Long Burials Poems
Long Burials Poems. Below are the most popular long Burials by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Burials poems by poem length and keyword.
*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.
Friends,
Trumpians,
EcoFeminists
We gather here
to no longer hear divisions
across a win/lose
zero-sum aisle
so we can see revisions
within a win/win
nonzero-exponential
future free of buried guile.
Green flowing fullness
no longer mourned
for lost love of deep theistic
preculturing wealth
buried in steep
sacred indigenous
metaphoric meaning
RedBlooded LeftBrain anthro-alien exceptionalism
may open whole resurrection systems
to universal anthro-healing skillsets
widely re-educating
re-birthing
re-incarnating analogical
ecological
theological shared cognitive purposes
felt sacred meanings
For getting,
and not forgetting to get,
out of bed healthy
and potentially happy
win/win optimistic
Even on this cold
wet grey Monday morning
buried inside claustrophobic
windowless
closed door
meet and meet
and greet and regreet
and regreet meetings
curiously scheduled
and rescheduled
and unscheduled
and overscheduled burials
of hidden win/lose agendas
Continuing sacred graveside
all afternoon
on into early dusk
late life
of peace returning
eventide outside
Benediction
for formerly divided
green ecofeminist aliens
and our redblooded
health happy wealth
of inside/outside allies.
Oh mankind what have you learned?
What have you gained from the bridges you've burned?
Have you sat and determined how much its cost?
Or counted the burials of the children you've lost.
What have you won but war torn lands?
Does it really matter whose lines in the sand.
The freedoms you've abused all in the name of pride
Just to have your own way and feel justified.
But soon ill return to put and end to your scourge
And restore my Kingdom and evil I will purge
So mark the time well and turn a blind eye
I will make the world see it was not in vain that I died.
Love Jesus
I took a trip to Paris, France and of course I wanted to see all the attractions,
walk the boulevards, see the museums and art galleries, linger at an outdoor
cafe watching people stroll while sipping on wine and munching on cheese and
bread. I wanted to float down the Seine by boat at night. But my reason, for
this trip was to go to Le Pere Lachaise Cemetery, for that is where my family
ancestors are buried. I knew it would not be easy to find them as this cemetery
is huge, spread over 110 acres, over one million people buried there since 1804.
I walk the paths
lingering at mossy tombs:
a thousand birds sing
It is an amazing cemetery with many famous people buried there like Chopin,
Oscar Wilde, Monet, Voltaire, Degras and thousands more, but also ordinary
people. From simple unadorned headstones to huge towering monuments.
One needs a guide map to navigate the roads and pathways through this maze
of stone. I finally had to go to the office for direction and help to locate my
ancestors grave sites.
death has no time
for in my heart you exist
the smell of decay:
I found out some disturbing information, the plots are leased for 50, 30, 10
years and if not renewed the remains are removed, boxed and tagged and
moved to Aux Morts Assuary in a single tomb. When the Assuary gets over-
crowed the remains are removed, incinerated and the ashes returned.
And that is where my ancestors are, nothing but ashes in eternal storage. The
Aux Morts (To the Dead) Assuary is closed to the public, I found that very
odd and it made me quite sad. Why, what are they hiding?
And those plots where the remains were removed from are re-leased to others,
well that is how the cemetery can keep up on the burials, apparently there is a
long waiting list. I am happy my family plot is in a cemetery in Canada where
the remains of those buried will never be touched.
___________________
July 25, 2017
Haibun/Le Pere Lachaise Cemetery
Copyright Protected, ID 923378
Written for the Haibun Contest
Sponsor Debbie Guzzi
First Place
I am a little star that cannot brighten this black paradise.
A land so rich with the flesh and bones of my parents and ancestors.
A kingdom of the black wolves, cleared by the white alphas.
In this land of peace, where every dream follows screams, history rewrites.
The silence of spears, knives, and others is replaced by the whisk of bullets that run from door to door.
Schools still give out permanent holidays after graduating immature warriors.
Offices continue to have empty top tables, with many wardrobes under them keeping bones for every dog that barks.
Dung on the streets points at us whenever our eyes meet, while the wind piles rubbish at our doorsteps.
The white eagle flies to and fro, grabbing anything in sight—from our relatives’ bones to stones and everything.
Education is now key, but the key holder has become the clink and rasp of money.
The hospital is stained with blood and filled with flies that help the doctors with the rotten smell, yet each time banks release papers.
All churches and mosques preach, but it is the pews and floors that hear the puff of riches, not the ears that hear the preaching, while loud sounds tell us how the devil is black and the angels are white.
I have seen global equality, where white dresses are used for celebrations while black is used for burials—equality where all blacks bleach themselves to become white.
I am a star from a little culture once raised, now fading back to what our ancestors once warned.
'Grave!' said I, 'thing of deathbed'
Oh, I'm remembering many critical, weighty burials
Say you will not accept my spirit
As my cold flesh body lies dormant
Much I marveled the appalling graveyard
That moment my soul grew enormous
By the grave I saw the burials
The catastrophic cemetery coffining
Say you will not accept my spirit
As my cold flesh body lies dormant
Deep into that darkness sobering
I awoke and flung the profound
What could there be more purely close?
And the burials never pressing
'Grave!' said I, 'thing of deathbed
I refuse to lie here
My true self is with God and Jesus
4/19/19
Many moons ago the island was born
spewed up in a volcanic eruption
it was perfectly formed out of rock
five nautical miles from the mainland
A barren isle with no life on it
visited sometimes by birds and seals
over time the dung from them all
provided a base for tender shoots
There was but one stream here
which flowed from the towering rocks
cascading joyfully down into a pool
a stunning splash of viberant blue
Around it started to appear flora
the seeds carried in by the birds
were now taking root and tranforming
life now has a grip which in time flourishes
The barren island soon attracted life
first the birds who started nesting
in the newly grown lushious trees,
their songs bringing musical sounds
Then came the many different insects
most importantly the honey bees
fertilising starting new species
covering the land with lush greenery
Gradually the animals swam over
getting busy finding homes
now the island was flourishing
gay sounds breaking the long silence
Here nature has triumphed over all
transforming a bare rocky isle
life has been yet again reaffirmed
from nothing comes a veritable paradise
Man attracted visits collecting eggs
fishing the shores and lakes
Yet none set down roots here
there is a strangeness that unsettles
Instead they use it for worship
and for their native burials
for they had knowledge of nature
this was not for man to spoil
All was well in our island paradise
until white men found this little gem
desecrating the graves and plundering
the island until it was almost bare
Furious witch doctors set a curse
that night screams could be heard
the natives huddled together shaking
by morning, deep silence reigned
Looking out to the island
they saw new razor sharp reefs
completely surrounding the island
Nature had reclaimed her masterpiece
Release your look away at the horizon.
And notice the people straining on the stoves.
Arranging the days and the routes.
Bereaved, surrounded by total silence.
The waves slammed against their feet.
In front of the smoldering sun, their eyes were bleeding.
You, who sprang from the midst of furrow plowing.
And the internment of burials and deceased.
A branch of retribution is on your mouth.
Also, your hands carry the sign of calmness.
Let them have some of your compassion.
A droplet is the emblem of this vast sea of kindness
These are your kids, your flesh and blood.
Being risen from the floods docks through the scarcity.
The long-standing era of conflict and strife of empires.
Since ancient times, they've been your lovers.
They were overwhelmed with the costs of eternity.
As also brought the phoenix back to life.
He hatches an egg in the mother's womb.
What are your plans for the evening?
And by what blessings will you swear on a fugitive's life?
Cities are dozing off when they are split by railways.
Count the number of beeps it makes.
The wolves are howling.
Written: July 7, 2021
A BRIAN STRAND JULY 12 Poetry Contest
Sponsored by: Brian Strand
Death does not silence life;
it reminds life to begin again.
So every death, whether seen or unseen,
is but a turning of the page,
a night preparing the way for morning.
And every ending,
wrapped in the cloak of sorrow
holds the seed of a beginning
waiting for the courage of hope to bloom.
There are deaths that walk without coffins,
silent burials beneath an unseen sky...
the death of a name in the marketplace,
the fading of a voice in the gathering of men.
when a man becomes a shadow among the living,
unheard, unloved, unnoticed.
Yet even then, a spark waits beneath the ashes,
whispering,
Rise… for hope is not yet done with you.
There are deaths that wear the mask of hunger,
the empty purse that echoes like a hollow drum,
debts that bite like wolves in winter,
dreams that stagger under the weight of unpaid dues.
but even coins buried in dust can be found again,
and seeds sown in drought can drink from unexpected rain.
So hope calls out:
Live again… prosperity sleeps but never dies.
There are deaths that are not seen by mortal eyes,
when the soul grows quiet,
when prayer becomes a stranger,
when light trembles on the edge of extinction
but even the faintest ember knows the way back to fire,
and the Creator breathes on the weary heart
restoring songs long forgotten.
Hope whispers like dawn at the edge of night:
Awake… your spirit remembers the way home.
And then there is the final curtain,
the stillness,
the last exhale,
the peaceful surrender of flesh to soil.
But even this is not an end,
for death only unlatches the door to another sunrise,
where pains do not bleed,
and time does not wound.
Hope stands gently beside the grave and says:
Fear not… for beyond this sleep is a brighter day.
Death is the last enemy that God fought on the cross
His creation for mankind was immortal
Oh, one deception hampered God’s created world
Death is inevitable, but certain for all born human beings
Sad to see such days like Job’s faith tested by the tragic news that comes one after another
These are the days that terrify the world with the sad stories
No bed, no oxygen, no hospitals, no dear ones around, no decent burials
Son arranges an oxygen cylinder, and cops take it away; the child’s mother dies after two hours
A senior citizen dies by donating his bed to a young family man, and dies after two days
Systems and Government failed miserably in handling the virus, and Oh God, restore us,
Oh God, where the world is heading, dead bodies are on the streets, in the hospital too
Such a cursed time we watch fear and painful stories
Refreshed by your word that man’s life is just a water bubble
Who can heal the wounded world and stop the death angel? Hear our prayers we repent
Heal the land, we turn from our wicked ways, Be our saviour and a living God;
Love of God has the power to redeem us and keep us, and His arms are wide open to save
God’s love doesn’t care about our mistakes
Iniquities take us far from God
Satan tries to interrupt your journey
Be in God’s hands, human love changes
A series of storms can pass by you
You are safe under the shadow of the almighty
The Lord is your keeper
Do not run away from God….
Be in God’s hand