Burial Poems

History doesn't matter if its aesthetic

Hot summers dry up the land 
The dirt crumbles under the heaviness of disrespect
Fresh flowers adorn the land 
Covering the uneven burial grounds 
Overshadowed by privilege 

What better way to claim superiority 
By soiling the plantation they stand on
Ignorance crowds the air 
Cast aside by vows of love 
Tainting history with a wedding
The stories of

The monetisation of black death

The greed of the white man knows no bound
It transcends life, it transcends death
Their eyes gleam with profit
Their mouths salivate at another black death
Prices heightened on a casket
Won't be too long till another black body fills it
Money earned from this purchase
Used to pay their rent
If there is anything left they'll use it to pay for

The Burial

     His days he spent pleasantly 
        as befit his soft upbringing
     running the family business
        counting the money pouring in
      leaving the real work to his brother

Cold, Cold Ground

The cold, so cold ground
Binding and pulling
And holding me down

Embraced by the crypt
Confined and restrained
And life’s breath stripped

Stygian inked
Such stifling dark
And soul’s light extinct

I find myself here
Trussed by death’s grave
Without hope, just fear

In the cold, cold ground
Decayed and corrupt
Neath my burial mound

Tokens

A flag draped box on titanium stand
Bears all that remains of a noble man
A father’s pride, a mother’s grief
A widow’s tears without relief
A son whose memories begin to fade
As the soldier is solemnly laid
The torment a brief eternity
Brought by war infernally
Driven by other men’s desires
We raise yet more funeral pyres
And watch again our young men

Emily Dickinsons Burial

It may seem a cruel tragedy
that Amherst’s greatest poet Emily 
Dickinson never got to marry
though she burned ardently to be.
And yet in Death (if you’ll allow)
she did eventually get laid –
not in a man’s bed but a pine box
and (if you’ll allow) this paradox
she still remains a chaste old maid.

The accident was accidental

That day on Earth was filled with fun,
The weather was mild and clement.
The sun beamed down with gentle grace,
Cool air had just chased off the rain.

That party brimmed with food and beer,
We drank more than we ought to drink.
There wasn’t a single sober soul,
Not even the one meant to drive.

Still, we had homes we had

Gathering at the cemetery

It was a somber cloudy day, sadness weighed heavy on us all. The family gathered to pay final respects. Gregorian chant filled the air as we looked up to heaven. We were burying a good man. He had been a role model, a loving husband and a caring father.


the finality
painfully sinking in
goodbyes surreal



AP: Honorable Mention

burial borne

on ship’s voyage cosmos-deep
          a captain’s life was laid to sleep
               wrapped in linen mummy-style
     and thrown into the stellar keep

he floated on in endless black
  

burial

b u r y me 
                 amongst  
corpse flowers b
                            

When Grief Turns To Grave

No one told me the moment you parted.
My disheartened heart left the room the moment I turned the corner,
and saw his golden badge as he nodded in comforting dismay.
That day
My heart learned the rhythm of grief
Slow
Sickly
The kind that brings you past your knees,
and drives you six feet underground.
Who needs two burials in one day?

No burial, just a lousy cremation

 No burial

When I died, my family didn’t dare bury me in a grave.
They knew, without a doubt, I'd only misbehave ~
that I'd party with the germs,
and have sleepovers with the worms,
and give the bacteria all that they crave.  

So, just a lousy cremation

When I watched them cremate my body,
I thought their work was

Sonnet 5: Air of the Burial Ground

Many years ago, I saw the arrival of several ships
They came with a smile and goods laced with their curse
In a short time, they gave multiple populations the clips
The curse ran longer than the promised verse

I have been in the ground with my people before they became a nation
I have seen them born, grown, and

Burial At Sea

______________________________________________________________

     There'd needn't be 
no digs of earth 

or clumps of clay 
that weigh my girth,
                                   

A Seismic Afternoon Without Form, Name Or End

We are going to dig to bury our dead:
Mother, father, sisters and brothers,
Uncles, aunts, friends and strangers.
We are going to inter our dead:
Archbishop, pastors, Houngans and vicars.

The altar boys in a row are profusely bleeding.
The cracked crucifixes are lying on the benches.
They weep, suffer and are all almost naked.
Oh! They breathe like humans in agony;
Things,

• Short Burial Poems
• Famous Burial Poems
• Best Burial Poems
• Read Burial Poems
• Long Burial Poems
• Burial Quotes