Long Pyre Poems
Long Pyre Poems. Below are the most popular long Pyre by PoetrySoup Members. You can search for long Pyre poems by poem length and keyword.
I awake with the sweat of a distant dream....
Thinking of what I'd seen
Remembering what was in my mind's eye
Such sad, sad thoughts of a time gone by
I remember the heat of the desert and the dangers of camouflage men
of small remote villages.......and the people within
I recall a child.......I can still see her smile
Black was her hair, her hands they were oh so small
I can still see her face.........I remember it all
Erelah, yes that was her name
and ever since I met her my life's not been the same
She'd come to our station almost everyday
coming for her hunger, always to play
running round and round, hiding from us all
I still can hear her laughter........ I remember it all
Such a small girl, born into a ruthless world
A world where men prey upon men, and life is simply discarded like sand to the wind
Sunlight and shadows
One illuminates while the other falls
As days become weeks, distant voices call............
Messages of distress come over the wire
speaking of death, fire
of a small village, of evil men who rape, murder, and pillage
Cloaked with the tools of Azreal, the tarmac erupts
Awash in wind and sand, we're elevated into the air
Nap-of-the-earth quickly, mountains, valleys pass by fast
Distant souls burning, we ascend upon the village at last
Pyre smoke engulfs the senses, as it swirls around and around
Hovering high above, we descend swiftly to the chard ground
Toils of men are revealed in the dawn's light
The departed are scattered about as we scour for signs of life
From one burnt structure to another
We find nothing but hopelessness and despair
Only the dead and the dying, Iblis has been here
A familiar door, one I passed through many times before
Reluctantly I peer in, and to my great sadness I'd see
Little Erelah laying by her mother, still deep within a "dream"
But from this "dream" she'll not awake, nor shall she ever play
Both her innocence and life were taken
Never to learn to read, never to learn to write
Never to run and sing again, due to man's mindless strife
I promised to protect the children ever since that day
And always defend them against man's evil ways
And never ever forget her
That angel from above, or her simple message
LOVE.........
To me she was a moment of Spring, in a lifetime of endless Winter
She is but a dream..........
Prayer to the Stone of Sobriety
Under a purple flannel-like sheet, but not as soft;
As warm as flannel-but hotter,
I am sweating.
The flannel shroud soaks up my sweat like my liver soaks up venom
I see angry tigers approaching from the ceiling above where I lay;
Tigers coming to rip the walls of my mortal gut.
Oh, Bacchus, send your vengeful tigers away
What did I ever do to you?
The sheet protects me from sunlight, but not from myself;
Nor am I shielded from Bacchus’ tigers; and not from my sweat.
Beads of toxic perspiration roll across swollen eyelids.
I press my cracked lips firmly together as if to scream silently to scare the tigers.
A poison tiger in my body torments my heart,
Pressing its scabbed paw firmly against my veins
Each pulse of the baneful blood pushes against my forehead as the tiger roars
And Bacchus begins to laugh.
Oh, wine, Oh drink, Oh smoke and pill
Who put you in my shriveled stomach?
Who breathed you into my cancerous lung?
What did I ever do to you?
A heave of tepid vomit snaps like a leather whip through my throat!
Tigers hate the taste of vomit.
Bacchus’ hatred is repulsed by its smell.
The tigers stop with one last press upon my forehead.
The sweat-soaked purple cloth is flung back from my shaking body by an unknown woman.
The wet pile of purple sheet crystallizes on the corner of my pyre.
It solidifies, as does my resolve, to keep Bacchus and the tigers at bay.
The mound of purple quartz is tethered to my body by a cord of desperation.
Oh wine, Oh drink. You too, smoke and pill,
The blue of hope and red of blood join forces to guard me from your tiger claws.
My sobriety hangs in the balance.
It hangs around my neck like a stone
That has the weight of three large hogs.
It hangs around my neck like a young woman, not yet a noose.
Like the woman who was commissioned by ancient Greeks to keep me sober.
Oh, sober Amethyst
Like ancient Bacchus, I cry
Tears of sweat over my drunkenness
Ashamed enough to die; but I cannot
Your generous gift of recovery is free.
What did I ever do to deserve your sober generosity?
Be my stone of sobriety;
You are my receptacle of thought and habit.
Heal me, oh purple goddess.
Protect this mortal from my internal tigress
Guard me with the weight of purple stone.
Oh, stone of sobriety, heal this mortal fool.
Written on: 7th September 2012.
Written by: Sashi.Prabhu (Zeauoxian)
Tons more I wish to do,
Much more I want to do,
Before I am laid on the pyre facing the sky deep blue,
Much more I wish to do……….
I want to scale scary heights,
I want to bungee jump without any fright.
I want to travel rough terrains on bikes,
I want to make it through forests and go on long hikes.
I want to wander singing songs,
I want to sing about how I mended my wrongs.
I want to be creative again ,
I want to write about my joys thrills and pain.
I want to pour my heart and passion in my works,
I want to write verses & haikus without reactions knee jerks.
I want to take many a calculated risks,
I want to learn from the entire process without shortcuts or fancy tricks.
I want to contribute for a good cause,
I want to give without siphoning material or emotional dross.
I want to untangle messed up issues,
I want to wipe off tears with empathy laced tissues.
I want to work on taboo subjects,
I want to solve regression of y on x.
I want to listen to my music loud,
I want to pen my work in a place far from the madding crowd.
I want to sow seeds and many a plant,
I want to bask in sun rays that into my room slant.
I want to drench in the rains,
I want to make paper boats and sail them in the drains.
I want to pick up from the ground and smell fresh wet earth,
And then joyously have my speech filled with mirth.
I want to boldly write about myself only for me,
I want the world to know me & my mind as they will always see.
I want to meet often the persons, who mean a lot to me,
I want to be able to emote my passions and feelings of love and glee.
I want to be happy about just any small thing,
And all this I want to do before the last breath to my nostrils I bring.
Facing the blue skies on my funeral pyre,
I want to be on the best craft my soul can hire….
All this I want to do very soon,
Before sets into me dreaded gloom.
But the life I live is taking its toll,
I am yet to get out of this oblivious hole.
Time is just right to set aside,
And take a ride
Fulfill my wants and dreams that I nurtured in me to grow,
And I had put away sheathed in a cocoon of time many years ago.
Now I don’t want a moment long,
And I will do what I want and sing my own song,
And do what in me I let grow,
Many, many years ago.
The village head Pymy Gruzz was hundred years old
He had no daring self neither a piece of gold
Only a daughter had he she was a foster child
She was fifteen years old Kiki– sweet, gentle and mild
She gave him comfort with a docile, obedient smile
“No worry, father”, we are all together in our Lyle.
Night was perilous, hazy, and yellow as a ghost
A chill crossed the craven moon and a platter of duck roast
Kiki awoke and stepped out, in the dark the dragon queen snored
She crossed the lake Obenjinn and mounted the hill of sword
She felt the pricks of crusty prickles but she was climbing on
She must save the village Lyle where she was born
The dawn showed her chubby face happy on the child
Kiki made her journey’s end the day was sweet and mild
She found a man with sunny face god showed her in a dream
She went to him with folded hands and made a pleading to him.
Sire, I am Kiki from village Lyle bleeding in my heart
My village folks have turned to rocks in fear of Kunnegert
She is a dragon fire breather, keeper of skull on pyre
She must be killed by a happy man I want your sword on hire.
My blood my sweat and all I have will go to you my sire
I cannot delay; my folks are locked and human skull on pyre.
The sunny man stood up straight with a radiant face
“Little kid my Kiki sweet you will not fall from grace.
I will go with you my little moon and kill the dragon sure
I say you clean in voice plain what a happy man can endure
A happy man is happy because he lives with his lord
A happy man is happy because he keeps all love on hoard
He gives it free to every creature lord had made on earth
Lord made him his best seraphim to take a human birth
He is born for others and dies for all and in compassion he is tall
A dragon’s vice in valley of Lyle he must have to forestall
So Said he and took her hand and sword shone in golden orb
They climbed down the narrow gorge in finest pace the earth can absorb
Kiki, the daring daughter of the village stepped along the happy man
The golden sword the golden orb reached the final lane
The misty valley still in spell
the misty opiate dulled the souls and spurred the hell
The poet stopped his pen, slept a little, the stories told he had to retell*.
*This is the second part
(c) RAJAT KANTI CHAKRABARTY
14 September, 2014
Countdown to *****sapiens extinction
predicted millenniums in past
ordained but never occurred December 21
two thousand and twelve after common era
whereby catastrophic spark
detonating inferno incinerating blast
eradicating extant flora and fauna
activating bereft hegira
with no means to interrupt the die
since the dawn of civilization cast,
but last minute reprieve granted.
Impossible mission to escape ominous
predetermined fate of human rat race,
nor turn back hands of time
with origin of species on clock face
thus ticking closer to hour of doomsday
without faith to brace
allowing, enabling and providing Gaia
to redeem terrestrial space
vestiges of teeming billions soon erased
criminal minds without evidence traced
forcefully relinquishing simians
planetary stranglehold amazing grace
proffering tabula rasa
for another dominant species to claim the place.
Sirens promulgate emergency impending
toward inescapable cataclysm
yet no place to run or hide
lest one boards a rocket light-years away
which makes suspense thrillers
birthed by John Grisham
enviable plot to keep
total Earth's destruction at bay.
Matthew Scott Harris, a lifetime America Online
meme bur hastens to convey dire
crisis sparking to offer electric nom de plume
a papa who did help sire
deux darling daughters,
now grown into young gals
yet for ages hive stung
with hurt early, whence fatherhood did fire
meow n childhood's end fostering people
strangers even fork getting this communication,
per S0S sprinkled with auk shucks corny,
egret - letting opportunities take flight aspire
now pleasures soft as gossamer feather bedding
down play hardened angst riddled psyche, where ire
Ronny gully stubbornly thrives
amidst adversity as father time spins gyre
row scope at greased lightning speed,
intimating with dead reckoning to hire
grim reaper, who whiz patient as Job,
and exemplary at ridding mire
and muck bogs down this dada robbing
existence with joie de vivre, where funeral pyre
doth flickr-beckoning GoDaddy, cuz
Juno I haint gonna hear angelic choir
or equivalent enlightenment re:
home sweet home, this atheist doggedly tire
so haim trying keep sea legs
one step ahead of tipping point
envision self pitched into abyss -
thus finally ends discombobulated wire.
Out of all of us my best friend
Came to an inglorious, untimely ugly end
We were digging holes inside a cave
But what he didn’t know was that he was digging his own grave
When it was finally time to go to bed
He turned around and a Nazi shot him in the head
He fell into the hole he had just dug
And the Nazi covered him up with an old dirty rug
They poured gasoline on him and set him afire
That was to become my friends funeral pyre
We were made to stand there and watch him burn
And the Nazi said, "This is your lesson to learn”
That night we all went to bed
Full of sadness, fear and dread
What happened that night really gave us a fright
Nothing was ever going to be alright
At night I see the ghosts of the lost
During the day I see the price that it cost
The Nazis have no religion or conscience
They only believe in killing and science
Later that day, a Nazi came with something he made
It was a very awful ugly lamp shade
On one side of the shade was something I knew
It was one of my dead friend’s tattoos!
Of the unfortunate unlucky dead
The Nazis were shrinking heads!
And they were making all kinds of things
Out of the prisoners, their gold teeth and rings
One night so cold I was watching my frozen breath
The Nazis came and took me away to see Dr. Death
He said he was going to give me a shot and it would do no harm
He rolled up my sleeve and stuck a needle in my arm
That was after Christmas in 1944 late December
And from that moment on nothing I remember
An American soldier told me that when he found me
I was walking around the prison yard like a lifeless zombie
Now it’s early May 1945
And somehow I am still alive
It’s amazing that I am not insane
The last survivor of the last train
To understand the holocaust
You must understand all it cost
In this camp it cost the lives of over a million
Of innocent men, women and children
Now we speak of all the lives lost
In the past tense
It all really comes down to the cost
Of all the dead and the presence of absence
Against all of humanity there leaves a void
A hideous heinous crime
So many promising lives destroyed
In one short period of time
Lives that were vital and present
All became past tense
And we can still feel and resent
Their absence of presence
We had a garden gnome named Griselda
the bane of our small bungalow
she was nasty and mean, at times quite obscene
the worst that you ever could know!
Her garden mate, Gregor, had feared her
but one day he mustered the nerve
with all of our backing, to send the girl packing
with cleverness, cunning and verve.
But she was vindictive by nature
and wouldn't let 'bygones' be gone
if it took all her years, she would stir up our fears
her plans were all plotted and drawn.
She waited 'til we'd quite forgotten
her villainous, vile, evil reign
then with fierce aggression, she took bold possession
of our lovely, dear, docile domain.
She poisoned the pansies and lilies
and shredded the sweet climbing vines
she disturbed my repose, when she broke the windows
with a shriek that sent chills up my spine.
She tore down my front porch swing
shattering the flowerpots and planters
mad wreckage in her wake, as she sought all to break
taking off to the back at a canter.
I squared off to defend my back garden
grabbed whatever I thought I might wield
at first, on my guard, as I entered the yard
I found she was hardly concealed...
And 'though she seemed alone in the garden
I soon found that I was mistaken
for, succinctly put- I was bound head to foot
and carried off, unhurt but shaken.
Griselda had built quite an army
it seems, in her time far away
for gremlins and trolls, from the caves to the knolls
were under her terrible sway.
They answered her orders directly
and smugly, she smiled and she smirked
a gleam in her eyes as she planned my demise
as her minions continued to work...
Heaving in stones from the quarry
they were piling them higher and higher
and my strength gave away as to my dismay
I saw they were building a pyre!
But Gregor'd escaped all their notice
as he'd hid 'neath the back garden shed
and despite his wee size, he would prove her demise
at his bellow, her company fled.
He used a cheap trick, an enchantment
that he bought from an old witch named Rue
and it seemed there were thousands (as far as the eye scanned)
of Gregors that came into view!
Her face was distorted with terror
and she promised that she'd stay away
and off like a blip- she jumped on a ship
and sailed to somewhere near Bombay.
Tons more I wish to do,
Much more I want to do,
Before I am laid on the pyre facing the sky deep blue,
Much more I wish to do……….
I want to scale scary heights,
I want to bungee jump without any fright.
I want to travel rough terrains on bikes,
I want to make it through forests and go on long hikes.
I want to wander singing songs,
I want to sing about how I mended my wrongs.
I want to be creative again ,
I want to write about my joys thrills and pain.
I want to pour my heart and passion in my works,
I want to write verses & haikus without reactions knee jerks.
I want to take many a calculated risks,
I want to learn from the entire process without shortcuts or fancy tricks.
I want to contribute for a good cause,
I want to give without siphoning material or emotional dross.
I want to untangle messed up issues,
I want to wipe off tears with empathy laced tissues.
I want to work on taboo subjects,
I want to solve regression of y on x.
I want to listen to my music loud,
I want to pen my work in a place far from the madding crowd.
I want to sow seeds and many a plant,
I want to bask in sun rays that into my room slant.
I want to drench in the rains,
I want to make paper boats and sail them in the drains.
I want to pick up from the ground and smell fresh wet earth,
And then joyously have my speech filled with mirth.
I want to boldly write about myself only for me,
I want the world to know me & my mind as they will always see.
I want to meet often the persons, who mean a lot to me,
I want to be able to emote my passions and feelings of love and glee.
I want to be happy about just any small thing,
And all this I want to do before the last breath to my nostrils I bring.
Facing the blue skies on my funeral pyre,
I want to be on the best craft my soul can hire….
All this I want to do very soon,
Before sets into me dreaded gloom.
But the life I live is taking its toll,
I am yet to get out of this oblivious hole.
Time is just right to set aside,
And take a ride
Fulfill my wants and dreams that I nurtured in me to grow,
And I had put away sheathed in a cocoon of time many years ago.
Now I don’t want a moment long,
And I will do what I want and sing my own song,
And do what in me I let grow,
Many, many years ago.
by: Sashi.Prabhu
You have raided my night again,
as the burst of a sudden storm,
sneaking into my loneliness,
at the most unexpected hour,
plunging me into swirls of pain
too deep for expression,
leaving me in utter disorientation.
I now drift aimless with muddled thoughts,
through the dingy avenues of the past,
never once able to sever the chord,
that binds me so tight to those memoirs,
exposing me to torrid heat
with my soul, burning down….
like a piece of smouldering coal.
Sleepless are my nights.
Dreamless are my days.
Like the sundown shadows growing bigger,
with every stride I take,
the farther I move, the closer you follow.
Can I convince you ever again,
I never meant any harm to you.
How wearily have I watched the flies,
lured by the dazzling light,
char into diminutive specks of black,
by the scorching tongues of flame.
Still, why did I let you burn,
in the flame of my accursed passion?
You were like a flower admired from afar,
afraid of even the gentle breeze coming near,
lest it might jolt the delicate frame,
and shake the petals down, sooner than due.
Yet vulnerable turned the moment,
when all of a sudden, it started to rain.
Like a child, eager to play in the puddles,
you ran out into the pouring rain.
All soaked through and through,
You came in…. awhile my gaze,
rested on the filmy fabric,
seductively clinging to your curves.
Then, that wild surge…. beat me down.
And Alas! Under a magnetic pull,
surrendered your fragile self with ease.
At that moment of self-abandonment
looted off all that you held chaste.
Never surmised, you were crying,
when I felt your cheeks, so wet.
Now I know, it was agony,
not ecstasy that I, then, beheld on your sentient face!
You refused to respond to my calls.
Unanswered went all my anxious queries.
Like a hibernating toad,
to some dark underground cave, you slid.
Abruptly, alerted on call,
by an alien sound, far from familiar
I hastened to the casualty ward,
and saw you lying limp,
with drops of blood, still dripping down
from your slashed wrist,
staring at me with an open mouth!
As I watched you lying still
with your eyes refusing to flutter,
I knew my world tottering below,
and my heart, set ablaze,
into a funeral pyre.
War after war in the name of his sovereign king
A seventeenth century fury, devoid of all shame
Through pistol, cutlass and rapier, the world knew his name
So too does the Reaper, and beckons to Solomon Kane
.
A time to fight evil with evil, purge wickedness far from the land
Anger, murder and hatred, the cost of the toll
On the brink of destruction he falters, unsure of his stand
No riches, nor rapture enough to replenish his soul
.
A scream from the Devils Reaper
Cuts deep through the ice in your soul
“I have come for you, Solomon Kane”
“To claim back the Time, that you stole”
.
You wake from your world of dreams
The dreams that do haunt you, still
Renounced your evil ways, it seems
No - more you will live, to Kill
.
In penance here, behind these walls of virtue
“Oh! Father, do not make me beg, I pray
Cast from Heavens favour, crowned unholy
Let loose the Devils Children, for to play
.
The corpses piling high, upon the pyre
His bounty just a book and some stale bread
From regal and the noblest of beginnings
Alone there on the road, he’s left for dead
.
Dispense now with the boy you gutter demon
The daggers kiss then stole his life away
“If I kill you, demon, then I am bound for Hell”
“But that’s a price, that I will gladly pay”
.
Adorned by a broad-rimmed hat and a flowing cape
His journey’s long, his homeland’s where he’ll start
His task laid out before him, Merediths escape
No love, nor needless pity, in his heart
.
The preachers flock have changed now for the worse
They clamber for to tear the flesh, from bone
As MalachI bestowed on each, his curse
The Chapel cellar walls, their only home
.
The fate of defiance is fixing
The Hapless aloft, on the cross
Rain softens a cruel crucifixion
Sweet Meredith’s … not yet lost
.
A Priest sold his soul, to the Devil
At the castle, of Solomons birth
Welcome home, Solomon Kane
His friends, cut to bits in the dirt
.
“Forsake me not, Heavenly Father”
“Do I call on your Mercy, in vain”
Redemption lies there, at Your Alter
“RETURN TO ME” ….. Solomon Kane
.
There once was a time, full of burden
A time without hope, for a Saviour
When no-one would stand against Evil
“THAT TIME, MY LORD.... NOW IT IS OVER”