This Memrial Day
Pure water like a virgin sea
I miss you so!
Just a man in a horrible war
You died so young my father
Today at your grave I cried
I cry so little outside self pity
How I wish I could hear you
How I wish I could see you
Soon I will come home
The guns are silent
I look at your purple heart
I remember your 21-gun salute
The taps, the pure tears
Mom lies by you
My brother Jim next to her
Little flags and flowers on the graves
This Memorial Day was special
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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D Day
Vast field of lonely soldiers graves
Grown over with grass and clover
They are gone, their country saved
Young flowers, their ghost still hovers
Today clouds fill the morning sky
Green vernal spring seems so sad
Tears swell in old veteran's eyes
Here to honor these fallen lads
Broken hearts of dads and mothers
Barely children they gave their all
Forget not these sons and daughters
Brave soldiers of freedoms call
Hear the trumpet play the taps
Say a prayer with a tear shed
Let the flags fly half mast
We honor their life's and deaths
Buried on foreign soil
Name after name, row after row
Gone from this mortal coil
Covered by grass, rain and snow
The guns of D Day are now silent
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
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Purple Hearts
Resolution blooms like a blue rose
We are the flowers of the true sky
Sown in the soil where love can grow
Every hour eternity sublimely shines
Youth fallen on forgotten battle fields
Savor the ghostly haunted fallen
Unmarked graves in centuries sealed
Blood flows to the bridle calling
Crying fathers and mothers wail
Shallow graves filled with pale rain
Armadas of proud war ships sail
War the story of history and pain
Tonight my dreams are restless streams
I feel my resting father's soul and heart
Old photos of the war his eyes had seen
Tears in the night I hold his purple heart
I hear the taps played for all the brave
Honor rises from soldier’s silent graves
Someday the dove of peace shall hark
No more war and no more purple hearts
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dad
How I wish I could go back
I wish I could tell you I love you
I am so proud of your purple hearts
You were wounded in world war two
You worked hard for your family
I never heard you really complain
You were grateful for all you had
You always tried to show us the way
I remember how you loved to laugh
How you cried when Grandma died
You played Santa Claus every year
You had friends and were well liked
We always went on a long vacation
You taught us to respect and love
To work hard and not be lazy
You taught us to believe in God above
I was twenty-four when we last hugged
They played the taps on that lonely day
Mom and Jim were both still alive
A twenty-one-gun salute by your grave
The love used here is what really counts
Mom and Jim are now home with you
My faith in the Lord is what sustains me
My tears flow but there is more I must do
Your battlefields have long ended
Your heart was good, deep and true
I will always try to honor your name
Dad I want you to know I love you
poem by Joseph Narusiewicz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If i Died Today
If idied today i would cry
i would cry for all the time i spent being sad
when i could have been smiling
if i died today i would weep
i would weep for all the love i never felt
when i was alive
If i died today i would be sad
sad that i never really got to feel special,
loved and cared for
If i died today it would break my heart
break my heart for all the times i have cried,
cried because i was in pain
if i died today i would be regretful
regretful for all for all the time wasted on vanity
and worrying what other people will think of me
if i died today i would forgive myself
forgive myself for being my best enemy
forgive myself for hating me so much
if i died today i would be devasted
devasted that i never really got to appreciate,
appreciate myself
if i died today i would feel lost because,
i have never really known
or found myself
if i died today i would miss me
i would miss me because i forgot all about mealong time ago
if i died to day i would cry for me.
poem by Elizabeth Jacqueline Mpanga
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Melt The Guns
(andy partridge)
Programmes of violence,
As entertainment,
Brings the disease into your room.
We know the germ,
Which is man-made in metal,
Is really a key to your own tomb.
Prevention is better than cure,
Bad apples affecting the pure,
Youll gather your senses Im sure
Then agree to,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more to fire them.
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more desire them.
Children will want them,
Mothers supply them,
As long as your killers are heroes.
And all the media
Will fiddle while rome burns,
Acting like modern-time neros.
Prevention is better than cure,
Bad apples affecting the pure,
Youll gather your senses Im sure
Then agree to,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more to fire them.
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more desire them.
Im speaking to the justice league of america.
The u s of a,
Hey you,
Yes you in particular!
When it comes to the judgement day and youre standing at the gates with your weaponry,
You dead go down on one knee,
Clasp your hands in prayer and start quoting me,
cos we say...
Our father weve managed to contain the epidemic in one place, now,
Lets hope they shoot themselves instead of others,
Help to civilize the race now.
Weve trapped the cause of the plague,
In the land of the free and the home of the brave.
If we listen quietly we can hear them shooting from grave to grave.
You ought to,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more to fire them.
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more desire them.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Melt The Guns
(andy partridge)
Programmes of violence,
As entertainment,
Brings the disease into your room.
We know the germ,
Which is man-made in metal,
Is really a key to your own tomb.
Prevention is better than cure,
Bad apples affecting the pure,
Youll gather your senses Im sure
Then agree to,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more to fire them.
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more desire them.
Children will want them,
Mothers supply them,
As long as your killers are heroes.
And all the media
Will fiddle while rome burns,
Acting like modern-time neros.
Prevention is better than cure,
Bad apples affecting the pure,
Youll gather your senses Im sure
Then agree to,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more to fire them.
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more desire them.
Im speaking to the justice league of america.
The u s of a,
Hey you,
Yes you in particular!
When it comes to the judgement day and youre standing at the gates with your weaponry,
You dead go down on one knee,
Clasp your hands in prayer and start quoting me,
cos we say...
Our father weve managed to contain the epidemic in one place, now,
Lets hope they shoot themselves instead of others,
Help to civilize the race now.
Weve trapped the cause of the plague,
In the land of the free and the home of the brave.
If we listen quietly we can hear them shooting from grave to grave.
You ought to,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more to fire them.
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
Melt the guns,
And never more desire them.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Had a Little Brother Once
Had a little brother once
Died at six months old
Tears fell but all was not well
With family at home
Barely remember
His face his smile
I was only five years old
When angels took him away
Mum cried for days
Dad yelled and screamed
Why was he taken away?
I could neither cry
Or shout out why
To young to understand
Just merely watched
The heartache and pain
As we grieved
With each passing day
Soft brown eyes
Gentle soul
That's all I could remember
Of my little brother
Another lost young soul
I sit and ponder
What would he be like?
To discover this land
If he was still here
At home were he belonged
All misty eyed
I start to cry
And wish you were here
Besides your family
And your friends
poem by Kaila George
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Young Guns
Hey hotshot, your're a one man band
The Don on the block with a glock in your hand
With the girl and the ride, you dont't wanna hear
Think you're getting respect, all you've found is fear
The one damn thing you're sure to find
Is another gun, where you gonna hide?
Said you'd never never run, I guess you lied
You're the fool in the crew that died
Your mother cried
Hold your fire, cool your temper
Young guns ever too bold
Hold your fire, just remember
Young guns never grow old
Hey hotshot, you're a one man band
The Don on the block with a glock in your hand
With the girl and the ride, you dont't wanna hear
Think you're getting respect all you find is fear
The one damn thing you're sure to find
Is a bigger gun to blow away your pride
Your young blood running in the roadside
And in the crossfire, innocents died
We all cried
Hold your fire, cool your temper
Young guns ever too bold
Hold your fire, just remember
Young guns never grow old.
Hey hotshot, you're a one man band
The don on the block with a glock in your hand
With the girl and the ride, you dont't wanna hear
Think your getting respect, all you've found is fear
Hold your fire, cool your temper
Young guns ever to bold
Hold your fire, just remember
Young guns never grow old
Hold your fire, cool your temper
Young guns ever too bold
Hold your fire, just remember
Young guns never grow old
Young guns never grow old
Young guns never grow old
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Memorial for the lives lost in Karbala was done
A Memorial for the lives lost in Karbala was done
And the bodies and the heads had finally become one
And Husain’s slain army was remembered by all
And the children of Mohammed lamented His son
For three days and nights in the desert they mourned
Embracing His grave as though never to be torn
Hearts lit like candles, their love for Him bloomed
Their sons, like flowers, scattered around His tomb
Remembering those killed, they cried out in grief
And clutched at their hearts and in pain swooned
“Where are those who watched over us?” they cried
“Now we wander, unveiled in broad daylight”
The air was fraught with sobs as the widows wept
And the noble sister’s face on His tomb did rest
And cried “Oh my beloved brother Husain
For three days and nights I’ve been your guest”
“Heartbroken and forlorn I am indeed
For I feel as though my services are not well-received”
“The will of the Imam, I will gladly accept
But the bruises on my arms I haven’t shown you yet
I am alone today, no friend in sight
Without you I am nothing, how can you forget?”
“I’ve lost sons and brothers and you in this war
An my back is bruised with the tip of the spear” “I cared for the orphans, the fathers lay dead
Their tender ages and prison, the pain and the dread
To divert them from their misery, I narrated your tale
I was their mother, their aunt, or their father instead”
“And I will live on to see them suffer and die
For it is not my destiny to see beloveds thrive”
“I had imagined that pilgrims would surround Your grave
And angels would gather to applaud the brave
And I would hold a memorial to remember the souls
But there is no one here today, I am amazed”
“By your graveside I sit alone, my Brother, and weep
And console my heart though my pain is deep”
Saying this, Zainab inconsolable, sobbed
And the tomb of the Prince shuddered and rocked
Basheer approached Abid and asked, head bowed
“May we leave Oh Imam? Your aunt is distraught”
Abid approached His aunt, weary and concerned
He asked “Dear aunt shall we return?”
Zainab replied, “As you wish my dear Imam”
And preparations to leave for Medina began
The tents were untied and the camels lined up
And around the holy graves gathered Ali’s clan
Bidding farewell to those who slept in their graves
The old and the young stood around in a daze
At the thought of leaving her brother’s tomb
Distraught, Zainab cried “How can I leave you alone?
In this forsaken desert away from us all
This empty, desolate city now your home”
“Where nothing grows and nothing lives
Such a place you have chosen to gather and rest” “Oh noble Lord of Karbala, farewell
Oh the sands that cradle His body, farewell
Dear grave of the noble lofty Prince, farewell
My brother, I part from you, bid me farewell”
“You do not answer me, ill is my fate indeed
For it means that you not pleased with my deeds”
“How do I face Medina having left you here?
What if the Prophet questions, how can I bear?
If I go to Najaf, the same question I will face
‘Where is Husain?’ That is all I will hear”
“You have not asked me to stay, so I must depart
But where do I go with my broken heart?”
“Won’t you come, hold my hand as I alight?
Won’t you shelter my being from strangers’ eyes?
Won’t Abbas or Akber come to bid me farewell?
Won’t you bring Asgher for whom Banu cries?”
“You are our leader, come lead us ahead
We’re ready, yet you sleep, the grave your bed”
“Although I weep my Brother and call out your name
You do not answer O Prince, I am amazed
If only you will come and embrace me now
I will leave for Medina, though never the same”
At this, the Prince answered “My dear Zainab farewell
Give my love to Soghra, my daughter who is ill”
poem by Mir Babar Ali Anees
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Easter Monday
(for A & J)
20 years since their father died
two grown-up sons
at his grave with a rake & a spade
the elder one recalls a boozy night
he fell asleep between the grave’s
short dense trimmed junipers
a pillow his obscure father’s stone
awoke freezing here 5 am
fog over the pond
where the younger brother bathed as a kid
fog over the graves along the slopes
they have no memories of their father
poem by Mikael Ejdemyr
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B l u e s
no, it’s beyond words.
say a word your word
if you need,
death loss tears grief gone ever
it’s beyond all these
take them hold them
press them tear them
squeeze from them
the tears of things
tears at the heart of things
squeeze this pure pure liquid
from these from life itself
so pure it’s nameless
so pure it’s the being
of your being,
the truth of truth,
the beauty, of all the sadness
that ever,
so pure, so true
that never again;
so pure, it could be
joy or love or grace
wash in its purity
this is life
poem by Michael Shepherd
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My man he cried today...
My man he cried today…
He looked at me all filled with fear
For he knew not what he would hear
Because believe me now when I say
My man he cried today
His face it bled from the from the beauty of his soul
This crystal clear waterfall it poured out of control
So believe me now when I say
My man he cried today
This emotion to him felt wrong
As it was forbidden for so long
But believe me now when I say
My man he cried today
He covered himself with his hands so strong
And repeatedly told me by me he’ll never do wrong
Down to the ground he knelt on one knee
And hailed me like a queen for all to see
For believe me when I say
My man he cried today
This passion he felt burning
Was released like the glory of morning
The love he felt was strong indeed
And I knew a man like him surely a rare breed
And believe me now what I say
My man he cried today
So I knelt down besides him and let him take me all in
For from here on now our lives shall begin
My soul is his now
And to my king I bow
And again I say my man he cried today
Our love so pure
All it shall cure
My man he cried
Lips upon lips
Heart upon heart
My man he cried
So I looked up filled with glee
As this man cried with me
And when I tell you this, you must believe
This man I will never leave
And now you know why when I say my man and I we cried today!
Lerato Ladyfair Shuping
poem by Lerato Shuping
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Forever
THOSE we love truly never die,
Though year by year the sad memorial wreath,
A ring and flowers, types of life and death,
Are laid upon their graves.
For death the pure life saves,
And life all pure is love; and love can reach
From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach
Than those by mortals read.
Well blest is he who has a dear one dead:
A friend he has whose face will never change—
A dear communion that will not grow strange;
The anchor of a love is death.
The blessed sweetness of a loving breath
Will reach our cheek all fresh through weary years.
For her who died long since, ah! waste not tears,
She's thine unto the end.
Thank God for one dead friend,
With face still radiant with the light of truth,
Whose love comes laden with the scent of youth,
Through twenty years of death.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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After Death
IF we must part, this parting is the best:
How would you bear to lay
Your head on some warm pillow far away--
Your head, so used to lying on my breast?
But now your pillow is cold;
Your hands have flowers, and not my hands, to hold;
Upon our bed the worn bride-linen lies.
I have put the death-money upon your eyes,
So that you should not wake up in the night.
I have bound your face with white;
I have washed you, yes, with water and not with tears,--
Those arms wherein I have slept so many years,
Those feet that hastened when they came to me,
And all your body that belonged to me.
I have smoothed your dear dull hair,
And there is nothing left to say for you
And nothing left to fear or pray for you;
And I have got the rest of life to bear:
Thank God it is you, not I, who are lying there.
If I had died
And you had stood beside
This still white bed
Where the white, scented, horrible flowers are spread,--
I know the thing it is,
And I thank God that He has spared you this.
If one must bear it, thank God it was I
Who had to live and bear to see you die,
Who have to live, and bear to see you dead.
You will have nothing of it all to bear:
You will not even know that in your bed
You lie alone. You will not miss my head
Beside you on the pillow: you will rest
So soft in the grave you will not miss my breast.
But I--but I--Your pillow and your place--
And only the darkness laid against my face,
And only my anguish pressed against my side--
Thank God, thank God, that it was you who died!
poem by Edith Nesbit
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To Glorify War Heroes
Though talk of war and death and such I do not wish to hear
To glorify war heroes we have the balladeer
The old men displaying their medals march on war memorial day
Though they look tired and weary now and they are old and gray.
They weep for comrades who died young in battles far away
Young men who were buried in mass graves their bones far from home lay
'Tis said they died in freedom's cause though many with that do not agree
Since any lessons have not been learned from man's war history.
Each time I listen to the news the headlines mostly bad
A suicide bombing in Palestine a car bombing in Baghdad
More atrocities with a direct link to terrorism to many it would seem
But to those who give their own lives to kill the fulfilment of a heroic dream.
Of suffering and deaths linked to war so much has been written and said
And wives and mothers in the World today still mourn their war dead
And still the soldiers come back home to a victory parade
For people who shoot at other people too much respect is paid.
poem by Francis Duggan
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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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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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No More Tears
No more tears are left to fall.
I've cried so long I cried them all.
I must be strong. I must be brave,
but it's so hard here at your grave.
I pray that God will help me heal.
He knows the sorrow that I feel.
His love is pure, His purpose true.
I can't forget He loves you too.
With all my soul, and all my heart,
I'll trust in Him while we're apart,
for only He can ease my pain,
until we are together again.
poem by Ron Tranmer
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Purple... Purple
Purple... Purple;
Such a beautiful
Color-
You wore it with clever
Intentions to lull her.
Purple... Purple;
You knew it was my favorite.
Purple... Purple;
You'd chuckle as you'd brave it.
Ever... Ever;
You promised
Your heart-
She charmed and disarmed you
Before you could start.
Ever... Ever;
You'd drown in your tears.
Ever... Ever;
Though she'd fade with years.
Smiling... Smiling;
I'd never
Forget-
That smile above that purple
Before you'd regret.
Smiling... Smiling;
You'd smile for her.
Smiling... Smiling;
Dying, though you were.
Never... Never;
I left with
No pause-
Your wallowing sickness gave me
Plenty cause.
Never... Never;
You seem far away.
Never... Never;
Despite what you'd say.
Pity... Pity;
I lost all
For you-
Pity... Pity;
What one girl
Can do.
poem by Singer Joy
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Matins, Or Morning Prayer
When with the virgin morning thou dost rise,
Crossing thyself come thus to sacrifice;
First wash thy heart in innocence; then bring
Pure hands, pure habits, pure, pure every thing.
Next to the altar humbly kneel, and thence
Give up thy soul in clouds of frankincense.
Thy golden censers fill'd with odours sweet
Shall make thy actions with their ends to meet.
poem by Robert Herrick
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