The Burial: In Memory of W.L.E.
What task is this that so unnerves me now?
When pity should be dead, and has been dead.
Unloose that sheet from round the pierced brow;
What matter blood is seen, for blood is red,
And red’s the colour of the clammy earth.
Be not so solemn,-There’s no need to pray;
But, rather smile, - yea, laugh! If pure, thy mirth
Is right. He laughed himself but yesterday.
That pay-book? Take it from him. Ours a debt
No gold can ever pay. That cross of wood
About his neck? That must remain, and yet
He needs it no, because his heart was good.
We’ll house him ‘neath those broken shrubs; dig deep.
He’s tired. God knows, and needs a little sleep.
poem by Leon Gellert
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Turkish Song Of The Damned
I come old friend from hell tonight
Across the rotting sea
Nor the nails of the cross
Nor the blood of christ
Can bring you help this eve
The dead have come to claim a debt from thee
They stand outside your door
Four score and three
Did you keep a watch for the dead mans wind
Did you see the woman with the comb in her hand
Wailing away on the wall on the strand
As you danced to the turkish song of the damned
You remember when the ship went down
You left me on the deck
The captains corpse jumped up
And threw his arms around my neck
For all these years Ive had him on my back
This debt cannot be paid with all your jack
And as I sit and talk to you I see your face go white
This shadow hanging over me
Is no trick of the light
The spectre on my back will soon be free
The dead have come to claim a debt from thee
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lines Written On Hearing The News Of The Death Of Napoleon
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold?
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth?
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled--
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold.'
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled,
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold,
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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A Dead Heart
You chip away,
At my heart.
It breaks,
Into two.
I cry,
And just want to die.
I wipe my tears away,
And run away.
My broken heart,
The one you broke,
Is dead,
And so am I.
You have killed me,
With words so strong.
I became weak,
And lost my will to live.
You thought wrong of me,
Seeing my body lay still.
I get up,
And take you down.
I punch,
Looking for blood.
I kick,
Trying to make the kill.
I break an arm,
A leg,
And a hand.
Blood is pooling,
I get up,
Wipe the blood away on me,
And leave.
I look behind once,
And see your dead,
But you're actually dead,
Unlike me...
poem by Dragon Crenshaw
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Dead And Broken
Too many things I've never spoken
I'm not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
That'll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
How many different faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
I'm dying
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
Sorry to see that you're underestimated lately
I'd rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
Everyday, I still say you're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
You're dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Slaughter
Heaven, beg mercy for me! If there is
a God in you, a pathway through
you to this God - which I have not
discovered - then pray for me! For my
heart is dead, no longer is there prayer
on my lips; all strength is gone, and
hope is no more. Until when, how
much longer, until when?
You, executioner! Here's my neck - go
to it, slaughter me! Behead me like a
dog, yours is the almighty arm and the
axe, and the whole earth is my scaffold
- and we, we are the few! My blood is
fair game - strike the skull, and
murder's blood, the blood of nurslings
and old men, will spurt onto your
clothes and will never, never be wiped
off.
And if there is justice - let it show
itself at once! But if justice show itself
after I have been blotted out from
beneath the skies - let its throne be
hurled down forever! Let heaven rot
with eternal evil! And you, the arrogant,
go in this violence of yours, live by
your bloodshed and be cleansed by it.
And cursed be the man who says:
Avenge! No such revenge - revenge for
the blood of a little child - has yet been
devised by Satan. Let the blood pierce
through the abyss! Let the blood seep
down into the depths of darkness, and
eat away there, in the dark, and breach
all the rotting foundations of the earth.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
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Murder
Upon the threshold, red-eyed Murder stands,
Fresh from his slaughter-house of human meat,
Blood on his broken teeth and on his hands,
Blood on his nails and on his purple feet.
With hollow voice he speaks, and sick'ning breath,
'A way there is, that only way is death!….
The dead will rise no more,-the dead are dead!
The spared will creep behind the sparer's back,
And breathe their plots and stab. The dead are dead!
And lie along the safe triumphal track.
The young-eyed babe, will lisp it's little tales.
The loving girl will slay her main in bed
Kissing his savage mouth, the victor fails
At Mercy's seat. The dead are safely dead'.
poem by Leon Gellert
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The Dead Child
Sleep on, dear, now
The last sleep and the best,
And on thy brow,
And on thy quiet breast
Violets I throw.
Thy scanty years
Were mine a little while;
Life had no fears
To trouble thy brief smile
With toil or tears.
Lie still, and be
For evermore a child!
Not grudgingly,
Whom life has not defiled,
I render thee.
Slumber so deep,
No man would rashly wake;
I hardly weep,
Fain only, for thy sake.
To share thy sleep.
Yes, to be dead,
Dead, here with thee to-day,--
When all is said
'Twere good by thee to lay
My weary head.
The very best!
Ah, child so tired of play,
I stand confessed:
I want to come thy way,
And share thy rest.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XVIII
HE LAMENTS THAT HIS LOVE IS DEAD
My love is dead, dead and in spite of me,--
Dead while I lived,--while yet my blood was rife
With hope and pleasure and the pride of life.
For my love ended unexpectedly
During the Winter, stricken like a tree
By a night's cold, and frozen to the blood,
Whose leaves fell off and never were renewed
By any promise of the years to be.
And, when the Spring came, and the birds, to mate
Among its branches, lo! they found it bare,
Though all around was Summer in the wood.
Yet they took heart awhile, incredulous
That such a tree should be for ever dead.
``'Tis early yet,'' they cried. ``The Spring is late.
It shall still be as in the days that were.''
But Summer came and went while the tree stood
Bare in the sun like a deserted house.
--Then the birds suddenly despaired and fled.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Dead & Broken
Too many things Ive never spoken
Im not feeling fine
I never told you what to do
I never made you a promise that you could hold me to
Thatll be the day you see me crying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
How many faces can you show me?
How many times can you be right?
Another world of fantasy
Another reason for dramatizing everything
Taking it all in just one more time
Im dying
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Sorry to see that youre underestimated lately
Id rather be dead and broken than living in your grace
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Everyday, I still say youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
Youre dead and broken
song performed by by Godsmack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Gift of Lovers' Red Rose!
Lovers exchange red roses for Valentine's Day;
Why only Red Rose and Red Heart greeting cards?
Red is colour of blood vital for human survival!
Impure, used, blue blood turns pure red blood
By vital heart of body of flesh and bone in all!
Blood circulating all over in the body brings air
Fresh, pure and life supporting oxygen for man
Pumped and purified by heart ever till all life!
Red heart and rose denote vital heart, red blood
To keep this human body of flesh, bone and blood
Ever healthy, happy and hopeful of joy in all life!
Heart with Red Rose greets lovers with joy long
On Valentine's Day to celebrate love in life ever
Starting from Lovers' Day on all round the year!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Jesus upon the Cross
The bruised and battered, bleeding Lord,
Christ Jesus nailed upon the cross,
Appears in truth before my eyes:
Reminding me, the love of God!
The crown of thorns upon His head,
To mock the greatest ‘King of kings’,
So deeply pierced His scalp to skull:
What pain they must have caused till dead!
His back had gashes by lashes;
A spear had pierced His very heart;
The nails driven in wrists and feet,
Had broken bones to reach the wood.
His anguished face was calm and kind;
He paid the bloody price for sins
Of every sinner – all mankind!
Oh, what a supreme sacrifice!
Forgive us Lord; forget our sins;
They caused thine death upon the cross;
‘The Son obeyed His Father’s wish! ’
Must I remain then still selfish?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 13-09-10
poem by John Celes
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The Morning After
Awakened by the sun light
Victimized by last night
Memories flashin through my head
Was I just born or am I dead?
Yesterdays forgotten, the morning after
I can taste you, I can hear your laughter
Fading in the distance
Recollections drifting
Bloodstains on my tattered clothes
Each minute the fear grows
If I could just lay down to rest
Im tired of searching for myself
If I am dead, how can I feel such love?
If I am dead, why am I dreaming?
If I am dead, where do I go from here?
If I am dead, why does this pain feel so good?
Is this my blood dried upon my face?
Or is it the love of someone else?
It tastes so sweet, just like you used to
So rescue me my love, splice us together
I remember loving you so much
But where are you and wheres your fatal touch?
When I closed my eyes, was it my siesta?
Did I encounter a darkness stronger than sleep?
I am thirsty for my sleep
There are no answers anyway...
song performed by by Faith No More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chimney Smoke
My chimney smoke billows, streams and puffs,
Peacefully wafting o'er the bluffs,
Drifting further, merging with clouds,
That act as our blankets, our mantles, our shrouds.
O the good Earth is spinning around and around,
And the sun ever shines without making a sound,
And the hearth in my house is burning some wood,
Crackling and popping like a good fire should.
Yes we laughed and we cried and we had such a ball,
Was all of this something after all?
'I know not our strange plot, ' said the tired, old man,
Then returned to the spot where his whole life began.
Immense and stupendous with checkerboard floors,
We push forward like pawns down the long corridors,
Capturing pieces like killing machines,
Yearning to turn into quantum queens!
There's blood in the streets and there's blood in the fields,
There are bird-picked bones by the broken shields,
And the cycle continues forevermore,
Massacres, genocides, holocausts, war!
And when we look back at all that's been done,
In the name of survival, development, fun,
Will we try to correct the mistakes that were made?
Or live to regret them, forget them, and fade…
poem by Joshua Dinkin
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The Blood Rose...
There is a rose laying on the ground,
Blood is running out of the rose.
The rose's colour began to fade until it was a pale gray.
This only took around ten minutes.
The rose was pale, cold and dead.
The rose was found by a young man who was walking by.
He wondered why the rose was cold and gray.
He found another one a few days later.
What he didn't know was that the roses represented the broken hearts of teenage girls.
The roses wer originally blood red, only fading to grey when her heart was broken.
The roses were later known as the Blood Rose.
poem by MaddiiAnne O'Leary
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Son
He hurried away, young heart of joy, under our Devon sky!
And I watched him go, my beautiful boy, and a weary woman was I.
For my hair is grey, and his was gold; he'd the best of his life to live;
And I'd loved him so, and I'm old, I'm old; and he's all I had to give.
Ah yes, he was proud and swift and gay, but oh how my eyes were dim!
With the sun in his heart he went away, but he took the sun with him.
For look! How the leaves are falling now, and the winter won't be long. . . .
Oh boy, my boy with the sunny brow, and the lips of love and of song!
How we used to sit at the day's sweet end, we two by the firelight's gleam,
And we'd drift to the Valley of Let's Pretend, on the beautiful river of Dream.
Oh dear little heart! All wealth untold would I gladly, gladly pay
Could I just for a moment closely hold that golden head to my grey.
For I gaze in the fire, and I'm seeing there a child, and he waves to me;
And I run and I hold him up in the air, and he laughs and shouts with glee;
A little bundle of love and mirth, crying: "Come, Mumsie dear!"
Ah me! If he called from the ends of the earth I know that my heart would hear.
Yet the thought comes thrilling through all my pain: how worthier could he die?
Yea, a loss like that is a glorious gain, and pitiful proud am I.
For Peace must be bought with blood and tears, and the boys of our hearts must pay;
And so in our joy of the after-years, let us bless them every day.
And though I know there's a hasty grave with a poor little cross at its head,
And the gold of his youth he so gladly gave, yet to me he'll never be dead.
And the sun in my Devon lane will be gay, and my boy will be with me still,
So I'm finding the heart to smile and say: "Oh God, if it be Thy Will!"
poem by Robert William Service
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Today... 'Living Bread
The Living Bread came from heaven
down upon earth to dwell
That we might eat of Him and live
and thus be saved from hell.
To taste and see that the Lord was good
I went to Calvary.
Saw Jesus on that cross of wood
broken there for me.
Your body was broken
and Your blood poured
I was forgiven
Thank You Lord.
******
In Your banqueting house I stayed
on the table I could see
The Bread and the wine had been laid
Speaking such love to me
Bread was broken
the wine was poured
I stand forgiven
Thank You Lord
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Buried Alive By Love
Again the burden of losing
Rests upon my shoulders
And its weight seems unbearable
Your tomb is where your heart is,
I should have told her
But within me hid a secret so terrible
To cry is to know that you're alive
But my river of tears has run dry
I never wanted to fool you, no
But a cold heart is a dead heart
And it feels like Ive been buried alive by love
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
The kiss of vanity you blessed me with, spiritual woman,
Face the gods of war insatiable
Your home is where the dark is, I should have told her
Embrace the fire indestructible
To die is to know that you're alive
And my river of blood won't run dry
I never wanted to lose you, no
But a cold heart is a dead heart
And it feels like Ive been buried alive by love
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
rescue me with your smile
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
And they say to cry is to know that you're alive
But my river of tears has run dry
I never wanted to fool you, no
But a cold heart is a dead heart
And a deserted soul is gone
A cold heart is a dead heart
And it feels like Ive been buried alive by love
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile,
If I should die before I wake
I pray no one my soul to take
If I wake before I die,
Rescue me with your smile
I've been buried alive by love
Ive been buried alive by love
Buried alive by love
I've been buried alive by love
I've been buried alive by love
I've been buried alive by love
song performed by by H.I.M.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Song Of Other days
As o'er the glacier's frozen sheet
Breathes soft the Alpine rose,
So through life's desert springing sweet
The flower of friendship grows;
And as where'er the roses grow
Some rain or dew descends,
'T is nature's law that wine should flow
To wet the lips of friends.
Then once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;
And he that has the warmest heart
Shall loudest laugh and sing.
They say we were not born to eat;
But gray-haired sages think
It means, Be moderate in your meat,
And partly live to drink.
For baser tribes the rivers flow
That know not wine or song;
Man wants but little drink below,
But wants that little strong.
Then once again, etc.
If one bright drop is like the gem
That decks a monarch's crown,
One goblet holds a diadem
Of rubies melted down!
A fig for Caesar's blazing brow,
But, like the Egyptian queen,
Bid each dissolving jewel glow
My thirsty lips between.
Then once again, etc.
The Grecian's mound, the Roman's urn,
Are silent when we call,
Yet still the purple grapes return
To cluster on the wall;
It was a bright Immortal's head
They circled with the vine,
And o'er their best and bravest dead
They poured the dark-red wine.
Then once again, etc.
Methinks o'er every sparkling glass
Young Eros waves his wings,
And echoes o'er its dimples pass
From dead Anacreon's strings;
And, tossing round its beaded brim
Their locks of floating gold,
With bacchant dance and choral hymn
Return the nymphs of old.
Then once again, etc.
A welcome then to joy and mirth,
From hearts as fresh as ours,
To scatter o'er the dust of earth
Their sweetly mingled flowers;
'T is Wisdom's self the cup that fills
In spite of Folly's frown,
And Nature, from her vine-clad hills,
That rains her life-blood down!
Then once again, before we part,
My empty glass shall ring;
And he that has the warmest heart
Shall loudest laugh and sing.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Red Cross
Cross was
Red cross...
Red is jesuse
Blood...
Blood was positive...
Negitive blood
People did not
Understand...
For jesuse and blood
Jesuse will bee
Understand
The people...
So...,
Dead the cross...!
Sin's all are free
For all and all
Jesuase christ also...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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When I Think Of Myself As Dead
WHEN I THINK OF MYSELF AS DEAD
When I think of myself as dead
I think of what it will mean for my loved ones
I pray they will not lose heart and hope because of it-
When my father died my brother lost hope-
When I think of myself dead
I wonder about God and God�s purpose
Is there really an afterlife?
What could it mean?
Will I meet again those who have gone before me?
When I think of myself dead
I think about a body in the ground
Worms eating it, cold paining it-
When I think of myself as dead
I think about never feeling anything again-
When I think about myself as dead
I think about the work I have left behind
And whether it will mean anything to anyone
And for how long-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of all the memories that will go with me
I think about nothing and more nothing and the end of the universe-
When I think of myself as dead
I think of life going on down below
Life with all its beauty and pain
And I pray and I pray again
My loved ones will be able to manage and make their own lives still happy
When I think of myself as dead
I pray to G-d
That somehow in some way
It will not be the end for me forever.
When I think of myself as dead
I think of myself as living again somehow
In a way I cannot now know-
poem by Shalom Freedman
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