Unknown Soldiers
Just beneath a grassy meadow
That one time was a battlefield
Lies the bones of two unknown men
Still clothed in their tattered fatigues
in a shallow unnatural grave.
Unnatural because if buried
With the customary honors
There would have been two separate
grave sites with much deeper holes.
One of the uniforms was gray
In color, the other one blue.
It’s fair to assume that both men
Prayed to god for his own safety
But god does not take sides in war.
poem by Albert Ahearn
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Shallow Grave
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that I'll be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another Joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
and leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
I won't lie, I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor 'cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I won't lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shallow Graves
When I fall in endless sleep
I hope that Ill be buried deep
Let me be the one that fortune favours
Even good children got shallow graves
Throw another clown to the lions
Throw another joan on the blaze
Cast me away on the cruel calm ocean
And leave me for days and days and days and days and days
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
I wont lie, I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Bless the poor cos like the rich
They all end up in a ditch
In this world of fools and knaves
Even good children got shallow graves
The tinker, the tailor, the fabulous five
Nobody gets out of this alive
Chorus
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down deep where the dead men sleep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
Dig me down, dig me down, dig me down deep
I wont lie in this poor shallow grave
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heel On A Shovel
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
an to the sun your face i'll raise
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
one hundred buzzards buzzin'
i seen death hangin' from the tallest tree
eyes closed no lookin' back at me
ye they came an took him in the night
the one who kissed em was greed
o everyone will see
an everyone will know
boy you reap what you sow
i'm diggin' you a shallow grave
an on your rotten bones i'll raise
yellow daisies
for my true loves hair
one hundred buzzards buzzin'
i see death runnin' from his majesty
o lord where is the fear in me
in between your praying hands
you hold the skeleton key
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heel On The Shovel
Im diggin you a shallow grave
An to the sun your face Ill raise
Im diggin you a shallow grave
One hundred buzzards buzzin
I seen death hangin from the tallest tree
Eyes closed no lookin back at me
Ye they came an took him in the night
The one who kissed em was greed
O everyone will see
An everyone will know
Boy you reap what you sow
Im diggin you a shallow grave
An on your rotten bones Ill raise
Yellow daisies
For my true loves hair
One hundred buzzards buzzin
I see death runnin from his majesty
O lord where is the fear in me
In between your praying hands
You hold the skeleton key
song performed by by 16 Horsepower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Color of the Grave is Green
411
The Color of the Grave is Green—
The Outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Field—
Except it own a Stone—
To help the fond—to find it—
Too infinite asleep
To stop and tell them where it is—
But just a Daisy—deep—
The Color of the Grave is white—
The outer Grave—I mean—
You would not know it from the Drifts—
In Winter—till the Sun—
Has furrowed out the Aisles—
Then—higher than the Land
The little Dwelling Houses rise
Where each—has left a friend—
The Color of the Grave within—
The Duplicate—I mean—
Not all the Snows could make it white—
Not all the Summers—Green—
You've seen the Color—maybe—
Upon a Bonnet bound—
When that you met it with before—
The Ferret—cannot find—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Let Dew The Flowers Fill
LET dew the flowers fill;
No need of fell despair,
Though to the grave you bear
One still of soul-but now too still,
One fair-but now too fair.
For, beneath your feet, the mound,
And the waves, that play around,
Have meaning in their grassy, and their watery, smiles;
And, with a thousand sunny wiles,
Each says, as he reproves,
Death's arrow oft is Love's.
poem by Thomas Lovell Beddoes
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Not 'God'?
Scattered wings of butterflies
Gathers on my grave tonight
The name that scars the stone
Lifeless as my buried bones
shivers...
At the touch of your lips.
Sitting in your knees
The wet cold ground
Is the only touch you get from me now.
I know you are crying.
The weight of the tears
Pushing me
Deeper and deeper into the heart
I left behind
To swear
and wish revenge
on this so called 'God'.
It's simple,
I died.
poem by Serban Raducu Bogdan
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At The Grave Of The Unknown Soldier
He was a brave soldier he died young and brave
And for more than six decades he lay in his grave
And still at the dawning of each war memorial day
At his grave site a young bugler the last post does play.
Known as the Unknown Soldier one without a name
Still he had a mum and a dad just the same
And when he did not return home when the fighting was done
They grieved at their loss and they wept for their son.
The war to end all wars of all wars 'tis said
But more wars are fought and we have more war dead
And at the grave of the unknown soldier the last post is played
And to honour the war dead another parade.
Old war men do tell us young soldiers fight and die
For freedom and liberty that is a lie
They went to war when young they are now old and gray
Some grow old not wiser some are known to say.
That they were fighting for freedom and justice they believed to be true
And they were quite gallant to give them their due
But many deprived of their human rights in the World of today
And that does seem a very sad thing for to say.
With heads bowed old men showing their years in gray
At the grave of the Unknown Soldier at the dawn of the day
In silence do listen as a young bugler the last post does play
For one who fought and died in a war far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Infants Need
Our infants need freedom
That may be granted to them seldom
We may offer them polluted milk
Wrap their body with costly silk
We will feel them icy winds
Not in open but from air conditioner to find
Everything unnatural in the name of prosperity
New product, new waves but with impure qualities
No fresh vegetables and no baby food
All unnatural and not making any good
All worries from the day of arrival
Only celebrated once as festival
They are our future and asset
How can we allow the things to let?
Will it not prove future crisis?
Something has to be worked out as thesis
We are seized with worries before their arrival
Any grave mistake on our part may prove very fatal
If we neglect or pay disregard on their upkeep
We will be caught later on even in deep sleep
We need to concentrate on their physical build up
They may be very active when age catches them up
Let us be more environments friendly and close
Then there won’t be any worry to pose
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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My worst nightmare
My worst nightmare I dread and fear
To be buried beneath a street far from my dears
I will be long dead and my heart full of dust
The place, the dwell of my wherever lost lust
The wheels and hooves of machines and beasts rolling over my head
My bones will be shaken with pain and dread
This is how it will be
If no one is going to take a heed of me
If into a shallow grave my tattered skeleton is thrust
Imagine only inches beneath a heavy traffic street bust
The gallop of horses and the trot of goats and cows
Will keep their relentless beat with a chorus of crows
Beat into my scalp and my brain
Like never an end to the stream of rushing ants under rain
Heedless of poor me carrying, traveling, hurrying, leaving
In my life I shun away from front busy street living
When the wretched age catch up with my bones
Not a bell will be rang, not a pray or eulogy will be read
It is that which makes us noble in the world of the dead
Just like this lowering me down to my eternal tomb bed?
Ah, my spirit where does it wander where does it pass
My soul where does it dwell in heaven or in hell
In the face of immortality and ancient laws unveil
Deep sleep, eternal doom comes to every sinew and lust
No more pleasant summer night dreams, no more morning first shine
But this eternal entity; all formless kingdom divine
Along my bones the creeping tattered flesh will quake
And my all damped besmeared hair stiffened with dust and thus it spake
Do you find God there in this colossus universe of ultimate justice pure
Or you be-left to deem and contemplate in land of spiritual desolation insecure
Among creatures of grave clay; the vain dwellers of tomb dust
A moth out survive you; a mold digs and borrows under your gravel rust
Things of normal routine day you never see nor attend the dusk of night
Heedless, stale and blind to wisdom and light
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Sonnet- Which Is Easier?
Which is easier, to shave off your face-hair
Or to maintain a long and flowing beard?
Which is easier, to cycle like a hare,
Or to trudge your way uphill with the herd?
Which is easier, to float the logs downstream,
Or to tusk them one by one to the mill?
Which is easier, to shoot lion in dream,
Or to fight it in its den and to kil1?
Which is easier, to break a whole mountain,
Or to make it crumble into small stones?
Which is easier, to set a lit fountain,
Or to produce a grave of human bones?
Unnatural things are quite easy to do,
Natural ones sometimes, impossible too.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Which is easier?
Which is easier, to shave off your face-hair
Or to maintain a long and flowing beard?
Which is easier, to cycle like a hare,
Or to trudge your way uphill with the herd?
Which is easier, to float the logs downstream,
Or to tusk them one by one to the mill?
Which is easier, to shoot lion in dream,
Or to fight it in its den and to kil1?
Which is easier, to break a whole mountain,
Or to make it crumble into small stones?
Which is easier, to set a lit fountain,
Or to produce a grave of human bones?
Unnatural things are quite easy to do,
Natural ones sometimes, impossible too.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Time Again
God kicked you out
To create, ridiculous man
Creates to break
One after another
And makes forbidden fruit
The sweetest.
Unnatural ways
Gays and incest.
The unnatural choice.
Man, you hilarious,
Can not create
Still makes idol after idol
Get delight to violate.
The laws are to follow
But you have chosen
The path of rebellion.
God will kick you out
This time again
But sure, not to create
But to send you out of the ring.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The Two-Sided Man
Much I owe to the Lands that grew--
More to the Lives that fed--
But most to Allah Who gave me two
Separate sides to my head.
Much I reflect on the Good and the True
In the Faiths beneath the sun,
But most to Allah Who gave me two
Sides to my head, not one.
Wesley's following, Calvin's flock,
White or yellow or bronze,
Shaman, Ju-ju or Angekok,
Minister, Mukamuk, Bonze--
Here is a health, my brothers, to you,
However your prayers are said,
And praised be Allah Who gave me two
Separate sides to my head!
I would go without shirt or shoe,
Friend, tobacco or bread,
Sooner than lose for a minute the two
Separate sides of my head!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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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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Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents had he - they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with tearful eye;
It's only a soldier's grave - pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high; -
Only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh; -
Yet, 'tis only a soldier's grave: - pass by.
Yet, we should mark it - the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by S.A. Jones
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A Gravestone Upon The Floor In The Cloisters Of Worcester Cathedral
'MISERRIMUS,' and neither name nor date,
Prayer, text, or symbol, graven upon the stone;
Nought but that word assigned to the unknown,
That solitary word--to separate
From all, and cast a cloud around the fate
Of him who lies beneath. Most wretched one,
'Who' chose his epitaph?--Himself alone
Could thus have dared the grave to agitate,
And claim, among the dead, this awful crown;
Nor doubt that He marked also for his own
Close to these cloistral steps a burial-place,
That every foot might fall with heavier tread,
Trampling upon his vileness. Stranger, pass
Softly!--To save the contrite, Jesus bled.
poem by William Wordsworth
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Kissed by a Rose
Kissed by a rose
With all the thorns
My eyes become large
And I can see a glow
I see you
Standing there by your grave
I walk slowly over to it
I kiss the rose
One more time
But my lips are cut
So my blood drips onto the rose
I plant the rose
On top of your grave
It blooms with red roses
Little droplets of blood
Dripping from the leaves
The light that you shine
Can be seen
You walk to the roses
And your light
Hits the blooms just right
I lay down on your grave
My power
My pleasure
My pain
I feel all of it
At the same time
Ive been kissed by a rose
On a grave
poem by Allison Unknown
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Only A Soldier's Grave
Only a soldier's grave! Pass by,
For soldiers, like other mortals, die.
Parents he had--they are far away;
No sister weeps o'er the soldier's clay;
No brother comes, with a tearful eye:
It's only a soldier's grave--pass by.
True, he was loving, and young, and brave,
Though no glowing epitaph honors his grave;
No proud recital of virtues known,
Of griefs endured, or of triumphs won;
No tablet of marble, or obelisk high;--
Only a soldier's grave--pass by.
Yet bravely he wielded his sword in fight,
And he gave his life in the cause of right!
When his hope was high, and his youthful dream
As warm as the sunlight on yonder stream;
His heart unvexed by sorrow or sigh;--
Yet,'tis only a soldier's grave:--pass by.
Yet, should we mark it--the soldier's grave,
Some one may seek him in hope to save!
Some of the dear ones, far away,
Would bear him home to his native clay:
'Twere sad, indeed, should they wander nigh,
Find not the hillock, and pass him by.
poem by Sidney Alroy Jonas
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XLII: What Lies Beneath
beauty lies beneath
sense lies beneath
secret lies beneath
character lies beneath
rule lies beneath
mind lies beneath
past lies beneath
foundation lies beneath
root lies beneath
dark hole lies beneath
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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