Long Bury Poems
Long Bury Poems. Below are the most popular long Bury by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Bury poems by poem length and keyword.
Yankee Doodle Dandy
It’s where I’ve fallen and where I lay.
Ashes to ashes, cradle to grave,
Where drums roll and the fife is played.
Where the bell tolls, it tolls for me.
Dust to dust, pray tell, “It’s Liberty!—
It’s Yankee Doodle Dandy.”
It’s where I lie and where I’ll be
When they come to bury me.
Cover me, and let me rest in peace.
***
Note:
The “American Revolutionary War,” aka the American War of Independence, took place from April 19, 1775, to September 3, 1783, between Great Britain and the thirteen British colonies in North America.
According to a few accounts, when General Cornwallis (1738–1805), the commander of the British forces, whose officers surrendered to General George Washington (1732–1799), the commander of the Continental Army at Yorktown, Virginia, on October 19, 1781, the retreating, defeated British troops were met by an American band playing “Yankee Doodle.”
On September 3, 1783, the “Treaty of Paris” was signed between Great Britain and the United States, ending the American Revolutionary War and establishing the borders between British North America and the United States of America.
no din less more pronounced upon your ear
scallions separated blend to meet the stew
when hearty hearts drink out the broth of fear
and bury those with heavy hearts they knew
long mornings sun bestowed upon
when laddies grew beneath
and lads to lasses onward come
to part the laurel wreath
Tis hill we fools apart the path will travel
hats upon a head no longer there
and when to meet the layers to unravel
and when is left the floor yet barely bare
in ages ancient passed behind the eye
I long the longest sound to whisper now
and you may bring the bringing all for aye
but never will this song be singing low
ye cannot enter here nor can I come
for this the place that none can call their home
to hither yonder plain and tip to dome
none can worship all that worship some
some drink to fill the tears that they have lost
some cost is paid for every spill we see
though our hearts may fairly break each day
each day is payment fair for what we be
The reason I originally joined Facebook was because of the freedom it gave me…
the ease…I could connect across the country and the world with my family,
our friends and their families.
It’s a way of connecting with a group of people I am blessed to know…
hearing their stories, seeing the places they’ve been…watching their families grow.
I write mostly about the things in my life I love
my friends, my family…nature…but I hope you understand
when it comes to inequality, injustice, prejudice and hatred…
I will not bury my head in the sand.
I know I’ve lost some Facebook friends who thought I was too critical…
who felt Facebook is not the place to be outspoken or political.
And for the most part with this Facebook philosophy
I wholeheartedly agree..
except when, in my opinion, people’s politics are destroying humanity.
So you will find I write a lot about my loves, and how my life’s been blessed…
Buy you’ll also find me writing about Ukraine, LGBTQIA2S+, people of color…
anyone who’s been abused, neglected and oppressed.
I invite you enjoy this journey with me…connected together on this Facebook link
and even when you don’t agree with me…I hope at least I make you think.
But if you choose to go away…because it upsets you when I raise my voice…
although I’m sorry to see you go…I do respect your choice.
Its uncertainty takes us into year three
Must mask up, still not quite free
A randomness science can’t comprehend
Mandate not, don’t get the shot—the latest trend
Surrendered to what’s taken longer
The jabs make immune systems stronger
To misleading rumors, we fall quarry
Thousands more we’ll surely bury
This spiky protein called Covid Nineteen
Ages five and up, now get your vaccine
A conspiratorial depopulation
Manufactured in another nation
The masses, it’s here for all races
Children seen with shrouded faces
Is this it, is Covid here to stay
What do doctors tell us to say
The virus evolves, it doesn’t go away
What lessons can be learned
Another life sickened and spurned
The Pope, another epistle
To what tune do we whistle
What will they say all over the world
Every man for himself, every boy and girl
All grown up—they’ll be heard and seen
As the — Generation Covid Nineteen!
Orange and oil
The old man
smells odd like
burnt wires Black
&
cryptic desires
oranges and oil!
Static erupts like infinite fire.
Noise white grows in volume,
even higher.
oranges and oil...
Oxygen runs onyx tubes lighter.
The old man is a dying fighter...
Orange and oil odd objects
ornate resonate with our oblique imagery.
Tangled on barbwire...
oranges and oil
smell like a burnt twisted wire!
Copper taste to tip of the tongue.
Deeps scars bury
tinted desires
all expire
oranges and oil
infinite fire visions of white noise grow lighter.
...or oblique imagery resonates
as objects oily with afterthoughts
detonates resonates
oranges and oil
The old man has grown lighter...
Come rain or shine
The children of Penny Lane
Gather to play and while away
At Lady Madonna
Out polishing her front doorstep
Day by day
On her run down council tenement terrace house
She is so house proud
But expectant visitors never come
Nothing alive has crossed over
Since that letter was delivered
Notification her Husband and Son
Where alas no more
Casualties of war
Merely your country owes you a debt of gratitude sincerely sorry for your loss
With no body to repatriate nothing
to put in a coffin or bury she couldn't even
plan or mourn at their funeral
Eleanor Rigby
Where do they all the lonely people
Come from and go
God only knows the time and place
Old is a good thing.
Some people never
get a chance to be old.
At what point
did I start bragging
about my age?
I don’t remember, but
here I am – 94!
Anyone that old
has survived a
mountain of things.
We’ve been at an
ugly stage of growing up,
sometimes scorned, bullied,
or the butt of the joke.
We’ve lived through
awkward, embarrassing
teenage years.
We’ve been hopelessly broke,
eating things like
cheese and rice balls and
endless hot dogs and beans.
Our husbands had to
go to war and leave us
back home with babies
and small children or
we lived in Army housing
on dusty bases in nowhere land.
We’ve survived marital
problems and problems
with our children, jobs,
money, neighbors, health,
heartbreak, and loss.
Some of us have had
to bury a child.
We have taken care of
aging parents and have
seen them to their
final resting places.
We have taken care
of everyone else,
often neglecting ourselves,
and we have cried alone.
But now we are old
and can tell our story.
Blue is the colour of the shroud I want to be buried with,
If there's a body left to bury.
If not, then just remember me,
Picture me in a blue hue; my soul, you'll see.
My days are closing in, rising in numbers,
Dreams are full of chasing demons now
Where to go, where to flee,
Where do the gods go when they're free!
There are so many voices in my head,
Full of bitterness; some songs, some noises, And some are just pure nuisance.
Violence is a broken promise,
Revenge is an empty one.
But they're still better,
Better in my head,
Better than your promise of forever together;
The bull we always fall for, yeah that one.
No, you weren't there for me in my need
You weren't there beside me,
You were there but I was here, all alone.
God forbids man from eating blood
Ever since He had told Noah;
He said what foods were just allowed
To be consumed on that era.
Israelites were also banned
From ingesting blood of livestock;
They should bury the red fluid
From the adult beasts from the flock.
The apostles just taught the same
On the age of Christianity;
The main reason is blood is life,
As spoken by the Almighty.
It is the blood that truly makes
An atonement for human soul;
It is for faith and not for meal,
As followed by chosen people.
Christ's blood is just necessary
For all to gain God's great kingdom;
The bull’s blood that filters flesh is
The shadow of good things to come.
It's hard to live in
A world where
People, en masse
Accept this mandated schedule...
An indoctrinated philosophy
From birth until death
Abiding by beliefs
Of ancient times!
Tell me, where's the upheaval
The unrest for revival
A rebirth of progressive thinking.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear my
Inner torment.
We are all unique souls
With our own respective
Blueprints, yet we
Squish and bury our
Distinctive gifts between our
Breast bones, challenging
The beating heart with
So much passion-
To walk the beaten path...
A path already made clear by
Our ancestors boiling
Under the hot sun
Sweating and bleeding
And tortured to death
Fighting for our freedom.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear
My inner torment.
We walk this Earth
In open air yet making
No indentation on
Our own stretch where
Our ancestors played their part-
Existing only in the hell of
Powerful mad men
Puffed-up in relay teams
Passing the golden baton through
Nepotism, avarice, and
Mendacity... a self-serving elite
Us, the en masse,
Complicit in their every
Wicked whim, we
Wallow in this
Faux complacency
Of acceptance
As if it's all good
By ticking the
Ballot box.
I cry inside, biting my lips
So no one can hear
My tortured soul.
© 2015 Denise Morgan?