Long Raise the dead Poems
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If I we're to be a wedding singer
The bride would obviously have
to be dead and wearing a black dress
And I am sure they would not only
ask for their money back
But I would never be asked back either
or be able to use them to provide me
with a glowing reference
I then would have to go away and
reinvent myself as a funeral singer
The sullen ilk of Johnny Cash
at a cremation service
Whaling a rendition of
Ring of Fire
And
I did it my way
So out of tune and with lyrics you
have never heard before
Until everyone is looking at each other
so confused they are now no longer
sad but laughing out loud instead
And thinking to themselves this
has to be the best funeral I have
ever been to in my life
So much so I might just laugh
myself to death
And if I do please promise me or
grant me this my dying wish
When I die you will book him to sing
at my funeral
Because if anyone could he could
raise the dead
Slipping on tinkles ain't easy my boy
When zippers get stuck it can be a pain
The thing that I hold once gave me such joy
Now it's just leaky and leaves a round stain
Golden years my **** that's a silly name
Now it's really dangerous to go to bed
I tell you that stuff is a young man's game
She laughs quite loudly "you can't raise the dead!"
A little fast rubbing might do the trick
Perhaps if she tries, it will be worth while
I'm not opposed to a lollipop lick
Three small inches might grow into a mile
Everything worked but then my back went out
What she thought was joy was a painful shout
Disclaimer: No old people were hurt in the writing of this piece. It is also not meant to offend any "Sexy Senior Citizens". Keep limber my friends!!!
What would it be like to start all over again,
I mean isn’t that the reason, so many of us pen,
It just opens up every unknown possibility,
Some beautiful some dark, others downright ugly,
But alas the truth is, we’ll probably never know,
Unless I endeavor to reverse time’s flow,
Oh here we go again, he’s still living in the past,
Well actually I’m not, it’s more a forecast,
Picturing the future, not as hard as it seems,
We do it every night, yeah but only in dreams,
Still have to wake up, and face tomorrow,
Make ends meet, work, pay back what we borrow,
Now this is the bit where I go quite insane,
Stand back as I cast off these holding chains,
Oh Christ! he’s just done another line of cocaine,
No I’m clean and sober, or so I maintain,
Gonna get hypnotized by this shrink I know,
Put in a permanent stupor, my life I’ll forego,
Wander this planet, with my head in the clouds,
On every continent have a fabulous house,
Leave behind the rat race, start a new religion,
Where there’s no big brother, and no supervision,
Do all this by surrogate, from my own living room,
Embedded forever in this simulated womb,
Will make time go slowly, say one minute a year,
So a day is a Millennium, time will almost disappear,
When I make love will last, the whole century long,
The agony of ecstasy, oh my will is so strong,
Passion will be bliss, happiness put on tap,
No death, gonna rid my world of all this crap,
Write beautiful poetry, til the cows come home,
Muse about Italy, Venice, Naples and Rome,
Oh god I’m flying high, soaring unchained,
Not an ache in my body, slight twinge or pain,
A demigod of nature, gladiator fighting to be free,
come on join in, spend a moment here with me,
All the haters, you’ll be expelled to hell,
Liars and time wasters, yeah you as well,
I will not stop, gonna raise the dead,
Well only the good ones, under my bed?
Boy that was great, was it good for you too,
And for a moment, I was really there, it’s true,
No need to get drunk, wasted out of my mind,
Open up your imagination, it’s simply sublime.
85 billion neurons, in the average human brain,
Stars in the Milky Way, more or less the same,
Please listen when I tell you, never be restrained,
Reality of truth’s alive, not to find it is a shame.
By
David Kavanagh
In the cemetery I walk, so dark it is this night.
Hoping that the Ghouls won't start to bite.
I feel the tug of the dead, as each grave I pass.
Thankful this nervous tension won't last.
Armed with my Animation supplies,
I stare out at all the green glowing eyes.
A chicken for my blood sacrifice,
Raising the dead, there's always a price.
The salt keeps the dead inside.
Using the machete our magic, we'll ride.
Salt is for everybody's protection.
Cold steal seals out any deception.
To prime the earth so the dead will rise,
cast the blood and create our ties.
Focus my energy and the ground starts to shake.
Winds whip through the area and the on-lookers quake.
I command all that is at least 3 days dead.
Just enough time for the soul to move ahead.
Born with this power as a Necromancer,
When I will my power all the dead have to answer.
I look to Sandra Hudson, who hired me,
to raise the dead and hear their screams.
I call Illyanna De La Keur from her deep, dark grave.
Her words are scary so be very, very brave.
For John Loving III's "Haunted Poets Society"
Santa challenged Jesus,
his words were cold as ice;
"I bring toys and happiness"
"I love this festive life"
"I travel around the world,
bringing lots of cheer"
"I have my own shop,
with strapping reindeer"
"I can fly up a chimney,
with a finger aside my nose"
"My elves are working daily,
with bells upon their toes"
"I have a huge mansion,
beyond the North Pole"
"Everybody loves me,
from the youngest to the old"
"I can see the naughty,
the nice and witty too"
"Tell me, dear Jesus,
what exactly can you do?"
Jesus answered quickly,
And this is what he said,
"I can heal the sick,
and even raise the dead"
"I can walk on water,
make a blind man see"
"Your elves are my disciples,
who follow faithfully"
"You say you have a mansion?"
"My Father has many"
"My children's humble prayers,
are answered by me"
"I can turn water,
to the purest of wine"
"I can cast out demons,
to the lowest of swine"
"I can soothe mighty seas,
I can feed the multitude"
"I gave my life for sinners,
you're one I must include"
"I was born for a purpose,
do not forsake this cause"
"Without my resurrection,
there'd be no Santa Claus"
"I will have the final word,
prepare for Judgement Day"
Santa bowed to Jesus,
he began to weep and pray
Santa visits once a year,
Jesus is twenty-four seven;
Ho, ho, ho, and mistletoe,
won't get you into heaven
Merry Christmas!
I stare out my window,
up towards the smoke that is the clouds,
drifting apart and all together.
The very place the Lord ascended to long ago,
I long to see Him.
To embrace Him in my arms.
My God, the sinless lamb,
the one who loves me
No, I mean the only one who truly loves me.
Love on earth between men is fleeting and conditional.
It can fade and disappear on a dime.
But the Master’s love is forever faithful
and NEVER not stable;
always unchangeable,
NEVER argumentative;
it’s alive and gives life
and can even raise the dead.
So many are dying young and damned.
Tell God your sins and take His hand.
Let old things stay where old things lie
scattered and dusty,
NEVER needed for a time.
He saves the oppressed,
wiping away every tear,
How could you ever leave His presence?
When the end times are close, yes, they are so near.
Break up with the enemy
chose to live instead.
Cry out to the King!
For the price of sin is so brutal,
it’s better to repent before you are dead
because once you cross that bridge,
and this body you once complained about
will no longer keep you from the pit.
There is still time for you to accept His gift.
Salvation would look good on you
I’m just being honest.
The enemy is watching us believers.
Yes, he is.
Don’t let him deceive you into thinking you are his.
The Father just hopes that His children will repent.
Come to Him boldly!
Declare Him to be your Lord and Savior.
Silent birds on the tree
waiting for the minstrel -
who will sing thru the morning
and unclose the gates of hell.
Then the birds will forever flee
to ask succor to their king.
Silent birds on the tree
are shuddering with dread -
the forlorn hosts ready for war
to scorn the living and raise the dead.
Then the birds will forever flee
to a country where joy is afar.
Silent birds on the tree
will be silent for all infinity -
their voice have been stolen
so they could not escape from duty.
Then the birds will forever flee
before they adhere with the fallen.
Silent birds on the tree
previously called nightingale -
are now a numberless legion
and declaim just an fancy tale.
Then the birds will forever flee
steadfast thru the oblivion.
My Requiem.
To my witch, my retribution; my inviting audience.
By night fall of this day, I shall have become your Prince.
Your equal in a title, so impossibly imposing.
I implore you to see within yourself;
Let this jester enamour you, with a wickedest of wit.
The scalding maiden of charm and beauty,
I beg for you to allow me to be worthy.
Please encourage my encroachment, for I am simply a roach;
I lament at your yearning, to see my heart burning; and I a ghost.
For as you cast me down, with a demon in your eyes,
The banshee’s cry and wolves howl in the night.
The screams of those in love,
Fill the minds of those with no guide.
The succession of your family’s honour shall be immortalized.
Cast in stone, but never cast aside;
I call on your soul with my requiem.
I have gathered your disciples; the enslaved stand in line.
They are willing to die; they are the sultry condemned.
My genteel, voluptuous, lascivious, constant;
Let us wander into the dark and find our family of opulence.
Let us bring silence to their feast and raise the dead.
Our concerto for the stalwart soldiers,
Grows even louder with the taking of each final breath.
I am your zealot, with the foreboding forecast.
A love like ours shall never last.
For your soul is nomadic; it’s devotion solely to lust;
Your lust would become the ruination of love.
But my lecherous libido, still feeds my ego
And my hearty organ tells my brain what to do.
Such a torrid torment of the needs of the female,
But I deplore you to see I love you.
I wish you to kiss me in the morning light,
As we both climb back into our coffins.
Two coffins as one, we lay hand in hand in the afterlife;
Our eternal love, eternally bound;
Shall never be allowed to go rotten.
(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
Form:
A SPIRACLE LEAP
The spiral staircase made her high heels sing.
Round and round, Suzette tapped a snazzy dance.
Her smile sparkling, ears dangling with butterfly wings.
Curves on fire, tights and a bodysuit, tighten his trance.
Her sugar cane a la morse code, a hypnotic prop.
Brady’s heart making love, promising everything.
The wings of her bedpost become a silk backdrop.
Occasioned honeymoon, death claimed her wedding ring.
From here the City churches pierced the mist,
shrouding every living part inside his tortured chest,
clamoring to raise the dead, in rage, with tentacled fist.
Like a hammer to a crucifix’ nail, he pounds his breast.
The creak of her satin-lined coffin, pure and white,
speaks to his quietus soul — her shut eyes aware.
Suzette spoke in a spiracle leap, from the box, sans sight.
He closed it, and, now smiling, crossed the square.
The world inside of me
Is huge.
There are trees with twisted, open branches,
Like a thousand mom's,
Reaching for a hug.
There is music, and art, and
A tsunami of words,
Sent down stream,
To be plucked and absorbed
Like the most fulfilling
Breath of air.
The world inside of me
Is huge.
There is a tender heart,
And a healing soul
That wishes he could
Raise the dead.
There is also a secret place
Where a million dreams come to rest.
(A dream never fully dies...)
These dreams spin around
Our conscience
Like the earth,
Spinning on its axis,
Rotating around the sun.
We rotate and
Gravitate towards
Each other too.
Like the thousand prayers
That are grafted from
Person to person.
All of them have a purpose.
But somehow it means more
When I can pray
For my sis.