Best Sarcophagus Poems
Squatting in the insouciant syrup of a somber solid sucrose,
I’m cemented in a molasses morose and its lipogenic fructose.
The glucose gathers as regurgitated nectar barfed by a buzzing swarm,
And what’s inside is fossilized into a saccharine sticky form.
Alas, an amber chamber for a saprophagous future,
Entombs me in my own sarcophagus sealed with a sugar suture.
In this honeycomb crumbling catacomb that captures those who enter,
I’m licked away like a lollipop with a parasitic center.
For all that’s left inside of me has soured into a rotten pile of litter,
As all that’s sweat outside my skin conceals the inner bitter.
As I gaze at the priceless sarcophagus of a boy king,
my mind takes me back in time; thousands of years ago,
when pyramids were powerful monuments,
and Isis covered the entire of Egypt with her powerful, yet gentle wings.
A time when the Nile was as clear as a crystal,
and gold as abundant as ants in an anthill,
is a time worth creating a time machine to travel to,
and disappear in the enchanting grandeur in the sands.
Knock knock whose there?
Me, the blind man was the response.
And where from? asked the other
From the catacombs that cover years of deaths and years of solitude in caskets of not so forgotten years.
Where then and why are you blind? asked the dim voice from within the sarcophagus that laid asleep within its dark encased catacomb.
Well. it laughed.
That’s because I asked too much and was forced not to see and not to judge with my eyes.
But then, I smell.
I perceive what was upon those thirty nights and thirty days
even when the sun has lapsed
‘cause then when I feel the sun go down
all is quiet-
within my blindness.
The moon uplifts
For me to judge and proclaim
What is to then be seen
within my nose that smells.
Ahh… the other sighed.
Smileless faces,
Hateful words
Painful actions,
In tumultuous worlds.
Do unto others,
Before they do unto you,
Is this now the golden rule?
It’s not the one I knew.
I try to soar above,
Above all the distrust,
But, I’m still left wondering.
If we can ever liberate ourselves
From our emotional sarcophagus.
I long for these ancients to speak to me
but we have rescued them from the world of the dangerously alive
and plummeted them into a vast pyramidal tomb sealed with wax.
It is a tomb of glass, where the preserved fustiness of eras past
can slowly shed any traces of the epithelial cells that crafted them.
I see the painted sarcophagus, but not the Pharaoh
only the ghost of the one who painted its symbols and hieroglyphs.
A few spatters of red paint encrusted on her face, the smell of oils,
a reward of coins, a night of victorious cries of pleasure,
and in the morning, a mere woman checking the alabaster jars so
her unused paint would not dry to powder like the Pharoah’s blood.
My roots with rodents rage with space and time distant from life
Ask not my name my limestone bed gives clarity to friends and foe
Farewell to all the memories of kissing oxygen
- - Deplorable Dora - -
Destined to request the best and never get it
Regular ordinary bored her
When temptation came and offered improvement
You can bet she accepted
Barbie bold angel - curvaceous temptress blonde
Sold Dora her magnetism
For the itty bitty price of her one and only soul
With glee she took the opportunity to be pretty
Empty insides didn't matter
Faced places the following day a new alluring lady
Dozens were dazzled by her
Dora had the power to charm, disarm with a wink
Simple smile froze stubborness
Turned reluctance into assurance of every success
Elation gained from gorgeous appearance served
Facile needs realised easily
Bits of bared curves cured problems, were solutions
Glimpses of bouncy cleavage
Given whenever an impediment threatened her way
Lined her path in platinum
Painted her gate with hate repellent saint lipped gold
Enamoured Dora thought her thorough transforming
Had squeezed all potential fault
Wrong's possible not at all in existence any more
When her Grandma sadly passed
She knew her Disney duty was to brighten and shine
Hot white of wet metal Dora
Sauntered into the church in scanty sequin bikini
Took the looks of shock and aghast to be admiration
Stilettoed amble of wayward
Unashamedly clutched casket's edge with teal talons
Glorious Dora suddenly covered
By alter robes, chivalrous cape flown to her shoulders
Poor Dora anointed thought
Super hero status had been granted, instead of desperate
Request for modesty
23rd August 2020
Kai Michael Neumann
Soul Slipper Contest
Your casket you build with love and care
With your faith, His grace and latch of gold.
You build it with no remorse to bear.
Your casket you build with love and care
Past heaven's portal no box you’ll wear
No fear of darkness or ground so cold.
Your casket you build with love and care
With your faith, His grace and latch of gold.
My sarcophagus is made of gold,
my soul is filled with coal.
Breathing was impossible,
trying to catch my last breath.
When there was no air to have.
My sarcophagus will just rust away,
as my body decays.
And memories fade,
You are all outsiders looking in.
The endless thoughtlessness, heartless, tormentors you are.
wishing for me to relinquish my life,
My sarcophagus is made of gold.
My soul is filled with coal.
The yearning of truth will set me free.
Because it is the archangel hypnotizng
you into losing yourself in that thin treadmill
at the archane center of advanced transurfing
& remember what that demagogue Rex Hemphill
said. This is why it's best to imagine one's skull
as a chamber of fetal hair waiting to sprout
into a fetching pompadour & it is cool
that you readily chased out that tenacious tout;
besides, you still didn't have the gumption to reveal
where did those tomatoes go. did they just now squeal
like an army of rats enjoy an exorcism?
'Wanton warriors witness wondrous witticism'
muttered & uttered the judge & that made you hate
your loathsome self's guts with abandon & fury.
That's why you can't trust a cod who is illiterate;
specially if those bald tomatoes ran away.
Even a Neptunian sarcophagus will know
now. Dear scallawag, where did the tomatoes go?