Long Cremate Poems
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Glass shattered Saturday afternoon tea for S I L E N C E
holding steady raven momentum for its own r i p p i n g
fire from heartbeat slashes its void to tumble wounds of
wisdom weeping slow dirty tears of biting burns inserting
into wordless flesh of waiting before window panes were
smashed with stone docile ornaments, rampant afternoon
unvoiced holding a blank white canvas for dripping
bookshelves tumbled, poems torn to sheds, laundry strewn
with glass splinters as lead, aphonics slithering into dried out
stewpot waiting for maniacal tsunami to cremate emotions
tweezer them from dna soiled in possessive prisons ridiculed
Divinity spoke in all pervasive silence on testing timeline taut
holding breath to His nostrils imbibing a billion frequencies
I chose to brave open His serene lips for unutterable L O V E
lashes He crafted brushed breathy implicits with assent
for missions of courage traversed embracing solitude
observed in stillness whilst across eerie forest moss
carpets I deciphered “They Don’t Care about Us”
hush self wears a daisy cloak from heavenly dew fields
luminosity unzips not as lies hop chaotic across
spiderwebs it can chameleon transmute into gentle
streams to soothe that which hides for right timing
~ first bud of white rose birthing delicacy or benign
waters over pebble backdrop quietude
biscuit baker feeds jealousy, deceit, shame, guilt, indecision
escapism ~ swampy keys of stagnant quagmires will too utter
her heart’s eclipsed light breaking egoic invisibility as
softly I breathe her shadowed taciturn s t e a l t h
quiet petaling garment breaks open blackout mission
regurgitating quantum memories incubated in beckoning cell
fertility for decades perhaps centuries, marching crusades of
soul conquering ancient lands, majestic mountains, raucous
seas, ports, yellow spices, when women with babes gagged
anguished longing for men to taste their honey in serenity
hot crusted bread speaking truths of labouring backs bent
cows chewing cherrywood cuds ~ what could be a more
knowing t r a n q u i l i t y ?
now wafered soundlessness is lamb yet diamond piercing
raw, a lark offers sotto tones as harmony cupped in two
musing wings to ascend where it can quintessentially
quiver, hover in expectant repose for another silent mission
LASHES TO ASHES IN SLOW MOTION
Might I please present myself as a prologue to death
Because unless I am terribly wrong…….
I can’t have too terribly long
And I’ve been lazy too long
But I don’t have too long to act crazy
Incredibly and indisputably inane
And drive other people institutionally insane
My days dry up like clay caskets caught in the Cancun sun
Leading to nights that usually end by me ending up with whiskey whisking away yet another weary evening
Witnessed and coerced by two dead soldiers made of glass
Who kicked my ass the night before
When fright came before a blackout
And darkness led to a morning of foul tasting coffee and a donut of doubt
What secret could the night before grasp tightly in its clutch?
Will people say my performance was a bit too much?
Is there a lady somewhere that I wouldn’t recognize if her eyes were made of fire with whom I let desire declare two bodies bare?
And precisely what did she and I share?
Was it something controlled by a lack of control?
Did we meld in mind, body and soul?
Did seduction succeed in its mission to maraud our minds and give making love the meaning it was meant to have?
Is there a lady out there who borrowed a snippet from my life and may have been complicit in the death of a dream?
Did we watch the world fly in fast forward together?
And sometimes in slow motion in order that our time together would be extended by the exclusion of the relativity of time
And a second could sing for as long as it takes a wedding bell’s voice to fade into the hollowness of night
And a minute might meander down the middle of a mercurial moment and remain there until you sigh deeply and chase the stars away for the morning’s sake
And oh to the music of mysticism your countenance is wont to make
Sung by a choir of questions and a chorus of conclusions
While a flute would fleetingly fade into forgotten confusion
Alas, my days decline by death’s design and do more than demoralize me
My only request is that you disregard my genius and charming manner and please don’t memorialize me
Nor commemorate me in any way
Simply cremate me and toss me away!
© 2012 copyright PHREEPOETREE…..~free cee!~
I've found land again, the darkest land that I have seen,
And I can't see a single thing.
I sense these peoples ears perk up as I begin to lie again,
"I'm staying in sick again",
Huhh these lies ain't thickening.
Status update, now I'm writing silly s-it again,
On impulse, must be the ADHD kicking in.
Depression retakes its hold on me,
But I'm not being pulled into no sea.
I look at these demons,
and how they treat me,
It's time to rise up and beat em',
Not be defeated.
Don't call me a freak
just because I went through things that caused me to stop believing,
I'm a get this darkness out of my reality,
I'm a live through this
No, I won't stop breathing!
Smash some light into this world, I'm a cremate it, infinite,
as I drop bomb after bomb on them,
I'm a have the greatest fight of all time,
and I'm not gona stop until the battle's won.
I'm not afraid, I can make it different,
try and fail repeat it back again.
I'll rip this whole world of black apart,
An immense light seeps, I see, I weep.
An artistic flush,
The whole rainbow appears,
releasing my fears,
now I'm an enlightened fella.
Set a different course to the rest of the crowd,
A special route to make one feel crowned,
gold hearted,
The sort the royals have knighted,
A gladiator or King Arthur,
There's too many metaphors,
But I am at my strongest,
Satan's armies would RUN if they saw this!
Now, now, bloaw!
I'm elevating up to the top, I can't stop, I'm looking down on all of the world,
Nowadays I'm on top of this pain and it can't hurt or affect me anymore.
I feel so good, it's insane, I feel like I won the most epic of all wars.
I've got the power in me to grow strong and become an unstoppable forging force!
I'm a straighten up my stride,
I'll Never Give Up Hope, Not In Any Moment, NEVER, NO.
I'm a retake my pride,
a giant rose, just because I didn't give up, I was so close.
Mercy to my gods, I carried on relentless, I held up, I escaped hell.
So thanks to those who helped, and gave me that pull back up.
... O altar, altar, thus saith the LORD:
Behold, a child shall be born unto the
house of David, Josiah by name; and
upon thee shall he offer the priests of
the high places that burn incense upon
thee, and men’s bones shall be burnt
upon thee.
— 1 Kings 13:2
Take the evildoer bones
out of their sepulchre
Lay them wicked bones on the altar,
let them be turned to ashes
by the consuming fire
Holiness is a devouring flame
The prophecy told long ago finally came,
fulfilled thru Josiah by name
He burned those false priests’ bones on the altar,
the word of God reduced them to ashes
Burn the bones ... devil worshipers cremate
Give the wicked, who love doing evil, a taste
Give them a taste of the fiery brimstone lake ...
This is what evildoers desire,
God’s holy ways and righteous judgments they hate;
so raise them out of the grave,
then throw them into the burning lake
Give them the second death, the final oven bake;
let them sample a slice of the sulfur molten cake,
drink of the brimstone milk on the Devil’s doomsday
Josiah took them evil bones
out of their resting place,
he cast them out of their grave
Josiah was chosen by God
to perform the holy desecrate
To burn the bones ... do the prophetic cremate
Josiah, the righteous king,
cast those evil bones out of their burial place
He tossed them wicked bones into the altar blaze,
he burnt those bones ... gave them the holy desecrate
Oh evildoer, if you go to the grave ...
then it’s too late to be saved
But God’s gonna give evildoers a second chance,
which they will still wickedly waste
When the wicked get raised from the grave,
they’re gonna try to kill the saints,
whom they always did ungodly hate
So God’s foreknowledge
was as the prophecy said:
Let them taste the second death, the final oven bake
Oh, holy altar: burn them bones ...
body and soul do cremate
Then take those evildoer ashes,
and pour them into the burning lake
Did you know you’re trespassing?
Gated communities with white pickets; white teeth.
All of their new blood rushes towards leagues of Ivy and ROTC gold.
Loud engines.
Window signs.
(He’ll be governor some day.)
Do you think those colors will be shouted in their epitaphs? White marble with
Fresh flowers every week—corpses on corpses.
Do I need to call you a cab?
Or are you ACAB enough to find your own way home?
My mother used to attend punk concerts in shadowy churches,
And jump fences in heels—all thrifted clothes and laughing spite.
She tells me how she used to scream
By the train tracks, and watch glass shatter from junkyard rooftops.
She was a dancer, you know—that crowd, brimming with cocaine and counting ribs;
She watched a boy carve his arm open hospital-deep,
And she tells me about all of her dead friends who got surgeries and changed their names
To the scorn of their observers—
And the druggie with the liberty spikes, who dosed too heavy—
And the guy whose mother used to keep heterosexual **** on the living room TV
As though she could brainwash him out of what he had no say in being.
She tells me this, out by her backyard garden, in her sundress, backed by the bricks of our
Middle-class home, and she tells me
About the backseat of a cop car, and the front lawn of a drunk friend’s house, and we talk
About sex, and religion, and revolution, and—
Everything her parents never did.
Did you know you’re trespassing?
Peeling pickets with honeybee mailboxes; honeybee summers.
The scores to wear the Ivy crown, but too many teeth to wear it nicely.
Loud engines.
Window signs.
(She’ll kill the governor some day.)
Cremate me when I’m dead, my mother tells me, and I already know I’ll want the same:
Not to lie in the shadow of white marble when we could feed the sun with our carbon.
Are you aware that you’re loitering?
I’m going to have to ask you to find your way home.
My life, my apprehension
(1) Quietly, into this life, I came in creeping
The life my mother gave me, 74 years ago,
As a John Doe, while the whole world was sleeping,
Doing good deeds to the society, & becoming a precious soul.
(2) While I was young, to become a Doctor, I had learned,
For the society, I worked hard, with the knowledge I have earned
Treating patients, old and sick, operations were also a fun,
Whosoever heard me, may share the merits that I got in return.
(3) With wife and children, running my business
In my midlife years, I had enjoyed deceptively
Living happily like a celebrity, playing and saving my riches,
Spending valuable time, & getting old unexpectedly.
(4) It was natural that we were all recycled
Into the wheel of Sansara, we all lived and died
From dust to dust and ash to ash, Christianity’s teaching unrivaled,
Impermanence is the law of nature even Buddha could not shied
(5) So short is our life expectancy, by turning left and right
Unexpectedly getting ill, & unknowingly getting old
Anandathuriya wrote about the pleasures in life,
Its duration was like a bubble, coming out of the ocean floor
(6) Inevitably, our life will end getting sick & old, steady and slow
Do not bury, do not entomb, cremate my remains till it blends
My death wishes, to my family that I told
Summarily, with no exceptions, all in one day, till the end
(7) Even God entered Nirvana; for us mortals, leave alone,
Do not weep, and do not moan and groan
As we came in all alone, we go out in one’s own
Journey is hard… walk your path, you must be tough
Passing the abyss, stride till you strike the beaches of the bliss,
It’s the longest of all voyages that end all the creeds,
It is called the “Life’s Sansara Journey” indeed.
Dr Ko Ko Thein
Salt Lake City, Utah. U.S.A
“It was a mistake," you said. But the cruel thing was, it felt like the mistake was mine, for trusting you.”
David Levithan
I will forever be as pure
as white virgin fibres,
in your onyx
field of ravens.
When the
star-crossed
silhouette of
bleeding ink,
ricochets like
vindictive arrows,
within your
hollow walls,
quenched with
muted echoes,
I am reminded of
your ebony eyes,
cradled under
black decomposing flesh.
I shove my
misunderstood identity
into a pocket journal,
embalmed with a
fragrance of peace lilies
and rhapsodical prose,
amidst doleful dusks
painted with
past mistakes
hidden beneath
narratives of sinful
tangerine nights.
But, remember
that your fallacious
name is an
erased footnote
in the history of
relentless runes.
My tormented tongue
has become
immune to
your false screams.
There is no need
for close-fisted
fingers to flip
through pages,
of the story
I left behind,
as visions of
venomous verses
cremate into
ashes in my mind-
as mere memories
of monologues from
ice cold monsoons,
which don’t define me.
I’ve sculpted fragile
paper boats and
watched them ferry my
demons,
floating on daisies
in a ravishing rivulet
of truth and tranquility,
whilst you chase
impassioned imprints
within chapters
written in patterns
of insincere phrases.
I am a survivor of
your storm,
drawing dreams in
drowsy darkness,
blooming my
amethyst artistry,
which vibrantly
beats to burgundy
evolutions of a
blossoming flower,
who's scent you
will never savor.
My petals
may be fragile,
but I refuse to remain
prisoned in toxic
traits of a
weathered wildflower -
I only attract
majestic butterflies.
today is the day
to change my ways
and drown in the waves
where my soul wades and waits
for my sinful traits
to lay in the waste
of a bed i made
and destructively played
as PRAISE
led to a grave
beneath the haze
here in lies a maze
leading to a place far away from disgrace
seen upon my hearts face
and i won't erase a single trace
of these gifts of grace
unwrapped in lace
and a glazed phrase
that still
res...
on...
a...
tes...
teaching to raise frames with names
escaping parades of flames
spitting snakes
hissing shame
causing the shakes to set the stakes
and pray for those who prey on those completely afraid
i'm able to say it's never to late
to alter your fate and watch the rage
disengage
.
..
from the pain
pretending to paint
something great
because under the eye of hate
i willingly participate
and learn to confiscate
thoughts to differentiate
when to cremate the gain
causing me to hyperventilate
as reality begins to evaporate at a rate
that'll plague knaves with mistakes
that trace energy irate
enough to inflate
emotions bought with a rebate
and i realized before it was too late
and became the bait on the train
drawing out the insane
that wax and wane
in this race to the drain
leading the fake and lame
to the domain of mange
and unspoken shades
ablazed
in the grains of space
where forgiven chains are claims
that arrange a meeting so strange
a blending of rays at the bay of stains
halting the chase
beginning trades
on souls needing to be saved
from yesterday
Acceptance equals survival
Survival equals safety
Comfort equals invisibility
And invisibility is vital
For us to live a somewhat peaceful life
'Somewhat' because they even kill us in silence
They even kill us despite our compliance
When they see us we are greeted with violence
There is a method to the existence of being black
A formula so we don't go extinct
An unwritten rule of safety
A scientific mathematical equation to stay alive
One we shouldn't have to know
One we shouldn't have to know and follow
The rules of surviving being black
The fact that we don't even get a say on that
They were just handed to us never looking back
Never asking how we felt about that
Being given a rulebook
Thinking it was for all children
But realising the non black kids had none
They didn't have to learn how to 'be' when they were young
And once you as a black person has realised this
It's to late, for a wound would forever exist
Your innocence stolen from a world full of racists
All because of our skin
From birth to death
We are seen as a sin
Their ignorance asks for an exorcist
They think it will help to remove our blackness
To send it to hells fiery pits
So they can cremate and turn them into ashes
Because to them we are worse than evil
Which is ironic since they are our killers
But they are the real devil's
Even lucifer is not as sadistic as them
For us hell would be heaven to us
For we already have had a taste of it
When living on earth is punishment enough
When it already feels like an eternity of torment
This is where black breaks open into bright bleeding feeling
as souls suffer the fire of flesh to enter arena Earth screaming
searching the ether for Adam and Eve's answer to forbidden fever
while angels wear snake skins of war to remember the carnage of this theater
and demons adorn their horns with the rose thorns of newborns,
in the blue garden of aging Eden every breath has a burn, every flame forewarns
denuding knowledge of it's pretenses, unveiling appetites and their prices,
we begin to realize that the Great Mother is a killer as well as a provider for our vices
feeding us the fruits of fortune along with the fate of decay
building our bones, branding the brain, electrifying, crucifying and rectifying our clay,
she communicates, educates and fascinates with looks of lightning and sandy kisses
the Mistress of Lucifer and Christ, she supplies the wood, nails and rain for our wishes,
civilizations rage, rumble and crumble in the judgment of her storms
there's mud and rock for every foot of fury, a cave and castle for all who defy the norms,
in her imperial urn she will cremate your eyes in flames of crude oil
baptise hearts in pools of rose water filtered through eons of soul soil,
her gravity will grind you to the ground where grief grafts prayers from tears,
in the sanskrit of sunrises she will summon songs that give your love ears,
this cradle and cataclysm of her erratic elements is where hearts are born and buried,
Earth, a womb and tomb of ancient bloom, oasis in eternal space where life is carried -
J.A.B.