Say it while you're here. Say it while you're here!
How high they build hospitals!
Towering, chemically distilled alters
that the dead worship away from.
Piling, corpses on corpses on
tumors, on hearses.
Coffins for sale! Coffins for sale!
How lovely they make the mortuary
bells toll! Resonant frequencies that
the living stumble into. Onto, around.
How deeply the gravediggers dig!
Shovel, on glass, on cement, on
brick. Crack! What a hideous sound!
How high the fragments soar! Look
at them go.
How low they go, for such low blows
Insurance cards, rip! Hospital beds. Tip!
There go the patients down the trash chute!
Head first, feet first… drained of blood.
How intelligent the thoughts of mad men be.
Label them! Banish them! Don't let them speak!
It's so easy to dismiss someone when they're
called derogatory things. How hypocrisy weighs
down the silver of their tongues!
How loud! How loud? Too loud.
How long you wait How long you smile
How long you are here doesn't matter to
any of them, any one. But it matters to me.
It matters to me dearly, my love.
I planted trees, but you set forests on fire.
I healed the earth, but you poisoned the rivers.
I told you, again and again,
that the land is not yours to wound—
but you carve its flesh with greed.
How many roots must wither before you listen?
How many storms must drown your cities,
how many fields must crack and crumble
before you stop calling destruction progress?
You have unmade the future with your hands.
You stand in halls of power,
shaking hands, signing papers,
while the earth burns outside your windows.
You speak of policies and targets,
but the trees hear only silence.
I have no more gentle words for you.
You are not kings; you are thieves.
You are not leaders; you are gravediggers.
I have seen your promises turn to dust,
and I refuse to bless your betrayal.
But still, the roots remember.
Still, the earth waits for justice.
The wind carries my voice in the rustling leaves,
pleading with those who have not yet forgotten
to rise, to fight, to heal.
scotching sun I've seen
to concerts of birds, I've been
between nature's zones
seen seedlings slowly mature.
seen too moons and stars in lure
between nature's zones
season's weather beat
fog, dewdrops, showers, and heat
between nature's zones
I've seen, like guests, come and go.
at random, their fashions show
between nature's zones
chants of gravediggers
trumpet of the god of death
between nature's zones
as though an adieu, I hear
and start my rove with no fear.
between nature's zones
The grave was freshly dug
Just awaiting the arrival of the body
Four Ghosts stood silent in wait
They had waited a long time
The waiting was over
The gravestone would remain nameless
There would be no mourners
No prayers goodbye
The body was checked for the final time
A customary nod would start proceedings
The coffin was placed into the hole
The gravediggers quickly shovelled the earth back into place.
No words were spoken
Satisfied, they left
Four Ghosts stood silent in wait
They had waited a long time.
The waiting was over
Four Ghosts
Now
Became
Five.
*Image of Ghana's Dancing Pallbearers by CGTN.
Dance of Deliverance
Portend looms gravediggers ere dusk
Orange descend skies slipping purple
Their courage ascend embolden husk
Almost finished all extend into a circle
Heart mind soul a godsend arabesque
2021 October 27
*2nd Place*
Something Beautiful 5 line rhyme
~~charles messina: Judged 2021 November 11
*In some cultures worldwide, including parts of the USA, there's a festive theme for burials of the recently departed. A celebration of their lives reverberates ceremoniously in a joyous send-off, giving their loved ones a beautiful transition into the afterlife.
So many more have died from ground zero exposure.
Let us never forget!
September 12th 2021
twenty years later
dust, chemicals, fumes, fibers
the body count climbs
we remember gravediggers
who lingered after the fall
9/12/2021
People are separated from good food,
Babies delayed reunion with mother’s breasts;
The innocent begin to ape the crude,
Killer attacks a fresh retest of previous bomb tests.
Gravediggers maximize their income,
Mortuary services twenty-four hours;
The solders keep working the atrocious sum,
The chief sponsors of graveyard flowers.
War is their job in camouflage
In branches clad and leafy things;
All battles are a business of sabotage:
The flapping of deception like wings
Soldier faces, a garden of tattoos,
The identical twins of Yoruba masquerades;
Their arms asserting what paints do:
Very expedient things during raids
CIA’s involvement is reasonable guessed,
KGB’s quota remains frightening;
Some kind of godforsaken race is stressed,
God forsaken shows of might heightening
Is time we sang it like a song:
Peacemakers have never been wrong;
A war mongers with journalists moving his jaw
Only talk about the breaking of the law.
The seeds that dig deep into the heart
rise up with all kinds of vengeance
speaking with a voice that's deceitful
casting upon one-lifetime sentence
When one seeks to get revenge
turns into a street that goes all one way
no u-turns along this certain route
bound are you to follow and stay
This is a journey filled with rage
tensions of passion upon you mount
one thought alone fills your mind
getting revenge blurs you not to count
The one you are searching for
hoping to bring about a nasty end
whose reward will it ultimately be?
the gravediggers know none are a friend
So two graves will be awaiting
for no one will live to fight this one
one's end is clearly seen for the two
no victor here in sight absolutely none
On the surface
you’re all sweetness and light
But ...
the truth is life isn't a game
and if I were to start digging
digging deeper than a gravediggers soiled shovel
I'd see through your libelous lies
which spread daily
like a cankerous carbuncle
Well honey
I’m shooting from the hip -
why can’t you simply sit on your fingers?
Just cut the crap
I’m through with your festering fallacies
get a life
and leave me to live mine in peace
THE CRAP SHOOT POETRY CONTEST Poetry Contest
Sponsored by John Lawless
4/29/19
the gravediggers crest
two crossed scraping shovels
lifelong employment
they dig a large hole
occupant won’t see their work
yet pays final bill
Contest sponsor John Lawler
A Scraping of Shovels Poetry Contest
3/12/19
Have seen the plunge of a dolphin
And soar of a kite,
Crows gulping every bit of rubbish in a habitual air.
Have seen moths eating into the old books,
Not that the knowledge they earn,
Nor a feast they relish —
All, ‘a habit formation’.
Maggots fatten in the muscle of men,
Bulging bomb fatten the scale of power.
Dry beds are soaked in tears and sweat,
Mouth puffed in a show of might.
Zeus, prowling on earthly daughters,
Gravediggers, dig in thoughtlessly, without compassion for the cops —
All a ‘habit formation’.
Merriment, party, lust
Politics, argument, dodge,
Even fear, fantasy and fight;
war or peace,
virtue or sin —
All, all postures of life is on practice,
a habit formation’.
More a sinner by our habits,
Than by chance.
True Adam—
That eats the fruit
And hold his flat palm.
Patiently they waited,
Watching each of us exert
Just a modicum of effort
As we shoveled up some dirt.
Every toss drew all attention
As the soil came raining down,
‘Til the coffin top was covered
With a blanketing of brown.
Then the diggers picked the pace up
But they paused while words were said,
The familiar farewell speeches
To a person newly dead.
Next machinery took over
As we slowly walked away
And the workers did the job
For which they earned their weekly pay.
How bizarre to be a witness
Every day to people’s grief.
When the grave is filled and patted down,
It must be a relief.
At this moment in time
There are moms giving birth,
While gravediggers shovel
A plot in the earth.
At this moment a plane
Is preparing to soar,
While a soldier’s blown up
In a far-away war.
At this moment some people
Confess all their sins,
While the gamblers assess
All their losses and wins.
There are folks who are sleeping
Or cooking or reading;
Shoplifters stealing
And knife victims bleeding.
Actors rehearsing and
Bar patrons drinking.
Cars crashing crazily;
Novelists thinking.
Knitters are knitting
And lovers embracing;
Criminals learn of
The sentence they’re facing.
Capture one moment
And measure the arc.
Everything happens –
The light and the dark.
Here in this moment
Some journey from home,
While I sit and ponder
And jot down this poem.
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