eat men like air.
- Sylvia Plath
The New Colossus-2
Not like that loser green chick with the lamp,
Our New Colossus has his own gold door,
Behind it he tweets out his grand revamp:
Abjuring that which made it great before,
He seeks to make his country great again.
This brazen giant, air-bridged between the ears,
His beacon-hair glowing world-wide disdain,
Maskless, manipulates his base’s fears.
And with hogwash’d conspiracies defames.
Promising immigration a la carte
This….Mother, sullen-toddler eyed, proclaims:
“Send me Norwegians, cuz they are, like, smart.
Send me your Brits (no, hold on, better not!)
Send me some Russians—those are useful guys—
Totally Czechs and Slovenes, if they’re hot.
But do not send me those I do not prize.
We don’t do huddled masses any more.
Just keep them if they’re homeless, wretched, black—
The a**-hole refuse of your s***-hole shore.
Send those, I’ll send them, tempest-tost, right back.”
“And tweet me not of Harriet Beecher Stowe,
Emm Lazarus or Martin Luther King.
I’m the least racist guy you’ll ever know.
Those losers now don’t mean a goddam thing.
Abe Lincoln’s overrated, by the way,
The Gettysburg Address was way too long,
In seven-score characters I do OK--
OK? No, great! (So says my friend Kim Jong).
Abe was a loser. “Captain my Captain”? Please!
I prefer presidents who don’t get shot.
FDR, JFK and jerks like these,
The Rushmore crowd—I’m all that they are not.
“Government of, by, for...”! “What you can do..”!
“I cannot tell a lie, I chopped it down”!
“Nothing to fear but fear itself”! So who
Believes this crap? I’m not just any clown.
By fair means or by foul I’ll win the race.
My bigliness by fate has been decreed.
Don’t wave the Constitution in my face:
Amendment No.2 is all I need.”
For the inspiration--the Emma Lazarus poem on the pedestal of New York's Statue of Liberty--see https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems/46550/the-new-colossus