Graveyards in the Sea
How many times have we seen,
things being recovered from the sea.
Things that should have remained there.
Like grave robbers,
these looters rob the dead of the sea.
It is different when no lives are lost
and cargo is what they seek,
or to find a reason why a ship died,
but when it come to personal possessions
of people who died there,
they should be left with the person
whomever he or she may be.
These wrecks should be a graveyard
and not disturbed by human hand.
They should remain in peace
far below at the bottom of the sea.
poem by David Harris
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We've Not Learned From War History The Facts Never Lie
We've not learned from war history the facts never lie
For God and for Country many still fight and die
The flowers do not bloom brighter on the dead soldier's grave
As the one who died of old age and was not known to be brave.
With the words we've not learned from war history
I happen to be one of those who agree
One war leads to another it does seem to me
And we still have War Memorial day in the twenty first century.
Where there is mistrust between people hatred come to the boil
In war over borders and war over oil
And in wars over God far too many have died
To antiquated thinking many do remain tied.
Out of war and it's suffering many heroes are made
And to honour the war dead another parade
And for as long as those who glorify war do have things their own way
The flower of peace will never see light of day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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How many times has God died for me?
HOW MANY TIMES HAS GOD DIED FOR ME?
How many times has God died for me?
Yes, he’s died
And time and time again
As I’ve written in my book
How many times has God died for me?
How many times has God died for me?
A useful if cryptic phrase
Nietzsche coined in the 19th century
“When Zarathustra was alone, however,
he said to his heart:
'Could it be possible!
This old saint in the forest
hath not yet heard of it,
that God is dead! '
How many times has God died for me?
Each time I’ve had a paradigm shift
In my theological perspective
The God I had died and was replaced
Not by no God but a new God
How many times has God died for me?
A new God but still my God
The product of my heart and my head
A bit less Trinitarian
A bit closer to my own self
How many times has God died for me?
Now he’s not up there nor out there
But in there, a personal creation
Adaptable and changing with circumstances
According to my living, according to my reading.
How many times has God died for me?
I have no room for a God who is exclusive
I have no room for a God who is dogmatic
I have no room for a God, who is sexist,
Racist, anti-gay and British.
How many times has God died for me?
Yes God, my God, needed to die
And be reborn, reinvented
In a more user-friendly package.
So to make God more like me is to make God more PC!
How many times has God died for me?
Till God has become indistinguishable from me
God close to me, God in me
An undying God-sense
A God made to fit every circumstance
A God made to fit every mood
That God will never die for me
Even when I die I pray he will accompany me
The undying God
Who never died on Calvary
Who never died with Nietzsche.
©2009
James Hart
poem by James Hart
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Efforts Still
One, two and three
You will never be free
Go on counting and accumulate
Nothing more will remain to relate
Life may end fast
No time for you to choose and last
Rests of all will lye here for some one
No one shall care for your dead body even
It may be taken fast out
So many things will be left to talk about
Personal memory may remain in people's mind
Soon to test its worth from praise to find
No one may say bad words about departed person
But many may remember his noble work with reasons
His ashes may carry no value for world
But to some yes it may be warm feelings and not cold
Look at worthiness of human life
Even though it is sharp like knife
Not all may earn good will
Yet you got to make efforts still
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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We Are Who We Are
Do you ever ask yourself why?
Why do I say the things I do?
Why is it I have these feelings?
Why can't I find the reason to my life?
Do you ever wonder if?
If life changed.
If you died.
If you were to go insane.
Do you go around asking yourself what?
What am i doing?
What am I supossed to do?
What day is it?
Do you ever look in the mirrior and asked yourself things?
Do I look fat?
Do I look acceptible for work?
Do I have enough time for one more thing?
If we are so independant and confident as a human race,
why do we ask why?
Why do you always find ifs in things?
What do we always question things for?
Why do we question who we are?
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Long Ago, Far Away
by Bob Dylan
To preach of peace and brotherhood,
Oh, what might be the cost!
A man he did it long ago
And they hung him on a cross.
Long ago, far away;
These things don't happen
No more, nowadays.
The chains of slaves
They dragged the ground
With heads and hearts hung low.
But it was during Lincoln's time
And it was long ago.
Long ago, far away;
Things like that don't happen
No more, nowadays.
The war guns they went off wild,
The whole world bled its blood.
Men's bodies floated on the edge
Of oceans made of mud.
Long ago, far away;
Those kind of things don't happen
No more, nowadays.
One man had much money,
One man had not enough to eat,
One man lived just like a king,
The other man begged on the street.
Long ago, far away;
These things don't happen
No more, nowadays.
One man died of a knife so sharp,
One man died from the bullet of a gun,
One man died of a broken heart
To see the lynchin' of his son.
Long ago, far away;
Things like that don't happen
No more, nowadays.
Gladiators killed themselves,
It was during the Roman times.
People cheered with bloodshot grins
As eye and minds went blind.
Long ago, far away;
Things like that don't happen
No more, nowadays.
And to talk of peace and brotherhood,
Oh, what might be the cost!
A man he did it long ago
And they hung him on a cross.
Long ago, far away;
Things like that don't happen
No more, nowadays, do they?
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Graveyard In The Sky
Dad's, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, brother, sisters, aunt, and Uncles died at their home here on earth some time ago
And then they were all buried in the graveyard in the sky
But their in the sky nobody steals the grave in the graveyard
Also there are trees in the graveyard in the sky and flowers inthe garden
But the road that takes to the graveyard in the sky is paved
And sometimes you will see the memonights in their horse carriages Passing by
poem by Aldo Kraas
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The Graveyard In The Sky Ii
Dad's, mothers, grandmothers, grandfathers, brother, sisters, aunt, and Uncles died at their home here on earth some time ago
And then they were all buried in the graveyard in the sky
But there in the sky nobody steals the grave in the graveyard
Also there are trees in the graveyard in the sky and flowers inthe garden
But the road that takes to the graveyard in the sky is paved
And sometimes you will see the memonights in their horse carriages Passing by
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Immortal
What is immortality to me?
It's a chance again to breathe so free,
never to be inundated with worldly pain,
always to know how to remain
at peace with myself no matter where
and speak no words except for prayer.
We people of this earth cannot conceive
and probably never will believe
in a warless existence that comes alive
where peace and love for all does thrive.
We have walked this earth too many times.
We will leave the graves and we'll hear the chimes.
And we will survive.
I am immortal and so are you.
We'll leave all falseness and find what's true.
We won't have to wonder who we are.
We'll understand that we're not too far
from every place we've ever been
and from every place that's filled with sin.
We have lived many times and then we died.
But still we rose again with pride.
We will leave that pride, leave it behind
and as we leave it we will find
everything that we've ever sought
and all the things that were ever thought.
We will finally know we're immortal.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Honor the Vets
I looked at the grave stones of the veteran dead
Tears filled my eyes as I bowed my head.
All of them had served their country proud
Now they lay in this ground.
They were sons and daughters, mothers and fathers
Sisters and brothers, uncles and aunts
And the list goes on and on.
But how many of them are honored
with a flower or two.
It’s really not hard to do.
They gave their lives so that we can be free
Don’t they deserve some dignity?
This country is standing on the lives of the dead
All of these have died, and many have bled.
Freedom isn’t really free
Other wise these grave stones you would not see.
Isn’t there someone in your family
Who died fighting for liberty?
Let us honor the dead
And thank the living for all that they have given.
poem by Louis Rams
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Good man / bad man
Good man died once
Bad man died and killed
So many times
Before finally died.
Good man died in peace
Bad man died in pain.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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God’s Peace
There is a peace available, in troubled times, but not to all,
A peace available all the time, greater than peace of mind,
And this peace goes everywhere, to handle every tiny care,
But it has no limits to, the problems it can see you through.
The peace that I’m speaking of, will only come from above,
Peace God gives to His own, flowing down from His throne,
The peace of God all receive, when by faith they do believe,
The Gospel Truth of His Son, Christ, who died for everyone.
Though He died, now He lives, as this peace to us He gives,
Sent to believers in this life, to shelter them from daily strife,
The Holy Spirit is God’s agent, in whom God’s peace is sent,
The Spirit is our true comforter, giving us peace in trials sore.
This peace for us is secured, by the work done by The Lord,
And the only part left for us, is to place in The Lord our trust,
Then with a loving nod, Christ sends to us the peace of God,
A peace into a believer’s heart, that from God will not depart.
Peace always there for those, keeping eyes on He who rose,
Who gave to them a new life, centered in the peace of Christ,
This as that believer lives, through the Spirit that Christ gives,
Providing them God’s peace, in their heart that will not cease.
(Copyright ©02/2008)
Business Of War
The Business of War.
In this clearing in the woods so full of butter coloured flowers
I know there is a mass grave underneath, a forgotten war,
bones of the nameless that died for a cause that was not theirs,
but they were loyal and when told to fight and they often died,
many never knowing why. At the edge, of the yellow field,
there are pale poppies the dead have no more blood to offer.
I think of Afghanistan, poppies there are more deadly, I wonder
if western soldiers who lost their life in a cause that is unclear,
will get their own graveyard and have their crosses there,
in a Moslem country, tended to with fresh flowers, but go easy
on the poppies. The skeletons under my feet, died because of
salt that, once upon a time- before oil- was big business, but I’m
sure the soldiers were told lies about nationality and freedom.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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When Old Jack Died
I.
When old Jack died, we staid from school (they said,
At home, we needn't go that day), and none
Of us ate any breakfast--only one,
And that was Papa--and his eyes were red
When he came round where we were, by the shed
Where Jack was lying, half way in the sun
And half way in the shade. When we begun
To cry out loud, Pa turned and dropped his head
And went away; and Mamma, she went back
Into the kitchen. Then, for a long while,
All to ourselves, like, we stood there and cried.
We thought so many good things of Old Jack,
And funny things--although we didn't smile--We
couldn't only cry when Old Jack died.
II.
When Old Jack died, it seemed a human friend
Had suddenly gone from us; that some face
That we had loved to fondle and embrace
From babyhood, no more would condescend
To smile on us forever. We might bend
With tearful eyes above him, interlace
Our chubby fingers o'er him, romp and race,
Plead with him, call and coax--aye, we might send
The old halloo up for him, whistle, hist,
(If sobs had let us) or, as wildly vain,
Snapped thumbs, called 'speak,' and he had not replied;
We might have gone down on our knees and kissed
The tousled ears, and yet they must remain
Deaf, motionless, we knew--when Old Jack died.
III.
When Old Jack died, it seemed to us, some way,
That all the other dogs in town were pained
With our bereavement, and some that were chained,
Even, unslipped their collars on that day
To visit Jack in state, as though to pay
A last, sad tribute there, while neighbors craned
Their heads above the high board fence, and deigned
To sigh 'Poor dog!' remembering how they
Had cuffed him, when alive, perchance, because,
For love of them he leaped to lick their hands--
Now, that he could not, were they satisfied?
We children thought that, as we crossed his paws,
And o'er his grave, 'way down the bottom-lands,
Wrote 'Our First Love Lies Here,' when Old Jack died.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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God’s Helping Hand
Let The Lord help you today, to find the path of His favored Way,
God’s Way unto abundant Life, the way above the grief and strife.
The helping hand of The Lord, will intervene when He’s implored,
As men seek God’s helping hand, in ways we cannot understand.
God’s helping hand, full of Grace, can help you any time or place,
When you truly desire to live for Him, in this world of darkened sin.
God wants to lead us in His Light, on a path that is pure and right,
So all men can come to know, that He’s a God who loves them so.
God’s hand above is lifted friend, for pending Judgment in the end,
Judgment that’s not destined for, all those men who love The Lord.
For God’s helping hand truly is, His heavenly guide to earthly bliss,
Anchored in The Savior’s Love, sent from The Spirit of God above.
God’s guidance is available to all, leading to Grace from man’s fall,
Where we can meet at the cross, The One who died for all the lost,
Christ who was pierced for you, so you can seek His Guidance too.
Where from the cross of Calvary, Jesus Christ will guide to Eternity.
Jesus Christ who died for all of us, now lives so we can put our trust,
In The One who died for man’s sin, so eternally we can live with Him.
Through God you can be assured, you will find life in Christ our Lord,
For the moment you come to Christ, God shall grant you Eternal Life.
(Copyright ©12/2006)
No Greater Loyalty
This will be our family secret don't tell others how he died
Never mention how my darling son took his own life in suicide
Don't want them saying he opted out of life they would never understand
How our beloved teenager he died at his own hand.
Don't tell anyone we found him hanging from the low branch of a tree
Tell them 'twas of a heart attack that he died suddenly
We do not need their judgements my son must rest in peace
It was of his own choosing that from life he choose release.
Of the darkness that surrounded him we never were to know
The mother she has shed her tears for her son who died six months ago
For to save him from the judgements of the living for her dead son she will lie
She will never admit that he was one who choose his own way to die.
No greater loyalty than the loyalty of a mother when all is said and done
From the judgements of the living she lies to protect her dead son
She takes flowers twice a week to place on the grave where he does lay
And she will grieve for her deceased son till her own dying day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Man Died
The man died and died and died
And finally the man died!
People killed the man severally
Before the man finally died
The mans family labelled
The man dead.
The community labelled
The man dead
.
And above all the man saw in Himself a living ghost
And had since decayed and rotted inside
That not even the warmt
Of a living blood
Could've been enough
To bring the man back
To life again.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Problems May Surprise
Problems may surprise
If not curbed when they arise
They will assume big dimension
When find repeated mention
Life is full of problems
It may remain forever and we have to settle them
Robbers, looters and politicians
May enjoy along with magicians
You may ask why magicians?
Yes they are skilled artisans
As politician promise Singapore in India
Cheaters promise to double the money with plea
No problem no life
Home no heaven if no trouble with wife
So problem everywhere and omni present
Why then poets then lag behind and remain absent
Let problem arise but do not allow it to pose
Grave situation so goes out of hand to dispose
If we scare and think constantly about their origin
There will be so much worry and tension in whole scene
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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To Die In Vain
When they lie me in my grave
Will I had done a lot of living
Or will the people just look and say
That I had done a lot of grieving.
And on my tomb what will be wrote
Will it just be a name,
With words that many had spoke
Saying that I had died in vain.
Through a graveyard as I stroll
I read many a lonesome name
That's all I see that's all that is wrote
I guess too, they died in vain.
No living for them had they done
No feats of greatness have they achieved
So now they are hid beneath the sun
As though they never had lived.
A name on marble a heart with no soul
It equals to about the same
For one does die, the other survives
And they both just lived in vain.
A tarnished tomb I do see
Forgotten by the years gone by
So beside it I will kneel and pray
For is that how I will die.
Then the graveyard I do leave
Mournful, bitter and shamed
Now no longer will I sit and grieve
For I WILL NOT! , die in vain.
So when they lay me in the ground
I now know what the people will say
They all will make a joyful sound
While saying, I lived and enjoyed everyday.
poem by Randy McClave
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A Poem For Dada Day At The Place April 1, 1958
I
The bartender
Has eyes the color of ripe apricots
Easy to please as a cash register he
Enjoys art and good jokes.
Squish
Goes the painting
Squirt
Goes the poem
He
We
Laugh.
II
It is not easy to remember that other people died
besides Dylan Thomas and Charlie Parker
Died looking for beauty in the world of the
bartender
This person, that person, this person, that person
died looking for beauty
Even the bartender died
III
Dante blew his nose
And his nose came off in his hand
Rimbaud broke his throat
Trying to cough
Dada is not funny
It is a serious assault
On art
Because art
Can be enjoyed by the bartender.
IV
The bartender is not the United States
Or the intellectual
Or the bartender
He is every bastard that does not cry
When he reads this poem.
poem by Jack Spicer
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Rights and reasons
You have all the rights and reasons to feel elated
As it is personal and closely related
You may be feeling warm and impatient
But yes it is time to wait for and be resilient
You might have your ship anchored and docked
Your might have quenched your thrust but desire still not knocked
Oh! What a joy and enjoyment when he will be greeting!
With powerful embrace and drive for meeting
He is home coming shortly as in these years you wanted
The idea to remain close was all that hunted
After all you were not as helpless as predicted
But all those years with patience and waited
I have no reason to feel perturbed
I have remained calm and he never disturbed
He used to invade my memory and stay for long
This was felt immensely in me to flow along
Male member has always played dominant factor
He has remained at the centre and played as an actor
We as female has nothing more claim when he is around
Peace, stability and happiness is assured and found
I had chosen him at first sight when we had met
I thought at once that he will sure be my mate
He also felt the same and responded with response
We were to be merged in one at once
He had to leave abroad for compelling reasons
He never compromised with principles and carried on
I had relied on him with utmost good faith
He too had promised to accompany till the death
We had little time in remaining together
He had, in fact, to move out and go still further
We had very happy moments to spend with and enjoy
Now he was returning to me and I dreamed it with joy
I can‘t predict about others and their views
As it may be tiring and worrisome for few
No female with married status may remain for long times
But I knew its importance and tolerated for some more times
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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