Best Unburied Poems
Beneath the graffiti littered by the years
and the fatigue signed by a thousand cares
Through the scratchings of so many tears
that were summoned or caught you unawares
Under the mottles by done days quarried
and the shadows writ by a jealous sun
where disappointments linger unburied
and age is making its relentless run
My tired eyes can still trace your first face
by the thievery of time irreducible
tsunami commands
mother earth to tremble --
demons unburied
blue skies of water
pour out devastation --
crashing tears thunder
thunderous booms of
explosions in aftermath --
resilience conquers
By Rhonda Johnson-Saunders, March 9, 2012
for Nature the Destroyer contest (PD)
first place
She pounded the last nail into the lid of the coffin
The coffin that held her dream
She sat there for a while
In the silence
Thinking of all it had meant
What it was meant to be
Her dream
She threw herself over the coffin
And wracked away with sobs
The last hopes that lay
Buried deep within her
Silence
No one had come to mourn
No one had said a word
Except when her dream was alive and well
Only then
Then…they told her
“Look at the tell-tale signs
Can’t you see?
Something is amiss
Your dream…Your dream is…sick
It won’t make it
It won’t survive.”
She hadn't believed them
Thought they had lied
Yet, here she was
She wiped her tears away
What did they know?
What did they care?
How could they understand…
That wrapped up there in her dream
Was her beating heart
She could not bear to bury it
So, she pushed it underneath the shade
Of a weeping willow tree
Weeping
Weeping
For who she couldn't be
And she walked away
Dreamless
Heartless
Dead….
Unburied!
Eileen Manassian Ghali
An unburied chest
With a map inside that says
Work for your treasure
I unburied my heart and cried.
Poor little thing Poor little fool
indigent in there, no answer.
no one came back for me
Everyone blue light mesmerized
faces minor February moons
Mid-air, last fare, au contrair—
Cushion collectors, made in China
Obsolete foetus, Pushkin pushers
Amulet of a Talisman, not fair
Eloquency uttered, sputtered, natural lying
Platinum kissogram
O sweet sad parting, old mar
anguishing languishing farewell my friend
Wheelbarrow of borrowed clouds
check the sundial for Saturn’s moon
terrestrial ball wedding leaves
Clocks and gowns, frowning clowns
undo death —
for the love of you
unto death if not
Gravestones in the park
Scary place when its dark
Empty plots marked by string
Morbid figures trying to sing
Pretty flowers dead or trying
Grace the path on which their lying
Scripted rocks with glowing paints
Must not be read if hearts are faint
withered corpses dance around
acting like their little clowns
comical yet scary too
watching the dead say goodbye to you
creepy vermin upon the plot
waiting for the next corpse to drop
swirls of fog blocking view
keeps you wondering what corpses do
so entranced by the game they play
leaves you lost, yet afraid to say
digging shovels stand erect
positioned so as to protect
mounds of dirt piled 6ft high
to bury the corpses when they die
because wild wolves like tasty bones
and drag corpse souls far from home
so as we know and always will
unburied bones are never still
Halloween Challenge Poetry Contest
Emile Pinet
11/02/2020
As the empathic moon pales of lustre of life,
and the downcast stars fall in the hour
of lamentation,
unforgiveness has its own realm of misery.
Our anger and resentment strickens our lives,
smothers our love, our joy.
Still absent from one another,
we grow grayer into white.
The evefall speaks of barren and
abandoned dreams,
of reunions that could of been,
of words unsaid that could of professed
a healing pardon.
The unforgiveness borne on a catafalque,
yet, not unburdened, and still unburied. ~
Flies swarm the dead corpse lying in the dirt.
A day passes without a flower or soft spoken word.
Footsteps approach, stop; shuffle back and forth,
kick the soil then meander on.
Blustery wind blows cold, whipping up debris
then laying it atop the stiff body.
The night air sings a shrilling melody till the
eyes of dawn.
Twilight yawns; a heap of compost now covers the
lifeless soul, footsteps return and imprint the mound
so neatly designed.
The cold wind cries as the trees stretch and bow in grief.
A stray dog, discovers the heaping debris and begins
to dig; recovers a bone then runs away.
This mortal world numb to this unknown entity
lying discarded on the freezing earth, unburied and
forgotten…
Copyright © 2004 By Caryl S. Muzzey
He has no grave
In the fields he lies
Unburied, in the fury of battle
He leaves behind his love
A love letter in his breast pocket
All to be added to the dust
There is no cross to mark his passing
Only a memory to hold upon ones sadness
He is a lost soldier
A year has passed, his family mourns
His lover sits at the window waiting
A bullet kills you now
A wounded heart takes years to die
So quietly she both hopes and withers
A poppy in her hair, marks her despair
Armies march and armies fall
Battles won and lost as young men die
Endless is the death that pervades these lands
As the lonely soldier fades into history
His loved ones left to hold a ghostly flag
His lover never left her window
She never lost the hope within
Scared by the wounds of war she was
She carried on, yet her life was grim
Fifty years later, to this day
We all stop in silence to honor the past
A new building constructed far away
As they dug the soil that gave way
To a secret of the past
The lonely soldier but a skeleton
With a paper close to his heart
A love letter they did uncover
Postage due for sure
His tags and cross they enclosed
With words of love from long ago
So on a warm summer’s day, by her window
She saw the postman approach her house
With a faded parchment from the past
Words that would make her heart beat fast
Years upon years she had hoped
Now the answer was sadly clear
She whispered softly…
My lonely soldier died that day
His letter is now here to stay
To keep me warm until the end
Knowing his loved never waned…..
I love you dear
I hope you know
One day I will whisper this close
For now I fight to free the world
So that I may be with you
Remember me, if I should fall
That no matter where by bones may lay
My heart is with you always
Note: Late for Nov 11 as I had the flu, but better late than never
Sight...as eyes embrace
A thousand words resonate
With each photograph they take
Taste...seed soil ,and harvest DNA
Remeberence of past flavors saturate
Intuition...the mind grasp hidden anger, joys and fears
Touch... As gentle hands embrace
Each takes the pulse of grace
Smell...Scent memory is retained as distance subtles fragrance
Lover's pheremones , our unburied dead
... and war's bloodshed
Hearing...As observant ears embrace
the words of joy, fear and all emotions resonate
As age deafens , unheard , is the sound of music and children's words
As death silences , the meaning of sound ends
As our first born's begins
i was just a kid the first time i met him
he borrowed my brand new wrist-rocket
and scampered off into the night, laughing like a ghoul
the sound of two young lovers on a beach, punctuated by howls of pain
the returning of footfalls and mad laughter
he had his fun, now it was time to party
i had no way of knowing this crazy man was to be in my life for many years to come
i had no way of knowing he would help shape who i was to become
he drug us from the beaches of Oregon to the deltas and forests of California
forever altering the path i strode upon
once, he had me and his son dig a 6X6 pit and bury him up to his neck
pre-emptive of him "Nutting up".
we fed him beer and fritos at his request... we unburied him after he came down
There are stories to be told that i cannot tell here.... but alive and fertile in my memories.
one day i will see him again and ask permission to tell some....
But it won't matter..... you wouldn't believe them anyway!!!!!
Behind my desk of daily duties, I hide obliged,
blind in perceived intent in days debilitating me,
grinding relentless against my need to find meaning.
My bleeding mind leaning against my breaching heart,
preaching intent I cannot grasp.
I gasp for a breath of substance of a sort,
distort in my own demand of dithering paths,
like a slithering mole sniffing the trodden ground,
drowning in my intentless surround.
My splotched mind now fired up on a frigid stove,
an imposter, a trove dug up and claimed,
framed...
As thought the picture of perfect suffering is rule
I plunge…
Posing in intent’s pool I seduce my own pseudo smile
and all the while spirit leaks from my soul.
This hovering abandoned hole day in and day out
I’ve filled with doubt of a truth led astray the stars,
as hardened scars plow my unburied grave
like the brave face I wear disgraced.
My life…
Misplaced...
This space of intentless surround.
Random occurrence pounds and pierces my felt fate,
my soul mate of self-sacrifice awaits.
As choice’s debris freezes my will to incite,
I back down …
From a fight I should fight with formidable fury
as the only jury be my yearning destiny freed,
as self-sacrifice waits for me.
Someone who once loved me dearly
Now despises me.
In such small things are paved the roads to hell.
A turning away from grace.
A tail-spinning stumble down the stairs,
Hitting my head on my lofty ideals
On my mistaken belief in cloud formations.
The death of romance sheds the most morbid shade of grey.
The diminishment of beauty.
The banal stretched over the profound makes a tight drum.
To beat ourselves with.
To the rhythm of the degradation of good true love between a man and a woman.
Nothing works the way it should.
Nothing works out except for death.
My heart has begun beating backwards,
An awkward, syncopated dance of the soul backing into oblivion.
Still unaware that the absence of pain is yet another symptom of impending death.
I am lost within my own mausoleum.
My hoof-steps clopping against the hard marble floor
In between the torn parts of my heart lying strewn about;
Unburied memories of the deepest wounds.
My heart is broken by the shards of paranoia
that spin from a fragile mind.
My curses are my memories distilled from the deepest wells of regret.
Time is but a dancer
But a spinning dancer; nonetheless.
Across a floor of tilting emotions
By which we measure so adamantly our sense of inner self.
I am not my monsters.
But I am the pain that they inflict.
Now falling like rain
On those that I love and those who now despise me.
Waves crash against the ribcage of shore
Where unburied bones play on the beach
The dead swim in shallow pools beneath
Lost Souls never finding their exit door
The living are not welcome to come here
Sometimes they are seen staring from afar
Too many have tried then have disappeared
And death is always what the living fears
From the cliff above the bones are seen
Dancing in the sand, splashing in the sea
Is it a dream or nightmare in unreality
Unexplainable to the living, what does it mean
It means that so much we humans don't know
And even less in which what to believe
Belief is only a product given forcibly
Forced to reap what someone else really sow's
This place of bones called Skeleton Bay
An unexplainable retreat for the dead
A phenomenon unstudied this haunted beach
A place where only the dead meet and play
Written for contest "Bone Beach" 0/25/2024
Hosted by: Anthony Biianco
**WON 1ST PLACE IN CONTEST**
On the Disappearance of Friends in Exile
The land is haunted
By unburied corpses and foetuses.
None have names,
Or tribe with kinsmen,
Or identity with place-of-birth,
Or wounds with scars.
None of them are known,
But they are gone to early death
History, even, does not know who they are.
No voice of mourning save the speeches--
The hollow, laboured speeches of poisoned lips;
And sorcerers calling for them from hidden shrines.
It's an old story - the oldest we have in the land -
The story of ebforced disappearance.