Visit Malaysia Year: Fort A Famosa old graves (State of Malacca)
fort a famosa little jittery
just across the fence
a child's marble grave
the only things that warm
the old, broken graves
sunlight and their love messages
Around the A Famosa are many old graves some several hundred years old. They are of marble and broken in many parts. However, what keep them warm when visiting these graves are the sunlight and the love messages on these graves from love ones.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
I can't believe that we would lie in our graves wondering if we had spent our living days well. I can't believe that we would lie in our graves dreaming of things that we might have been.
quote by Dave Matthews
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Anniversary
ALL kings, and all their favourites,
All glory of honours, beauties, wits,
The sun it self, which makes time, as they pass,
Is elder by a year now than it was
When thou and I first one another saw.
All other things to their destruction draw,
Only our love hath no decay;
This no to-morrow hath, nor yesterday;
Running it never runs from us away,
But truly keeps his first, last, everlasting day.
Two graves must hide thine and my corse;
If one might, death were no divorce.
Alas ! as well as other princes, we
—Who prince enough in one another be—
Must leave at last in death these eyes and ears,
Oft fed with true oaths, and with sweet salt tears;
But souls where nothing dwells but love
—All other thoughts being inmates—then shall prove
This or a love increasèd there above,
When bodies to their graves, souls from their graves remove.
And then we shall be throughly blest;
But now no more than all the rest.
Here upon earth we're kings, and none but we
Can be such kings, nor of such subjects be.
Who is so safe as we? where none can do
Treason to us, except one of us two.
True and false fears let us refrain,
Let us love nobly, and live, and add again
Years and years unto years, till we attain
To write threescore; this is the second of our reign.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Memories And Heroes
We had the chance
But it never happened
And now im left with the ghosts of memories
Saying whisper something nice and ill make you scream twice.
Thinking of all the good times we shared
Even though, the good times were never really there
Because we are walking on the graves of heroes
You left me broken searching for a hero
Until i learnt that everyone is a hero
We are walking on the graves of our heroes
The graves have our names chiseled into them
Everyone is a hero
Everyone is a God
Everyone is evil
Question.
Have i become my inner hero, God
Or have i become my inner evil?
poem by Laura Cummings
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Elegy in a Country Churchyard
The men that worked for England
They have their graves at home:
And bees and birds of England
About the cross can roam.
But they that fought for England,
Following a falling star,
Alas, alas for England
They have their graves afar.
And they that rule in England,
In stately conclave met,
Alas, alas for England,
They have no graves as yet.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Lost Horizons
The last horizons I can see are filled with bars and factories
And in them all we fight to stay awake...
Drink enough of anything to make this world look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
She had nothing left to say so she said she loved me
I stood there grateful for the lie...
Drink enough of anything to make this girl look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
Turn summer trees to bones and ice
Turn insect songs against the night
With words we build and words we break
Im drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves...
Drink enough of anything to make myself look new again
Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
song performed by by Gin Blossoms
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What we now call ""finance"" is, I hold, an intellectual perversion of what began as warm human love.
quote by Robert Graves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From God to God
'From God to God' by David Hart
graves upon mournful graves
O, most heavy heart
Fie, release me from this.
from God to God
from God again to God
I fear. I anger.
minutes, hours, days,
weeks, months and years
from God now return to God.
clouds, dust, rain and sun
from God to God
from God, and again back
to God this day.
poem by David Hart
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There’s a place with rows of cypress trees
There’s a place where rows of cypress trees
stand to attention
at the foot of a rocky hillock
and there are graves planted in rows.
As a child could have sworn
that there are ghosts among the graves,
when the wind went through the trees
and shadows move at night
over the graves.
We lived fifty meters away
in a old white house
and it was only
my dad, mom, brother and me.
If I were naughty
or did not want to eat my food
a man with a hat, raincoat and dark glasses
came in through the back door.
In the evenings my dad read poetry
to me and my younger brother
and his voice with the cannibal
and the rider of skimmelperd pan
resounds in me.
Untill a day that cancer
took my dad forever,
fifty meteres further.
[References: Die mensvreter and Die ruiter van skimmelperdpan by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Graves
I dreamed one man stood against a thousand,
One man damned as a wrongheaded fool.
One year and another he walked the streets,
And a thousand shrugs and hoots
Met him in the shoulders and mouths he passed.
He died alone.
And only the undertaker came to his funeral.
Flowers grow over his grave anod in the wind,
And over the graves of the thousand, too,
The flowers grow anod in the wind.
Flowers and the wind,
Flowers anod over the graves of the dead,
Petals of red, leaves of yellow, streaks of white,
Masses of purple sagging…
I love you and your great way of forgetting.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Benghazi Graves -2012
As the light dawns
On knights in graves
Who fought
For cause
Not known
Not known, to them
For whom they fought
And seventy years hence,
On a dark moonless night
Those vivid shadows
Overtook the darkness of moonless night
Razed, ravaged those graves
Whose habitants home had made
Prayed they
Oh Lord!
Direct them
With gumption.
Help them leave their bodies
In environs
Where
Their childhood was not plundered
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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In An Anonymous Week
If I am not beautiful, nobody really has interests
Or love; and I am quite shallow,
The pittance of an unreturned dove:
You know, you know- all of our graves or quite
Shallow, too- like animal graves,
Like animals shoes; and this is what I have been doing,
Digging up shallow tubs of earth, throwing dirt
Over my shoulders like a dirty curse, and doing it
Without appeasing anyone in the eye;
If I should have to die, If I should have to die, let it
Be little animal tears for me, and distant cars,
And distant echoes of somnolent feet; you know,
I am not pretty, and the way the earth moves, I shall
Be dead in an anonymous week.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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Elegy IX: The Autumnal
No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace
As I have seen in one autumnal face.
Young beauties force our love, and that's a rape,
This doth but counsel, yet you cannot scape.
If 'twere a shame to love, here 'twere no shame;
Affection here takes reverence's name.
Were her first years the golden age? That's true,
But now she's gold oft tried and ever new.
That was her torrid and inflaming time,
This is her tolerable tropic clime.
Fair eyes, who asks more heat than comes from hence,
He in a fever wishes pestilence.
Call not these wrinkles, graves; if graves they were,
They were Love's graves, for else he is no where.
Yet lies not Love dead here, but here doth sit
Vow'd to this trench, like an anachorit;
And here till hers, which must be his death, come,
He doth not dig a grave, but build a tomb.
Here dwells he; though he sojourn ev'rywhere
In progress, yet his standing house is here:
Here where still evening is, not noon nor night,
Where no voluptuousness, yet all delight.
In all her words, unto all hearers fit,
You may at revels, you at council, sit.
This is Love's timber, youth his underwood;
There he, as wine in June, enrages blood,
Which then comes seasonabliest when our taste
And appetite to other things is past.
Xerxes' strange Lydian love, the platan tree,
Was lov'd for age, none being so large as she,
Or else because, being young, nature did bless
Her youth with age's glory, barrenness.
If we love things long sought, age is a thing
Which we are fifty years in compassing;
If transitory things, which soon decay,
Age must be loveliest at the latest day.
But name not winter faces, whose skin's slack,
Lank as an unthrift's purse, but a soul's sack;
Whose eyes seek light within, for all here's shade;
Whose mouths are holes, rather worn out than made;
Whose every tooth to a several place is gone,
To vex their souls at resurrection:
Name not these living death's-heads unto me,
For these, not ancient, but antique be.
I hate extremes, yet I had rather stay
With tombs than cradles, to wear out a day.
Since such love's natural lation is, may still
My love descend, and journey down the hill,
Not panting after growing beauties. So,
I shall ebb on with them who homeward go.
poem by John Donne
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A Day And Date
Nests to birds and holes to foxes,
Of the olive oil and honey on my table;
But in the obscurity of darkness,
The harvest time is very great.
Unmarked graves,
The choicest wine at the beginning of love;
There is a day and a date for everyone.
Of the rich man's table and the poor man's table,
Like homes without numbers to compare with these graves;
But you need ten silver coins to reach my home.
A fig tree with leaves and the horse-walk of things,
You need a 'pencilcure' act to note my mind;
And from 'dreamontology' to 'dondoorlogy'to what is prepared.
The king and the Queen do seek for me,
But i am always missing out of their sites;
Since i do have a day and a date on my lovers heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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To J.W.
Set not thy foot on graves;
Hear what wine and roses say;
The mountain chase, the summer waves,
The crowded town, thy feet may well delay.
Set not thy foot on graves;
Nor seek to unwind the shroud
Which charitable time
And nature have allowed
To wrap the errors of a sage sublime.
Set not thy foot on graves;
Care not to strip the dead
Of his sad ornament;
His myrrh, and wine, and rings,
His sheet of lead,
And trophies buried;
Go get them where he earned them when alive,
As resolutely dig or dive.
Life is too short to waste
The critic bite or cynic bark,
Quarrel, or reprimand;
'Twill soon be dark;
Up! mind thine own aim, and
God speed the mark.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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The Soldiers Return
(bell/clarke)
Slow the years go by
They stole your man off to war
Will you see the child
As you sing battle songs
And it pains me
To think of the soldiers plight
I will pray
For your heart to guide you home
And she cries for the soldiers return
Despair of feeling alone for so long
By the light of the candle that burns
For his life
For the day of the soldiers return
Hear the cannon fire
Lost voices echo in the night
See the spoils of war
Young men are falling, ooh
Hear the drummer marching oer the hill
Love returning and the graves of the battle lie still
And she cries...(chorus)
Hear the drummer marching oer the hill
Love returning and the graves of the battle lie still
And she cries...(chorus)
Young men are falling, young men are falling...
song performed by by Erasure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Departed Lover
I no longer recognize
The flowers of summer youth
That bloomed in the dawn of my innocence
When love was like sunlight
Gleaming on dewy petals.
Cherished kisses are forever gone
Like fading memories
That sink into the soft soil
Of freshly dug graves.
A departed lover
Never returns
But her spirit lingers
In ghost shadows
That consume me.
poem by Uriah Hamilton
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The Whole Family
the whole family
all with white hair and canes
visiting graves
poem by Matsuo Basho
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Visiting the graves
Visiting the graves,
the old dog
leads the way.
Translated by Robert Hass
poem by Kobayashi Issa
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Targets
The heroes
Lie dead
Still warm
In their graves
The faceless
Behind the scenes
Pulling the strings
Zero
On the next target.
poem by Vince Gullaci
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