Dead Bodies and Cardboard
Born beneath a dying sun
Mourn for them the dying young.
Lament for those whose song
By siren chords has long since been sung.
Lament for those, skinned and hung from the city gates.
We pray for them this nightmare shall prove easy enough to shake
As the sky bakes slow in furnace fumes, igniting the skies in fury.
There, low and behold the addict merchant selling his soul.
I dreamt last night of a girl I have not seen in years
Years which can not match the tears nor fears in number.
Little did I know that she slept, slumbering numb beneath the mountain.
Dreaming of Pan, of ancient scented night.
King of Hedgerows, Prince of Circus Shows
Queens of the Flow gather in flowering
Embrace the bloom, the pinnacle of the chase.
Race the moon to see her face.
How long have you been guardian to this shell?
Your hell is cold.
Your heaven warm.
I was never told
I was never warned
Of eggshell time within fragmented dimensions
I’m left with no path and no hope of redemption.
Was it the promise of salvation
That woke you every Sunday morn?
Show me your scars, your crown of thorns.
Show me the Christ child in the eyes of the new born.
The youth are crowded in the shade
Digging there with diamond spades
Fading in the shadows cast and fast enlisting.
Cringing at media portrayed portraits of their generation,
Supposed portrait of a nation.
A nation underground unfound
Here no one makes a sound.
How is it these fools, these ministers of schools
Can keep it all so cool as they push for blanket death?
A blanket to cover the Death of the soul
A blanket to cover the Death of the mind
A blanket to cover the Death of the body
A blanket to cover the Death of the blind.
I see children torn from the playground
Force fed knowledge and left to suffer no wisdom
Taught to regurgitate for the hand that would beat them.
Beat them if only they could.
Show me the skins on the leash of the freaks
Show me the bold worship the meek.
Show me the snowflake cold in the sun
Show me the restless, the new guns, the young.
Three birds sitting
Watching
Cold eye on warm life decaying
Maggot child of a million unseen eyes
How long can you last?
The children will not fast forever.
Dead bodies and cardboard surround
A pony dead upon the ground
Scorched earth, broken earth
No survivors found.
No one made a sound.
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Frances
Let me cover you with my blanket of love for,
You are very cold in the snow;
And your name so sweet is Frances.
Don't ask my why?
And of the ashes of the Red Heifer;
For to you an open vessel of love is laid,
But i am now in the Wilderness of Zion.
Come and let me cover you with my blanket of love,
And like the first born son that opens the womb;
For the meat of love is ready and,
The breast of the wave offering is for you.
Come in Frances,
For i have prepared my bed of love for you;
And the holy water is in the clay jar of love.
One male goat for the sin offering and,
Of the golden ladle weighing ten shekels!
For my blanket of love will warm you all day long.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet: Show Me …
Show me a hand that’s scarred by giving alms;
Show me an arm that helped others life-long;
Show me a face of greed that always calms;
Show me a voice tired by divine song.
Show me a foot that’s lame, walking with God;
Show me a tongue pale, speaking holy words;
Show me a soul that fears not God’s just rod;
Show me an eye blind that loves killing birds.
Show me a knee, pained by genuflection;
Show me a soul upright that fears its loss;
Show me body weak by meditation;
Show me a shoulder burdened by Christ’s cross.
Show me a heart gone small, loving brethren;
Show me a mind tired seeking Heaven!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 6-14-2008
poem by John Celes
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Show Yourself
When I was small I used to stand
With my hand on my heart
And I would sing to you
You were my son and my lover
My father and my brother
I beleived in you
It was so easy then
It was so easy then
But where are you now
It seems like you cant hear me anymore
Maybe youre just getting too old
But do you remember
201 years ago
When you were young
How strong you had become
Promising every one you sweet gift of freedom,
Now you know exactly who I am
I seem to tell you all the time
Now tell me some kind of truth about yourself
Your life should be as opena s mine
There are children dying for you
That doesnt sound like freedom to me
You keep lyin about why theyre dyin
When they should be concieved in liberty
Show yourself
Show yourself to me
Youre the one that told me
Remember
You told me I was born to be free
Open all your doors I want to see
All your doors and your keys
I want to see I want to hear you
All 88 keys yeah
Oh give it to me
Show yourself
Show yourself to me
I want to see tha stars and the stripes
That can make those things scream
Show yourself
Show yourself to me
Expose yourself I wanna see your face
Come on give it to me
Show yourself
Show yourself to me
Are you rca
Are you standard oil
Are you a.t.&t. I wanna see
Give it to me if you got one
I wanna see come on and show yourself
Who runs this? who runs this country?
Show me
Show yourself
Give it to me
Show yourself to me
I want to know I wanna see
Give it to me show yourself
Show yourself to me
I want you know I wanna see
Give it to me show yourself
Show yourself to me
Who runs it? who runs it around?
Show me show me show your face to me
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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We mourn the death of the forest universal
The town outside my window moans.
We mourn not for the death of Industry
Nor for the ghost of the English gentle men
We lament for the stars that have been hidden from gazers.
We lament for dead rats trapped electronic cages.
Have we learnt nothing through the ages?
We mourn the death of the forest universal
We mourn the death of culture as media vultures
Prey upon the minds of the young.
Outside the rain takes its toll upon the pavement
Washing away the reminents of Autumns presence.
He awaits in hibernatuin, a soul ready for consideration.
I dreamt last night of a gleaming crown, An Angel
Came forth to say. ‘Embrace the child don’t shoot her down,
Make love throughout the day.
poem by David Lacey
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maddened Souls Of Slow Decay
We maddened souls of slow decay
We that embrace the death of the day
We that are saddened with nothing to say
We that are silent in thought as we pray.
We are as gods here
Free beyond the kingdom of fear
Free beyond the rising tears.
Free to embrace the death of the year.
Illuminated eyes of ecstatic vision
Fuel the fusion of divinity within our palms.
Here we are still learning, chewing upon the fabric curtain of the night.
Here we are still gurning, turning our eyes from the light that blinds
And bends and sends our minds running into a nightmare shared
By all those that have long since torn their clothes in seeking to care
For our mother crying, sighing as they are as our mother dying.
Dawn is arisen and the gift of light is given unto the new day born.
The ashes of twilight are drifting upon the winds as slow and soulless
Princes seek throughout the shades a pillow to fade upon,
A blanket to hide them from the sun that breaks in the virgin earth.
poem by David Lacey
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Last Words
Dead! all's done with!
-- R. Browning.
These blossoms that I bring,
This song that here I sing,
These tears that now I shed,
I give unto the dead.
There is no more to be done,
Nothing beneath the sun,
All the long ages through,
Nothing--by me for you.
The tale is told to the end;
This, ev'n, I may not know--
If we were friend and friend,
If we were foe and foe.
All's done with utterly,
All's done with. Death to me
Was ever Death indeed;
To me no kindly creed
Consolatory was given.
You were of earth, not Heaven. . .
This dreary day, things seem
Vain shadows in a dream,
Or some strange, pictured show;
And mine own tears that flow,
My hidden tears that fall,
The vainest of them all.
Quieta Ne Movete II
IF one should wake one's frozen faith
In sunlight of her radiant eyes,
Bid it forget its dream of death,
In this new dream of Paradise,
Bid it forget the long, slow pain,
The agony when, all in vain,
It fought for life, and how one swore,
Once cold, it should not waken more;
If hope one buried long ago
Should thrill beneath those smiles of hers,
Should in one's sere life stir and grow,
As in brown woods the young spring stirs;
If, breaking icy bonds of grief,
One's soul should start to bud and leaf,
It might forget in that springtide
How last year's leaves fell off and died.
If from warm faith and hope set high
A lovely living child was born,
With lips more pure than starlit sky,
And eyes as clear as summer morn,
Child-love might grow till one forgot
Old love, that was and now is not--
Forgot that far-off time of tears,
And all these desolated years.
And yet of faith, hope, love, one knows
So well what end the years will make,
If one should dig beneath Time's snows
And wake them now for her sweet sake.
New life may mean new joy; but then,
What lives again may die again,
And to that second death there may
Be no new resurrection-day.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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A Sight In Camp
A SIGHT in camp in the day-break grey and dim,
As from my tent I emerge so early, sleepless,
As slow I walk in the cool fresh air, the path near by the hospital
tent,
Three forms I see on stretchers lying, brought out there, untended
lying,
Over each the blanket spread, ample brownish woollen blanket,
Grey and heavy blanket, folding, covering all.
Curious, I halt, and silent stand;
Then with light fingers I from the face of the nearest, the first,
just lift the blanket:
Who are you, elderly man so gaunt and grim, with well-grey'd hair,
and flesh all sunken about the eyes?
Who are you, my dear comrade? 10
Then to the second I step--And who are you, my child and darling?
Who are you, sweet boy, with cheeks yet blooming?
Then to the third--a face nor child, nor old, very calm, as of
beautiful yellow-white ivory;
Young man, I think I know you--I think this face of yours is the face
of the Christ himself;
Dead and divine, and brother of all, and here again he lies.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Blanket
Let not vanish the oversea service
With wool soft,
As the flash of fire-worms.
On the blue blanket,
‘Made in Korea’ printed,
Made Korean hands immortal,
But ‘SHEEP’ written nowhere.
As December threatened with mist,
Blanket kept me warm.
My soul shuddered a night,
Shaken by the fever storm,
And I crept tired,
Under blanket refugee like,
Then a Paracetamol pill lulled me.
Under the woolly blanket,
Bloom dreams amorous
At silvered fragrant night:
Entangled tender branches,
Then did chit bud fresh,
Within the folds unruly
Of the blanket blue.
Simple sheep on hillock grazed,
Giving wool great,
Eternal changed:
Things simple so changed great.
Evil showers heavily,
Earth is frozen,
And need a blanket to warm up.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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So You Feel Life Is Tough On You
So you feel life is tough on you just going by what you say
Yet I know of a woman in her late sixties who sleeps in a disused factory doorway
With one blanket to keep out the chill on the cold concrete she lay
If you had to live as she does you would complain night and day.
In a so called Land of plenty she is not one of a few
There are many ageing people not due to their own fault who
Due to high rents have become Homeless poverty is on the rise
In a World of greed and corruption this should come as no surprise.
You do not have to sleep in a disused factory doorway open to the cold and rain
And you've got a comfortable house to live in yet you find cause to complain
But like they say poverty is a relevant thing and you feel you are poor
Though to a Homeless person of the street you would seem financially secure.
If you feel life is tough on you come for a walk with me
And I will show you what 'tis like for to live in poverty
I will show you an old woman who sleeps in a disused factory doorway
With a single blanket for to cover her on the cold concrete she lay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Red
Place that bayonet in my hand,
And fill this pouch with lead;
Show me the blood and leave me, and let me
Stand
By my dead.
Cover those staring eyes and go
And stab in the red, red rain.
Show me that blood and leave me. They groan
In the snow.
With the pain.
Cover his head with a scarlet cloak,
And run to your scarlet strife,
Show me that blood and leave me, where white
Snows choke
Out the life.
Turn his face to the sanguine skies,
The skies where the red stars move.
Show me that blood and leave me; a dead man lies
With his love.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Woes And Wonders
Show me a city full of happiness,
Then i will show you the effect of their weakness.
Show me a man who is full of himself,
Then i will show you why he's a fool to himself.
Show me your success today,
And i will show you your mistakes of yesterday.
Show me a community not far from the mountain,
Then i will show you why their security is certain.
Show me a holy man,
Then i will show you why he's called a human.
Show me a man who is not afraid of death,
Then i will show him the theory of birth.
Show me an ocean of misery,
Then i will show you how to swim in victory.
Tell me the meaning of ' STOP ',
Then i will show you the way to the top.
Show me your best friend,
Then i will show you where your dreams will end.
Show me a good and caring heart,
And i will show you why it hasn't been torn apart.
Show me your hall of pain,
Then i will show you all what u've gain.
Show me an exceptional reader,
Then i will show you a great leader.
Show me a way to financial prosperity,
Then i will show you a way to heavenly security.
Show me a great man of all time,
Then i will show you his footprint on the sand of time.
Show me a problem you can't solve,
Then i will show you why you haven't use the solution called love.
Show me a world full of fantasy,
Then i will show you the pain behind a life full of ecstasy.
Show me a kingdom built with wrath,
Then i will show you how much it is worth.
Show me a man with a problem free life,
Then i will show you why he hasn't gotten a wife.
Show me all of earth's pleasure,
Then i will show you why heaven is the place to be beyond all measure
poem by Stanley Oguh
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Anima Anceps
TILL death have broken
Sweet life’s love-token,
Till all be spoken
That shall be said,
What dost thou praying,
O soul, and playing
With song and saying,
Things flown and fled?
For this we know not—
That fresh springs flow not
And fresh griefs grow not
When men are dead;
When strange years cover
Lover and lover,
And joys are over
And tears are shed.
If one day’s sorrow
Mar the day’s morrow—
If man’s life borrow
And man’s death pay—
If souls once taken,
If lives once shaken,
Arise, awaken,
By night, by day—
Why with strong crying
And years of sighing,
Living and dying,
Fast ye and pray?
For all your weeping,
Waking and sleeping,
Death comes to reaping
And takes away.
Though time rend after
Roof-tree from rafter,
A little laughter
Is much more worth
Than thus to measure
The hour, the treasure,
The pain, the pleasure,
The death, the birth;
Grief, when days alter,
Like joy shall falter;
Song-book and psalter,
Mourning and mirth.
Live like the swallow;
Seek not to follow
Where earth is hollow
Under the earth.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Virgil Strange I Kept On The Field
VIGIL strange I kept on the field one night:
When you, my son and my comrade, dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave, which your dear eyes return'd, with a look I
shall never forget;
One touch of your hand to mine, O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the
ground;
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle;
Till late in the night reliev'd, to the place at last again I made my
way;
Found you in death so cold, dear comrade--found your body, son of
responding kisses, (never again on earth responding;)
Bared your face in the starlight--curious the scene--cool blew the
moderate night-wind;
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battlefield
spreading;
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet, there in the fragrant silent
night; 10
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh--Long, long I gazed;
Then on the earth partially reclining, sat by your side, leaning my
chin in my hands;
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you, dearest
comrade--Not a tear, not a word;
Vigil of silence, love and death--vigil for you my son and my
soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole;
Vigil final for you, brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your
death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living--I think we shall
surely meet again;)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn
appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head, and
carefully under feet; 20
And there and then, and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his
grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited;
Ending my vigil strange with that--vigil of night and battlefield
dim;
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth
responding;)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain--vigil I never forget, how as day
brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground, and folded my soldier well in his
blanket,
And buried him where he fell.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Vigil Strange I Kept on the Field one Night
Vigil strange I kept on the field one night;
When you my son and my comrade dropt at my side that day,
One look I but gave which your dear eyes return'd with a look I shall never forget,
One touch of your hand to mine O boy, reach'd up as you lay on the ground,
Then onward I sped in the battle, the even-contested battle,
Till late in the night reliev'd to the place at last again I made my way,
Found you in death so cold dear comrade, found your body son of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Bared your face in the starlight, curious the scene, cool blew the moderate night-wind,
Long there and then in vigil I stood, dimly around me the battle-field spreading,
Vigil wondrous and vigil sweet there in the fragrant silent night,
But not a tear fell, not even a long-drawn sigh, long, long I gazed,
Then on the earth partially reclining sat by your side leaning my chin in my hands,
Passing sweet hours, immortal and mystic hours with you dearest comrade -- not a tear, not a word,
Vigil of silence, love and death, vigil for you my son and my soldier,
As onward silently stars aloft, eastward new ones upward stole,
Vigil final for you brave boy, (I could not save you, swift was your death,
I faithfully loved you and cared for you living, I think we shall surely meet again,)
Till at latest lingering of the night, indeed just as the dawn appear'd,
My comrade I wrapt in his blanket, envelop'd well his form,
Folded the blanket well, tucking it carefully over head and carefully under feet,
And there and then and bathed by the rising sun, my son in his grave, in his rude-dug grave I deposited,
Ending my vigil strange with that, vigil of night and battle-field dim,
Vigil for boy of responding kisses, (never again on earth responding,)
Vigil for comrade swiftly slain, vigil I never forget, how as day brighten'd,
I rose from the chill ground and folded my soldier well in his blanket,
And buried him where he fell.
poem by Walt Whitman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Strike Me (And Be Done)
if i am a bridge,
i need to feel your feet
on my back...
if i am a walking stick,
keep me with you
on your journey.
if i am a blanket,
cover yourself against
the cold night...
if i am a bowl, a spoon,
the soup, and the taste...
fill your empty stomach!
if i am dead branches,
gather me for the fire.
if i am a match,
strike me, and be done.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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