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 just a little bit shoddy.
I woulda preferred
if the fire had been hotter by a third,
and if my friends had been invited over
to toast me with a hot toddy.
Cinders
Souls scarred freedom
Heaven
I stay close to home these days,
my roaming needs seeming to
expire with age, finding more
of what I need in the Silence
of packing; of course, this
worn-out body is far too cumbersome
to even contemplate wanting – like
frayed clothing, now best for rags;
like empty cans for the recyclable:
I wonder how Earth will handle
my re-purposing?~as for my poetry,
will my works know future lips? Be
Whispered and sung, inspiring others
fancying fireside light and chat, within
the warmth of flickering, yet mysterious
shadows? Or will my words, unceremoniously
settle like bird droppings on tombstones,
surrounded by laurels of weeds, a forgotten
chapter? That settles it, I will opt for cremation!
Leaving tombstones and graves for
most politicians, TV Evangelists, and
Movie-stars, needing their world
monuments where the Devil will
easily find them for substantive
reunions....
Tell me, mother
what did the fire
whisper to you
as it wrapped your frail body
in its flaming blanket
as it caressed your cheeks
and clenched your hands
as it kissed your eyelids
the way I tenderly used to
closing those deep oceans of love
AP: Honorable Mention 2022
collaboration with Chandana Ramachandran
Home from a chemo session, uncle lights up
a cigarette and collapses
to the slick plastic that covers your chaise
lounge, auntie. He thumps the upholstery
with his legs and elbows for blood
to circulate again. A flake
drifts. Dehydrated lips, uncle
inadvertently kisses ash. Cushions
puff up, deflate. Uncle floats
smoke rings to prove he still has breath.
Your bulbous urn ruptures his rings
on contact where curvature
casts uncle’s warped reflection, all mouth and smoke,
as he would rise to reach your urn on the mantle.
Uncle slouches back, watches his sports channel.
I head out with his hamper
and forget to check pockets before washing clothes,
his soggy receipts - - once grocery lists? - -
and tissues, torn apart, clumped up, fake snow
I have to scoop out of washing machines.
Absent-minded tasks at the laundromat, auntie,
where you’d bend in pain. Lint trays reinstall
fluff. I snap
and snap airborne dryer-flakes off towels.
He was always
Known to everyone as
Uncle Albert,
He used to sign all
My birthday cards as
Uncle Albert,
He used to turn around
When I shouted
Uncle Albert,
He was who we visited
When we went to see
Uncle Albert.
But I'm sorry to say,
He's now belated,
Sadly passed away,
Dead and cremated,
And what I
Can't understand,
And what I am
Eager to learn,
Why has everyone
Stopped calling him
Uncle Albert,
And started
Calling him
Uncle Urn?
Into the flames,turned into ash,tempreture rising,no looking back...Gone in a second,a goodbye,a tear,death is a warm welcome,with nothing to fear...
Cremation
A man was running to the tobacconist,
Bought a packet and hastily opened it took out a cigarette
Lit it and inhaled deeply.
Then his head moved backwards, and he fell and died.
They covered him on a plastic sheet but the cigarette
Was still burning, the layer took fire, cremation.
The fire spread a house was burning the fire engine came
Spayed water and the ashes of the smoker disappeared
Down a drain.
They opened the drain found some black stuff and a shoe
That might have belonged to the cremated, well it
Was something, enough for burial, and what nowadays
Is called closure.
The tobacconist took this as a sign from Good only
Sell the angel’s dust.
ashes to
ashes and
dust to dust
i urned this
As I stand to watch the clouds of smoke
I wonder the numbers of pains evoked
I stare hard into colored flames
Mourning the now forgotten names
In this flame was a rich man I once envied
In here was a beautiful woman I once adored
In here was a baby so innocent
In here was a maid noble and descent
In here was a pastor more prayerful than i
In here was a sinner living so high
In this ash was once a bride to be
In here was a struggling mother of three
In here was a now widowed woman's husband
In here are mysteries we cannot understand
In here now lies Bidemi's lover
In here lies a now childless woman's daughter
In here were children screaming for mama
In here was a bed ridden boy's papa
In here was an old man with scanty teeth
In here was a baby with unsteady feet
In here were fighters whose groans were silenced
In here were folks who never wished to be cremated
In here are lessons that are for real
In here could have been either you or me
By: Adams Elizabeth Oyarese
Cremate my soulless body
and collect my ashes in a black urn
Take my flakes of cinder
and free them into the calm Pacific
Let my spirit flow toward peace
and embrace the waves of eternity.
I cremated you
In scorching flames of passion
His blaze a consuming fire
Now only ashes
I have no tears left to cry
The kind wind bears you away
Eileen Manassian Ghali
Morning Cremation #2
Morning Cremation
Soul treading water
A butterfly pinned
Cruel trophy
Not even under glass, discarded
Exposed to what the sky can give
Powdered wings, dusting lost
Pulled off in a gust, dropped
In the tall grass of complex dances
Caught, I swing and sway, mute to questions
Even I had my limit, now all gone but
My quiet rage
An ember set to ignite, the wind
Picks up a stilled wing, I catch
a thermal, a tiny fireball
I'll look pretty as I tumble by though.
Of a holocaust, the last redemption;
like a spirit
rising from its body at the end,
the earth ascends to heaven
and for a moment steals infinity
and artfully inserts it
into everyday.
Beyond that vain acridity,
it is the dying
that unites the earth and sky.
This transitory brotherhood
with fog and mist and cloud
now tints the air
as one amorphous curtain drifts
to make the known surreal.
And out of chaos
comes another harbinger
of paradise.
~
They knew a secret that we've not yet found
Indians placed their dead in burial mounds
or laid them to rest in beds above ground
where the Great Spirit walks and nature abounds
Blame arrogant Pharaohs who made the request
to preserve their bodies, 'twas cocky at best
Be-gone foul mummies! 'Tis the end of thy quest!
Take a float down the Nile! Make room for the rest!
Reserved parking spots are clearly unwise
We'll run out of room before the world dies
Imagine God peering down with a gasp of surprise
viewing one giant graveyard beneath His blue skies
Forget the autopsy, don't waste your red tape
By-pass parlor-homes that paupers escape
No need for insurance or credit card rape
no bankrupting service, no coffin to drape
Re-cycle me please, no soul wants to see
a porcelain shell of what I used to be
Let me melt in good soil and help sprout a new tree
Let me rest in cool earth and rot naturally
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