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Forgotten
Dame's Rockets grow atop her grave:
Pinks, whites and purples flourish here
in this cemetery enclave
where no one has visit in years.
Her oblique, weatherworn headstone
stands aside a nearby roadside
hidden amid weeds, unbeknown
to motorist who pass where she lies.
An effortful deciphering
failed to clarify her birth year
Born April first [obscured] in spring
Died forgotten this much is clear
except for these fragrant bouquets
that perfume above her grave today.
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Murrow Turning Over In His Grave
All the sainted sinners
They pay handsomely
And eventually?
They make the weapons
And they run the prisons
And they sell the justice
Cause being guilty is
Just good business
And well be standing on
The borderline
Aint no one there gonna
Stop it now
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
Half-closed eyes
And the countrys deadly
Do you feel the ooze as your brain drains out
From your pneumatic drills and sharpening knives
Blood in the sky
Are you dead or alive?
All the restless people and the bitter green
Well it fakes this gold, makes the spirit mean
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna turn wild
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Murrow turning over in his grave
Better watch out
Murrow turning over in his grave
Hes gonna run wild
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A pauper doesn't want a parachute
Who gives him a wake up call?
But he gets up before the Sunrise.
His kingdom is the roadside
That leads to a housing complex.
He has no worries of the rent, water bills and electricity.
Under the dim lamp post he reads his complicated palm.
And he found his wealth line already disappeared.
He too goes out with the birds for food.
And no regrets of yesterday, today and tomorrow.
Only he scares of the free breathing,
One day he has to give up forever
Whenever he meets his friend the grave-digger.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Writ In A Book Of Welsh Verse
This is the house where I was bred:
The wind blows through it without stint,
The wind bitten by the roadside mint;
Here brake I loaf, here climbed to bed.
The fuchsia on the window sill;
Even the candlesticks a-row,
Wrought by grave men so long ago —
I loved them once, I love them still.
Southward and westward a great sky! —
The throb of sea within mine ear —
Then something different, more near,
As though a wistful foot went by.
Ghost of a ghost down all the years! —
In low-roofed room, at turn of stair,
At table-setting, and at prayer,
Old wars, old hungers, and old tears!
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truly, Truly, This Is The End
They say deaths an open door
Into another room
Within the city of the dead
(Our New Kingdom)
They say we walk like dreams
Sharing the same breath
Seeing through the same eyes
(A collective spirit)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
They say the Earth it gives no peace
Nor does it take away
We all survive the grave
(Unfortunate eternal)
They say that in times past
A king walked in the sky
Until dethroned by man
(Tribe of Judas)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
This is the end
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He who builds by the roadside has many masters.
He who builds by the roadside has many surveyors.
If you want to know who your friends are, lie by the roadside and pretend to be drunk.
I've Only Got Myself To Blame
Hot night tonight, I've got a fever in my bones
I don't know what it is that drives me so far away from home
But I've walked the white line til the time that I cannot stand no more
Then I take my boots off and I lay down on the floor
And if you find me by the roadside
Don't be afraid to call my name
And if I seem a bit uneasy
You know that I've only got myself to blame
You know that I've only got myself to blame
Walkin' down the road I wanna fade into the night
I know I've seen a darker day but have I seen the light
All alone a country song that's burnin' in my head
I've turned my back on better days but tonight I'll stay in bed
And if you find me feelin' lonesome
Don't be ashamed to call my name
And if I seem a bit uneasy
Know that I've only got myself to blame
Well I turn my head up to the sky and it's down the road I go
I'd tell you where I'm going but it's truly I don't know
And I don't look for no affection, I've always gone alone
When you see me coming home you'll know I'll soon be gone
And if you find me by the roadside
Don't be afraid to call my name
And if I seem a bit uneasy
You know that I've only got myself to blame
You know that I've only got myself to blame
song performed by by Dixie Chicks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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roadside puddle
a street dog
licks the winter moon
haiku by Chenou Liu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The fruits of a tree on the roadside are never eaten ripe.
He who has a good looking wife, a castle on the river, or a vineyard on the roadside is never without war.
An udara fruit that falls by the roadside must want to be picked up and eaten.
He who has a handsome wife, a castle on the frontier, or a vineyard on the roadside, is never without war.
Getting only a beautiful woman is like planting a vine on the roadside everyone feeds on it.
roadside hindu shrine
below the deities
a pregnant dog rests
quote by by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A flock of sparrows
A flock of sparrows
Are eating food particles
From muddy roadside
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I could do terrible things to people who dump unwanted animals by the roadside.
quote by James Herriot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Tree Cutters
Roadside tress falling to the bottom of the sea,
orange moonmen with profiles of edges and plastic
buzz like angry bees, so I crouch in
the middle of the earth, lost to green
under the forest, under moss, behind roots
but having small stones thrown into my eyes
am unable to look upwards
standing ashamed in my fern grave as
trucks rumble past, even a massacre of pigs
would leave them unconcerned, runed,
coloured with the names of strange places,
edges of towns alongside sand and gravel
and the radio in my car lights green,
fighting to regain sanity, helpless,
all meaning filtering down to a pulse,
reason is sick this morning, a lost voice.
poem by Leslie Philibert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jesus Christ
Written by Woodie Guthrie
One, two, three, four
Well Jesus was a man
Who traveled through the land
A hard working man and brave
Well he said to the rich 'Give your money to the poor'
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
For they layed Jesus Christ is his grave
Well he went to the preacher
He went to the law
And told them all the same
He said sell all your jewelery and give it to the poor
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
When Jesus came to town all the working folks around
Believed what he did say
Well the bankers and the preachers
They nailed him on a cross
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
And [hard] working people
They followed him around
They sung and shouted gay
Well the cops and the soldiers
They nailed him in the head
And they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
Oh, hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
Well this song was written in New York City
A rich man, preacher and slave
Well if Jesus was to preach while he preached in Galilee
They would lay Jesus Christ in his grave
One, two, three, four!
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
Hale, halelujah
For they layed Jesus Christ in his grave
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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