The Immortal Souls
Gloomy sky is searching her brave twin skyscraper
sadly disappeared on this particular day five years ago
and I hear the lament of Lady Liberty who cries for the grave tragedy.
The loved ones mourn for the loss of three thousand hearts
those who left five years ago without saying a good-bye!
This catastrophe was written in every heart
and we all mourn on this sad day
from our bottom of the hearts
for the immortal souls.
Dedication to the innocent 9/11 victims.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Martyr's silent prayer?
Dedication to 9/11 victimized immortal souls and their innocent families!
September 11,2001
Ten years before
When the terrorists
Destroyed The World Trade Center
The Twin Towers in New York,
Osama Bin Laden was happy
With his henchmen?
Ten years after
The mass killer was silent
At the Sea Bed.
And what he gained?
The prayers started in the Holy month
He must have his regrets now
When the pilgrims are ready to celebrate
The peaceful Ramadan!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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William Upson
Air -- "The Major's Only Son"
Come all good people, far and near,
Oh, come and see what you can hear,
It's of a young man, true and brave,
Who is now sleeping in his grave.
Now, William Upson was his name --
If it's not that it's all the same --
He did enlist in the cruel strife,
And it caused him to lose his life.
He was Jesse Upson's eldest son,
His father loved his noble son;
This son was nineteen years of age,
In the rebellion he engaged.
His father said that he might go,
But his dear mother she said no.
"Stay at home, dear Billy," she said,
But oh, she could not turn his head.
For go he would, and go he did --
He would not do as his mother bid,
For he went away down South, there
Where he could not have his mother's care.
He went to Nashville, Tennessee,
There his kind friends he could not see;
He died among strangers, far away,
They knew not where his body lay.
He was taken sick and lived four weeks,
And oh, how his parents weep,
But now they must in sorrow mourn,
Billy has gone to his heaven home.
If his mother could have seen her son,
For she loved him, her darling one,
If she could heard his dying prayer,
It would ease her heart till she met him there.
It would relieved his mother's heart,
To have seen her son from this world depart,
And hear his noble words of love,
As he left this world for that above.
It will relieve his mother's heart,
That her son is laid in our grave yard;
Now she knows that his grave is near,
She will not shed so many tears.
She knows not that it was her son,
His coffin could not be opened --
It might be some one in his place,
For she could not see his noble face.
He enrolled in eighteen sixty-three,
The next day after Christmas eve;
He died in eighteen sixty-four,
Twenty-third of March, as I was told.
poem by Julia A Moore
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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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Hiram Helsel
Air -- "Three Grains of Corn"
Once was a boy, age fifteen years,
Hiram Helsel was his name,
And he was sick two years or so;
He has left this world of pain;
His friends they miss this lovely boy,
That was patient, kind and brave.
He left them all for him to mourn --
He is sleeping in his grave.
He was a small boy of his age,
When he was five years or so
Was shocked by lightning while to play
And it caused him not to grow,
He was called little Hi. Helsel
By all friends that knew him well --
His life was sad, as you shall hear,
And the truth to you I'll tell.
His parents parted when he was small,
And both are married again.
How sad it was for them to meet
And view his last remains.
He was living with his father then,
As many a friend can tell;
'Tis said his father's second wife
That she did not use him well.
Just before little Hiram died --
His uncle and aunt were there --
He kissed them both -- bid them farewell,
They left him with a prayer.
Now he is gone, Oh! let him rest;
His soul has found a haven,
For grief and woe ne'er enters there,
In that place called heaven.
poem by Julia A Moore
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Liberty and Justice For All
On this day, September 11,2012, I sit here in my soul and reflect about my fellow countrymen and countrywomen who reflect back to me their souls, their courage, their resolve and strength. As an American, the spirit of America is born in me, as I am born in the spirit of America. The will of not just myself, but the will of the people, of us all, moves in me this day.
Our lives, our country, changed drastically on September 11,2001, but our character, our principles of freedom, and the constitution of our nation and our souls did not change but persevered and remained in the forefront of our breasts as we braved the unknown world ahead of us. In God's heaven, or the heaven of our hearts, the lives we lost, now venerate us as we mourn their loss. There is no memorial as grand, no memorial as beautiful, than the memorial we hold in our hearts of the stories of courage, valor, and bravery exhibited on that day. A peaceful sorrow ascends from the mass graves of death, from the Pentagon, from United Airlines Flight 93, and the World Trade Center; this sorrow, this peace from the dead souls mouth whispers to me in vibrant silence,
'We shall be remembered, we shall live forever. In your hearts, our freedom lives.'
What has always disconcerted me is what should be impossible, is possible, and what should be possible, is impossible. A tragedy, an act of violent malice, like Sept.11, should never be possible in life. Indignation and hatred should never burn so immensely as to kill the soul that kills others; but it happened and it still happening.
Now let's work to make the impossible come true. Let's not question ourselves but move with more force, more swiftly to the American Dream; the equality of man and woman, the opportunity for all to prosper, the toleration of all religion, the respect for the rights of the individual, the freedom of thought and the freedom to eat its fruits, the ability to compromise, Justice! America we must become the ideal for the world to follow, we must beat our blood in freedom everywhere we go, we must live in unity, and with resolve stand our ground! This is our peace; this is what the dead souls of 9/11 whisper.... Liberty and Justice for all!
To the Servicemembers who fought, lived and died for our freedoms….
Bless the courageous souls who fought valiantly
And with honor and dignity acted gallantly
In our hearts, your hearts march brave
With solemn virtue, and our minds grave
We cry 'look at all the lives thy save! '
March On!
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Undying Music
I dreamed of you last night;
We were young, vibrant and free
Hearts pounding, mouths dry and bellies hot
We laid together
And you loved me.
I awake to daily life and mourn
Not the loss of you
(For you were never mine)
But the loss of slim youthfulness
And heady rushes of love.
A part of me is ever yours
Neglect it as you will
Like a monument ignored,
Taken for granted
Until it stands no longer.
September 2008
Sense of loss
About you I think
Then could not blink
I gaze in the skies
With wandering eyes
Those feelings of love
Why kept I above
I think about the days
Falling of the rays
When do we play
On the ocean’s bay
I sob for the days
Sob for the past
That could not last
Left me all alone
To groan and mourn
The loss of emotions
I mourn and bemoan
Love’s sojourn
I swear of my soul
I can not condole
Loss of sense
Sense of loss
poem by Akram Saqib
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The Mourners
Weeping for ones who in darkness lie,
the ones who in distress have sold their helpless souls;
for ones who have been born only to die...
perhaps for ones they never knew at all.
At times in graveyard they bury their thoughts
as though in there the sentiments hide some sacred notes.
At times they and corpses alike must maintain
the silence of the grave...
I wonder what played beneath their heads
that made them scream a hollow cry
or that if ever in their solemn lips
float the shadows of a lie.
No one has been so desperate to cry as they...
finding reasons to fill their eyes with false tears
or making them real as they recall
the pain of all the years.
They mourn for others and sometimes for themselves;
they mourn perhaps for unwanted fears...
condemning, regretting, yet waiting
for the price after the tears.
I thought that life was different for those
who in silence mourn.
But then life's all the same-
for everything that dies has once been born.
Life is never different for them
who mourn in silence,
for everything that started must come to an end.
Just then, life's all the same-
I watched them from a distance,
pretending as they play the game.
Some think of them as crazy,
for some, ordinary fools.
They, are called THE MOURNERS
and I am one of them.
poem by Jessel Jane Tevar
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As Years Go By
Tell me how the years go by
Its been a long long time
Tell me how your plans fell through
And how you changed your mind
Tell me bout the hearts you broke
How many have you known
Tell me how the years went by
And left you all alone
Tell me dear
I want to hear
bout the lost and wasted years
Tell me when now tell me why
Tell me how the years go by
Tell me how the years go by
Like borrowed dancing shoes
That gather dust beneath your ned
Mislaid and seldom used
Like a heart that haunts a phone booth
On a corner far from home
Tell me how the years went by and left you
All alone
Close your eyes
Tell me what do you see
Its an imperfect world
Still we dream perfect dreams
Its no big surprise when were down on our knees
Truth isnt always what we will believe.
Tell me how the years go by
In seasons at your door
And how the things you left me for
Dont matter anymore
Tell me how the more we learn
The more we leave unknown
Tell me how the years went by and left you
All alone
Alone
Close your eyes (x3)
song performed by by Level 42
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Young Henry
Air -- "Drummer Boy of Waterloo"
Young Henry was as faithful boy
As ever stood on the American soil,
And he did enlist, without a doubt,
When the rebellion was broke out.
He was his parents' only son,
And only child he was but one,
That was a girl aged seventeen,
Henry called her his May Queen.
Young Henry said, "Dear sister May,
What do you think my friends will say?
For now my name is on the roll,
And I down south will have to go."
"I hear my country's call," said he,
"For all her sons of liberty,
And I, forever, will prove true
To that dear old flag, red, white and blue."
"I love my father and mother dear,
I leave you, May, their hearts to cheer;
When I am gone, pray do not mourn
If I should never return home."
His sister then to him did say,
"My only brother, blithe and gay,
Our country calls, calls from afar;
May God protect you through the war."
Their father hearing all was said,
It made his noble heart grow sad;
"My children, I love both of you,
And yet I love my country, too."
"My son, if I was young again,
I never could at home remain,
And see my native land, now free,
Dissolved and made in slavery."
Young Henry left his father's home,
And left his friends for him to mourn,
A captain of a little band,
He marched away from Michigan.
In the battle of Fredericksburg,
Above the battle roar was heard,
"Fight on! fight on! brave boys," he cried,
"I am shot and wounded, and must die."
They placed his head upon the grass,
So he could see his brave boys pass;
"Go tell my father, Henry's slain
To keep him from the rebel's chain."
They dug his grave beneath that spot,
They wrapped him in his soldier's coat,
And while the battle drums they heard,
They laid him low at Fredericksburg.
poem by Julia A Moore
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The Pain of the Earth
DOES the earth grow grey with grief
For her hero darling fled?
Though her vales let fall no leaf,
In our hearts her tears are shed.
Still the stars laugh on above:
Not to them her grief is said;
Mourning for her hero love
In our hearts the tears are shed.
We her children mourn for him,
Mourn the elder hero dead;
In the twilight grey and dim
In our hearts the tears are shed.
poem by George William Russell
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Where
My heart breaks with the dawn
When i sleep i wander through dreams
But with the night I'm left to mourn
And catch your face in moonbeams.
Where are her eyes that sparkled an eternal promise
When we stood under starlit heavens?
The arms that held me so desperately
Clinging to love's dream.
Who do they hold tonight?
Where are the smiles that bathed my thoughts in sunshine?
Her laughter on the phone now rings in the wind,
Like a mission bell
Declaring our end.
Where are the promises etched on two hearts
Twin souls riding a rollercoaster
To eternity
-Blown out to sea by the imposter called love.
Left to drown amidst memories and sweet dreams
In the silence of pain.
poem by Kevin East
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Kinsman
Where ceaseless Spring her garland twines,
As sweetly shall the loved one rest,
As if beneath the whispering pines
And maple shadows of the West.
Ye mourn, O hearts of home! for him,
But, haply, mourn ye not alone;
For him shall far-off eyes be dim,
And pity speak in tongues unknown.
There needs no graven line to give
The story of his blameless youth;
All hearts shall throb intuitive,
And nature guess the simple truth.
The very meaning of his name
Shall many a tender tribute win;
The stranger own his sacred claim,
And all the world shall be his kin.
And there, as here, on main and isle,
The dews of holy peace shall fall,
The same sweet heavens above him smile,
And God's dear love be over all
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Ever-Present Ring
Ever-Present Ring
==================
My Father Lost A Wedding Ring
The One Cherished For 42 Years
It Was Replaced By What I Bought Him
I Bought Him A New Wedding Band
An Ever-Present Of What Was Present
A Marriage Lasting Longer Than Most
What Was Most Important
Was The Symbol Of That New Ring
It Was The Thought That Counted
And What's Counted Was The Years
He Was Married For 44 Years
He Died This Year
From 1968 To 2012 The Marriage Thrived
After Being Married For 44 Years
He Told His Wife, My Mother
That She Was The Only One
The Entire Time He Stayed Faithful
And In Faith Was His Love
As Parting Souvenir, I Will Keep That Ring
Which I Gave Him Last Year
Because The Symbol Of Union
Between Man And Wife
For All Those Blessed Years
Is What Counts
And Now What's Counted Are The Days
Since His Passing On The 27th Of May
A Day Begun In Mourning In The Early Morning
In May Of Heart Break Mourn
I Will Cherish That Ring
That Ever-Present Ring
And I'll Wear It Every Single Day
To Mourn His Passing
A Bond Between Father And Son
In What May Be My Heart
Will Never Break The Mourn.
poem by Ricardo Antunes
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Possessions dwindle: I mourn their loss. But I mourn the loss of time much more, for anyone can save his purse, but none can win back lost time.
The Ballad Of Jesse James
Jesse james was a man
And he killed many men
He robbed the glendale train
And he took from the richer
And he gave that to the poorer
Hed a hand and a heart and a brain
Oh jesse had a wife to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid jesse james in his grave
(instrumental)
On wednesday night
When the moon was shining bright
They robbed that glendale train
And the folks from miles about (yeah they can)
They all said without a doubt
It was done by her frankie and jesse james (yes it was)
Oh jessie had a wife, to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid (poor) jesse james in his grave
(instrumental)
Well the people held their breath
When they heard about jesses death (yeah)
And they wondered how poor jesse came to die (how did he die? )
It was one of his guys, called little robert ford
And he shot jessie james on the sly
Oh jessie had a wife to mourn for his life
Three children they were so brave
But that dirty little coward
That shot mr. howard
Has laid jesse james in his grave
Has laid poor jesse in his grave
He laid jesse james in his grave
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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So Many Words Of Love Have Already Been Written
So many words of love have already been written
Why should my poem for you be anything new?
It is true I loved you very much
And for years was deluded in the joyful thought that you loved me
I wrote of course words of love to you
But they are lost like most of what I have written-
Do I still love you now
So many years after we truly loved?
I loved you with the total obsessive love of one for whom the happiness of the other is the only meaning of the world-
Now I am old and far from even true remembrance of the love
that once was my life
And where you are in your soul I sadly do not truly know.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Shady Trees Spread Their Leaves Ever Sleek
The shady trees spread their leaves ever sleek
As we frolic in fields with sunny cries,
And rain runs nimbly through our hair and sighs
Runny smiles in the flowing down our cheek.
And love, once mighty, somehow does not speak
In words, but in looks that spill from the eyes,
In things to be done before the day dies,
When beauty again stands close to seek
Lovers gone in love and loved before dawn
Spreads its sparkling rays in our hearts,
And fills the recesses as fresh love starts.
Oh, it was so. But now this truth I mourn.
The years fled by so quick and turned to dust
Those days and nights of love and lust.
poem by Paul Anthony
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