I Too Mourn The Dead!
i too mourn the dead...
the victims of bullets,
preordained by message.
the blown and splintered bodies,
strewn in nameless disarray.
the guilt pills of generals,
swallowed with patriotic vodka.
but too the carcass of the dog,
blindsided by the truck.
and the small bird beneath the tree,
whose wings froze and failed.
the stray cow that fell,
and couldnt get up.
the tree cut and felled,
to widen the road.
the mountain blown asunder,
to make way for progress.
the thousands of fishes,
choking to death on oil.
the river stopped and stagnant,
filled with raw sewage....
the young boy's body hanging,
at the edge of bullied taunts.
the girl on the corner,
selling her body for a rock
the businessman dying,
with every numb decision.
the body of the old woman,
barely breathing in a bare room.
the child sick and shaking,
dying of hunger...
the baby in the dumpster,
nothing else needs said...
and the apathetic faceless mouths,
devouring the poor....
i too mourn the dead, and the dying...
and see their faces,
in the palm of my hand!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
A Child Is Dying
for every tree you cut down,
a child is dying.
for every barrel of oil that
you drill and spill,
a child is dying.
for every coal mine you
rape the earth with,
a child is dying.
for all the nuclear waste
you cannot dispose of,
a child is dying.
for every country you bomb,
a child is dying.
for every chemical you spray
on your vegetables,
a child is dying.
for every river you dam & drain,
a child is dying.
for every oil field you own,
a child is dying.
for every animal you drive
to the brink of extinction,
a child is dying.
for every smokestack, every sweatshop,
and every synthetic thought,
a child is dying.
for every tree you cut down....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Feel Like....
I feel like dying dying
Dying without you,
To leave this body,
To take a new.
It's not that I
Hate this night;
It's not that I
Have lost my right..
But I'm dying dying
Dying without you
To leave this present
To embrace a new.
None will mourn here
No heart-break;
No swan-song,
Not one inch's shake..
But, I feel like dying
Dying without you
To yield this robe,
To wear a new.
The secs of hour
Gapes me now....
Time pulls I know,
Inevitably how;
Still I feel like,
Dying, dying without you,
To take another life,
To get the new! !
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Here and now
Right here and now.
All I want to dod is cry!
Here and now I want to die
Here and now I swallow the pills.
Drowned with the vodka.
Soon right here and now.
I will be dead by morning.
Cold and stiff In my bed.
Atleast I can be at peace.
No more of lifes troubles to face.
For the pain I felt I just couldnt brace.
Right here and now.
I am dying.
I took the plunge.
I did what I thought was best.
I swallowed the pills.
Drowned with vodka.
Please dont save me
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Body Of Christ!
body of Christ...
small unwanted baby
lying dead in a dumpster...
old homeless man
curled up in an alley...
young addict,
shaking on the steps
down in the project...
young mother's body
lying across her childs...
killed by the bombing!
body of Christ...
you and i!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I Am Responsible.... (Poet's Heart)
i am responsible....
for the child dying of starvation,
whatever color, whatever country.
for the young Muslim child alone,
his family killed by the bombs.
for the addict shaking on the street corner,
for the young girl selling her body
on that same corner.
for the family kicked out of their house,
who have nowhere to go.
for the young angry men in prison,
for the victims of the crimes.
for the stink of poverty,
and the abuse of wealth.
for the planes, the bombs,
the guns and the flags...
for the political prisoners who spoke out.
for the elderly going without food and lights,
trying to pay for their medicine.
for the victims of racism and prejudice,
and those that wave that banner.
for the preacher, the thief,
the murderer, and the lost....
for the woman treated as less.
for the young man who commits suicide,
and for those that caused his desperation.
for the immigrant killed crossing the border,
hoping against hope for his family.
for the 'moral' who cant feel,
for those who feel, those who suffer.
for the bones of those we've killed
on our journey to civilization.
for the Jew, the Christian,
the Hindu, the Muslim, and the Buddhist...
of equal worth and value.
for the atheist, the doubter, the searcher,
and those who question all.
for the man, the woman, and the child.
for the sins of the past,
and the path to the future.
i am responsible...
because i am human!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Never Mourn At My Funeral
Never mourn at my funeral
Because i'm not dead but sleeping
And relaxing on Abraham's bossom
Never mourn at my funeral
You that come in view to mourning
But within you, you're here to mock
Because my poetry has once expose your secret-deeds
Throw my body where you please
Or let it be dismembered
Never mourn at my funeral
You the insect that bites my daffodils
And you who want my fish to swim on a dry earth
Throw me on a stormy sea
Where Jonah fell
But its a glorious shame
I can never sight the river bank of Joppa
Never mourn at my funeral
You that come in my maker's name
Just to bless my end
Go thy way and search for lust souls
Wear them a garment pure as snow
Before they lie low with me
And journey hell eternal
Never mourn at my funeral
But mourn for we're debtors of death
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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Blues For The Widow Of The Victim Of A Racist Attck
Mourn, and mourn hard
Your tears shall fall wasted and uncollected
On this damp slab of concrete
Mourn though young widow
Weep because your husband is dead
Cry because the crowd has left and you're alone
And ganged up against by the priests and the
Celebrity pastors who piously tell you
To forgive and forget
Sob because you're surrounded by the officials
Whom the wise state has instructed to order you
To accept reconciliation without justice
Cry the river of your tears because
Your dear departed husband is dead
And your lovely children will know what it's like
To miss the soothing voice of their father
So brutally snatched away from them
And dragged behind a speeding vehicle and fed
To the lions for the sick amusement
Of a deranged and kaffir hating racist
Mourn for yourself mama
Now you'll face the world alone
With the dubious title of a single parent
Hanging on your fragile and emaciated neck
Mourn and cry and weep for the widows
Of the victims of genocide
Mourn and cry and weep for the sisters
Who are cornered and raped by their xenophobic neighbors
Mourn and cry and weep for the victims of the hurricane of
The internecine strife of ethnic cleansing and tribal warfare
Mourn and cry and weep for they
Who die unlamented in the flower of their youth
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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Six O'Clock News
he sat in the parking lot,
a Vietnam vet, breathing hard,
fog rising in the cold....
across the way two kids
were getting ready to raise
the flag... just another day....
they'd been married for 30 years.
he met her when he was thirty,
and she was just sixteen....
now he was over sixty,
and his health was bad....
and she'd been fooling around
with a man her own age.
he just couldnt see, just couldnt
believe... nowhere to go.
he watched her walk from the
building to her car, fumbling with keys.
walking up behind her, he called
her name... she turned, a look of horror,
just a deer caught in the headlights.
he pulled the pistol and shot her....
before her body even fell
he put the barrel in his mouth,
and fired again....
the two kids stopped, flag
at about half mast.... sunlight
barely piercing the fog....
America dead, two bodies strewn
in a parking lot... another feed
for the six o'clock news!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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At This Moment
I'm very pleased to be a body. Can there be someone without a body?
As you hold mine I feel firmly assured that bodies are the right thing
and I think all life is a body. I'm happy about trees, grass and water,
especially with the sun shining on it. I slip into it, a summer pleasure.
I have hurt the body. That's when I know I need it most in its whole
condition. If I could prove it to you by giving pain you would agree
but I prefer you with your body pressed to mine as if to say it is how
we know. Think, when two must separate how sad it is for each then
having to find another way to affirm their bodies. Knock one against
another or tree or rock and there's your pain. Now we have our arms
filled with each other. Could we not grow old in this posture and be
buried as one body which others would do for us tenderly?
poem by David Ignatow
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Two faces of Justice....
HOW cruel could they be
those seals of the seas
burying a dead man's body
whose left eye is a hole
into the Arabian Sea
IT is not according to the law
and customs and religion
This is foul and horrendous
To the hearts of the faithful
The sorrow is and must be
Tremendous
YET how most cruel was once he
too
burying thousands of screaming bodies in a split second on a building
exploding into dusts
as planes hijacked crashed on its side
Thousands and thousands of other lives
sacrificed for an ideology
of terror
still nameless on the roll
call of
Untimely deaths
And even the those still living
They who live everyday in Fear
Those who travel in air
In a hundred anxieties bear
Still the unfairness reigns
One body swallowed finally by the sea
On the other hand
Some thousand hands and eyes or so
still unrecoverable
From the terrorism of
history of the bombs
Those nameless still hungry for justice
Those grieving to the more
Because the losses are still unbearable
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dying
Dying
Youve seen the crippled dance
Give me your money baby, nows your chance
Your lies like cyanide
I am so dumb
Just beam me up
Ive had it all forever
Ive had enough
Remember, you promised me...
Im dying, Im dying please
I want to, I need to be...
Under your skin
Our love is quicksand, so easy to drown
They steal the gravity out from moving ground
Remember, you promised me...
Im dying, Im dying please
I want to I need to be...
Under your skin
And now I understand
You leave with everything
You leave with everything I am
In the rain
And I now I know that love is dead
You come to bury me
Theres nothing left here to pretend..
Remember you promised me...
Im dying, Im dying please
I want to, I need to be...
Under your skin
Im dying Im dying please
Im dying Im dying please
Im dying Im dying please
Under your skin
Under your skin
song performed by by Hole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am Sick......
i am sick of your justice...
sick of dead bodies strewn,
sick of your bursts of gunfire,
and your bombs without conscience.
sick of the napalm fingers of your equality,
trading flesh for nickels and dime.
sick of your powder and your pills,
sick of the rape of the young girl
beneath your flag!
i am sick of your nuclear bibles,
sick of your buying and trading.
i am sick of the pound of your oil rigs,
sick of the stink of your morality.
i am sick of your hanging trees,
your courtrooms stacked.
i am sick of the money you sleep with,
sick of your colorless freedom.
i am sick of your smokestacks gone silent.
sick of your riot squads gassing.
i am sick of the amendments you've twisted,
sick of your hate and your prejudice...
i am sick of your slavery,
your prisons, your human rights violations.
i am sick of your political lies....
revolution, by common bond,
the choice of integrity, or death!
the dignity of the human soul demands,
that we live or we die!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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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
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By The Fires Of Hell
i kissed the cyanide lips,
of the god of my childhood.
walked the desolate streets,
strewn with human refuse and garbage.
under the heavy curse
of false morality and judgement.
to the edge of town,
where the hanging tree stood.
the sweat stained pits,
of bodies faceless and rotting.
a black and white movie,
dirge of the pilgrim.
walls made of wax,
and ideals with numb fingers.
church bells ringing,
forever just ringing!
why is it true souls are always homeless?
i hear the voices, i feel the weeping.
poverty breaks the glass,
and hunger melts the candle.
when sins become as real as death!
so who pays the price?
and who bears the load?
in the end we are always naked!
i wait beneath the tree,
by the shadow of the rope.
whose hands? my hands?
whose retribution? my guilt?
then soft as the wind,
and light formed from shadows...
i hear the voice of the Lover,
calling, from beyond the door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In My Time Of Dyin
(first releaseblind willie johnson, arranged by bob dylan)
Well, in my time of dying dont want nobody to mourn
All I want for you to do is take my body home
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus gonna make up, jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.
Well, meet me jesus, meet me, meet me in the middle of the air
If these wings should fail me, lord, wont you meet me with another pair?
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus gonna make up, jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.
Lord, in my time of dying dont want nobody to cry
All I want for you to do is take me when I die
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Well, well, well
Well, well, well, so I can die easy
Jesus gonna make up, jesus gonna make up
Jesus gonna make up my dying bed.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Walking Nightmares
Black silhouettes of a hangman's noose
Surrounded by ways to cut my life loose
Worn away gravestones of the gone and forgotten
Smell of decay, Bodies are rotten
Clouds form to create tombstones
Dead and abandoned, Feather and bones
In the road states the word death
Written in blood and the body that's left
Defenceless creature lays on the curb
Ripped apart flesh leaves me disturbed
No escape from death, No where to turn
Murder in mass as distant trees burn
Shadows before me stand crucified
I hear dying children that have cried
Funeral bells ring in the back of my mind
A family photo that's been left behind
Fallen tree looks like a dead body
Waiting to be found and ready to study
A helpless wave from a fallen branch
The wind whistles the funeral march
poem by TyjaRae Guy
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On the Same Road...
that night i passed by the road
leading to the house where i live,
someone died on the road
i did not mind i am heading for home
this morning while going to the university
another body sprawled on the road, another dead body
there is a crowd of people
curious but not mourning
i do not stop for death
i am going towards mine and we who are still leaving cannot really be lucky
everyday we are dying
we simply have to wait for that fate
ful time
it is our turn we do not have to anticipate it
every hour
a part of us dies
it is enough sharing this moments of death
and so i said
i cannot stop for another person's death
destiny has once taken him
and there is nothing that i can do
i am also just merely passing by...
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Weeping... (Betrayed)
weeping...
i know the sound,
the feel, the taste.
the deep intensity
of storm laden skies.
the grey dust
on the building vacant.
the stink of human flesh,
when hunger ripens into need.
the death of oil tainted water,
and smoke choking out the air.
the sudden take of violence,
seems reason never justifies.
the cold clank of chains,
the sobbing dirt of endless fields.
the baby gasping for life
in a room designed by hate.
the old woman dying on a makeshift bed,
rats running across the floor.
the old man left alone,
to read books that resemble life.
the church empty, the alleys full,
the eyes staring at the ground
in the unemployment line.
the hand too poor to be touched,
the body too old to be loved.
the jack-o-lantern face of god,
in a world too stoned to know.
the rope hanging from the ceiling,
the silence when words run out...
weeping...
time betrayed by the hands of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Coconut Grove
She carries her body
like a swing of delights
i got wings too
and i carry my body like
a coconut palm
she will find comfort in my
shade
and my wings shall cover
her body
she becomes a smooth sand
wrapping my body
i am a tree and she will always
be a swing to me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Autumnal
THE Autumn leaves are dying quietly,
Scarlet and orange, underfoot they lie;
They had their youth and prime
And now's the dying time;
Alas, alas, the young, the beloved, must die!
They are dying like the leaves of Autumn fast,
Scattered and broken, blown on every blast:
The darling young, the brave,
Love had no power to save.
Poor Love-lies-bleeding, Love's in ruins, downcast.
Alas, alas, the Autumn leaves are flying!
They had their Summer and 'tis time for dying.
But these had barely Spring.
Love trails a broken wing,
Walks through deserted woods, moaning and sighing.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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