What The Poet Wrote
What the Poet Wrote
(Birth over an open grave)
A poet wrote: ”Mothers give birth over an open grave. I thought it was harsh, most
children live long after their mothers die. A young man driving behind me was edgy
wanted to overtake thought I was driving too slow. I kept as far to the right as I could,
he saw his chance, but he was not quick enough, front collision. He wasn’t wearing
seat belt, died on the bonnet of his car. So much blood, dark red and sweet, but his
eyes were open and they saw beyond to a place I have never been. His mother,
a widow, collapsed when the coffin was lowered into a an unfeeling ground, she had
given birth over an open grave. I see a field lit by millions of candles in rows a man
walks among them and ever so often snuffs out light with his thumb and index finger.
But behind him new light appear, sometimes he turn go back and snuffs the new
lights out, mothers who have given birth over an open grave. He is now heading for
the part of the field where the candles have burnt out, only the wick flickers, quickly
he snuffs them out, but misses some, of people who live too long, those who death
has cruelly missed. There is no light on my terrace, a car passes by and plants casts
shadows on the wall, they have no colours. I’m past caring; tomorrow will come
whether I’m there or not, mother will never know if she gave birth to an open grave.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Field Of Mortality
The Field of Mortality
On a field, not far from here, I see millions of lit candles in long rows,
but only at night; in daylight it is a potato patch. A man, you may call
him god if you like, walks among the candles every so often he stops
and with his thumb and index finger snuffs out light; the skin on his
fingers are corned from this arduous work. Behind him new candles
spring up, sometimes he turns and go back waste some of them too.
He is heading for the part where the candles have been burned out,
only the wick flickers. He uses he thumb to bump them off; a spiral of
grey smoke in still air. He is old as time, sometimes he misses candles
that keep on burning, although they have no wick. As dawn begins,
behind the easterly mountain, the field of mortality turns into a potato
patch again, where an old man is harvesting spuds.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Death Awaits Us All
Death borders upon our birth,
and our cradle stands in the grave,
mother earth awaits with open arm,
to recieve us into her boossom,
poem by Jason Mcgookin
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Life, Where Is life!
Life is always light
for some
Life is always fight
for some,
Life is full of light
For some
Life is without light for some,
Life is search for light,
Some live a long life,
Some live for a short,
Some live for a purpose,
some live for themselves,
Some live for others,
Some are good thinkers,
Some are fantastic,
Some live in fantasies,
Some are short sighted,
And live a life, full of fight,
Some or long sighted,
And always stumble!
Some are great by birth,
Some are great by thoughts,
Some are great by deeds,
some are really great,
and they have the vission,
They have the strength and will,
they look as a lake still,
Yet they are full of life,
They always smile
And keep worries way a mile!
some has ways open, some has to open them on own,
Some Wander where life takes,
Some take life where they want,
Some are really great
Those realise, if not there is either birth or death,
Who is there to say what is life?
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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The Record
HE sleeps, his head upon his sword,
His soldier's cloak a shroud;
His church-yard is the open field,--
Three times it has been plough'd:
The first time that the wheat sprung up
'Twas black as if with blood,
The meanest beggar turn'd away
From the unholy food.
The third year, and the grain grew fair,
As it was wont to wave;
None would have thought that golden corn
Was growing on the grave.
His lot was but a peasant's lot,
His name a peasant's name,
Not his the place of death that turns
Into a place of fame.
He fell as other thousands do,
Trampled down where they fall,
While on a single name is heap'd
The glory gain'd by all.
Yet even he whose common grave
Lies in the open fields,
Died not without a thought of all
The joy that glory yields.
That small white church in his own land,
The lime trees almost hide,
Bears on the walls the names of those
Who for their country died.
His name is written on those walls,
His mother read it there,
With pride,--oh! no, there could not be
Pride in the widow's prayer.
And many a stranger who shall mark
That peasant roll of fame,
Will think on prouder ones, yet say
This was a hero's name.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
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Ancestral Woman
I was never child
My maternal granny called me an old, old soul
I seen time come and go
I gave birth to giving birth
Ain’t nothin I don’t know
The sun is my shade I pull it down to allow darkness and light
To give birth to the same day, the eternal now
Then, you ask me, as woman
Then, you ask me, as a colored woman
Then, you ask me, as a female
Then, you ask me, as a black female
Then, you ask me, as a Mother
Then, you ask me, as the epitome of androgeny
What is my contribution, evolution ain’t as old
I been in the grave, beyond the grave
I been the grave, I had to brave the newness of oldness
I remember when silence was communication
Being blind the revelation
Not knowing the greatest education
Nothingness the only information
I am the past, my innateness the futre
My being the immediate now
I am the ancient androgenous embryo
I render gender apropos
I survived domestice violence and sexual abuse
Being told I am of no use
Cause I won’t accept yo validation
As my self-reaization
Then, you ask me, as a woman
Then, you ask me, as a colored woman
Then, you ask me, as a female
Then, you ask me, as a black female
Then, you ask me, as a Mother
Then, you ask me, as the epitome of androgeny
What is my contribution, evolution ain’t as old
I been the grave, beyond the grave
I been the grave, I had to brave the newness of oldness
How does it feel being a Woman
It feels like
I Am all, in all, sustain all, absolutely independent of all
My power never diminishes
Life never starts, never finishes
I come from The Woman we are
She is the ultimate extended family
There is only One Woman
She is the innate evidence exuding all women
My very composition is memories of being other women
I am made of every Woman
Then again, so is existence
I Am The Temple minus the veil
I, Am still waiting to exhale
Then, you ask me, as a woman
Then, you ask me, as a colored woman
Then, you ask me, as a female
Then, you ask me, as a black female
Then, you ask me, as a Mother
Then, you ask me, as the epitome of androgeny
What is my contribution, evolution ain’t as old
I been in the grave, beyond the grave, I been the grave
I had to brave the newness of oldness
Then, you ask me what, is my contribution
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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Alive In The World
I want to live in the world, not inside my head
I want to live in the world, I want to stand and be counted
With the hopeful and the willing
With the open and the strong
With the voices in the darkness
Fashioning daylight out of song
And the millions of lovers
Alive in the world
I want to live in the world, not behind some wall
I want to live in the world, where I will hear if another voice should call
To the prisoner inside me
To the captive of my doubt
Who among his fantasies harbors the dream of breaking out
And taking his chances
Alive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
With its beauty and its cruelty
With its heartbreak and its joy
With it constantly giving birth to life and to forces that destroy
And the infinite power of change
Alive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
To open my eyes and wake up alive in the world
To open my eyes and fully arrive in the world
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Mothers Son
Some mothers son lies in a field
Someone has killed some mothers son today
Head blown up by some soldiers gun
While all the mothers stand and wait
Some mothers son aint coming home today
Some mothers son aint got no grave
Two soldiers fighting in a trench
One soldier glances up to see the sun
And dreams of games he played when he was young
And then his friend calls out his name
It stops his dream and as he turns his head
A second later he is dead
Some mothers son lies in a field
Back home they put his picture in a frame
But all dead soldiers look the same
While all the parents stand and wait
To meet their children coming home from school
Some mothers son is lying dead
Somewhere someone is crying
Someone is trying to be so brave
But still the world keeps turning
Though all the children have gone away
Some mothers son lies in a field
But in his mothers eyes he looks the same
As on the day he went away
They put his picture on the wall
They put flowers in the picture frame
Some mothers memory remains
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Open Your Box
Open your box,
Open your box,
Open your trousers,
Open your thighs,
Open your legs,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open, open, open, open,
Open your legs,
Open your flies,
Open your ears,
Open your nose,
Open your mouth,
Open, open, open, open, oooh.
Open.
Open your cold feet,
Open, open,
Open, open, open, let's open, let's open the cities.
Open the cities,
Open, open, open the world,
Open, let's open the world.
Open, open, oooh -
Open, open, ooh!
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Skeleton, My Rival
Interesting that I have to live with my skeleton.
It stands, prepared to emerge, and I carry it
with me—this other thing I will become at death,
and yet it keeps me erect and limber in my walk,
my rival.
What will the living see of me
if they should open my grave but my bones
that will stare at them through hollow sockets
and bared teeth.
I write this to warn my friends
not to be shocked at my changed attitude
toward them, but to be aware
that I have it in me to be someone
other than I am, and I write to ask forgiveness
that death is not wholesome for friendships,
that bones do not talk, have no quarrel with me,
do not even know I exist.
A machine called skeleton will take my place
in the minds of others when I am dead
among the living, and that machine
will make it obvious that I have died
to be identified by bones
that have no speech, no thought, no mind
to speak of having let themselves be carried
once around in me, as at my service
at the podium or as I lay beside my love
or when I held my child at birth
or embraced a friend or shook a critic's hand
or held a pen to sign a check or book
or wrote a farewell letter to a love
or held my penis at the bowl
or lay my hand upon my face at the mirror
and approved of it.
There is Ignatow, it will be said,
looking down inside the open grave.
I'll be somewhere in my poems, I think,
to be mistaken for my bones, but There's Ignatow
will be said. I say to those who persist,
just read what I have written.
I'll be there, held together by another kind
of structure, of thought and imagery,
mind and matter, love and longing, tensions
opposite, such as the skeleton requires
to stand upright, to move with speed,
to sit with confidence, my friend the skeleton
and I its friend, shielding it from harm.
poem by David Ignatow
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Looking Out The Window With A Blue Hat On
Oh she comes on like a fog
And then she goes out like a neurotic dog
So now Im sitting her thinking all day long
Looking out the window with a blue hat on
Find me an open grave
Just push me in
Then let me up to live again
So she bought a little book
And filled it up with names she never shook
So Im just one of them thinking all day long
Looking out the window with a blue hat on
Find me a sky high cliff
Just let me try
To jump right off maybe Ill fly
Looking out the window with the blue hat on
Find me an open grave
Just push me in
Then let me up to live again
Oh she comes on like a fog
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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C. L. M.
In the dark womb where I began
My mother's life made me a man.
Through all the months of human birth
Her beauty fed my common earth.
I cannot see, nor breathe, nor stir.
But through the death of some of her.
Down in the darkness of the grave
She cannot see the life she gave.
For all her love, she cannot tell
Whether I use it ill or well,
Nor knock at dusty doors to find
Her beauty dusty in the mind.
If the grave's gates could be undone,
She would not know her little son,
I am so grown. If we should meet
She would pass by me in the street,
Unless my soul's face let her see
My sense of what she did for me.
What have I done to keep in mind
My debt to her and womankind ?
What woman's happier life repays
Her for those months of wretched days ?
For all my rnouthless body leeched
Ere Birth's releasing hell was reached ?
What have I done, or tried, or said
In thanks to that dear woman dead ?
Men triumph over women still,
Men trample women's rights at will.
And man's lust roves the world untamed.
* • * •
O grave, keep shut lest I be shamed.
poem by John Masefield (1902)
Submitted by anonym
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Body & Soul
Man placed God’s Christ within the tomb –Mk.15: 42-47
Who’d died in awesome pain –Mk.15: 21-41
His grave a simile to the womb –Mt.12: 39-40
Gave birth to Christ again –Ro.6: 4
He left behind the clothes He wore –Jn.20: 6-7
To rise as Lord and King –Mt.19: 28
Enrobed in Glory’s Light once more –Rev.1: 13-18
His praises now we sing
The complete Christ had left the grave
No bones were found within
Revealing, bodies too He’ll save
That leaves behind their sin
Yet who’ll believe Salvation’s plan?
From death to birth anew!
Fulfilled in Christ, who proved to man
By dining with the few
Earth’s food, the spirit has no need
This truth God’s Lamb has shown
Dining on fish, God’s risen Seed –Lk.24: 42-43
Nourished His flesh and bone
Once Enoch, walked with God the earth
One day he was no more –Gen.5: 24
Quite whole to him who gave him birth
He entered Heaven’s door
With whirlwind sent from God on high –2Ki.2: 11
Came chariot, fire and steed
Bore whole Elijah in the sky
Alive, as God decreed
So offer God your body true –Ro.12: 1-5
Through Jesus, free of shame –1Co.6: 11
Quite reasonable in Christ to do
When baptised in His name…
poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Bestof The Rest= Mother's Day & Mom Poems!
MOTHERS
There's no greater power on Earth
Than the love we get from our mothers.
They feel our fears within themselves
Far more than sisters or brothers.
As seasons pass; in time we learn
We can't always rely on others.
No mater what our mistakes may be
We know we can run to our mothers.
Mothers have great big aprons
To hide from the world our flaws.
They kiss and scold when we do wrong
Teaching compliance of laws.
From birth to death mothers lead
Our angels of kindness from above.
They give us more than anyone else
Preaching the importance of love.
Moms are certainly God's gift to Earth
So if you still have one, let it be known.
You can't imagine your life without her
While the seed of your future is sown.
MOMS
Millions of dewdrops greet the dawn
As hungry of bees buzz the clover.
Dazzling butterflies flutter about
As moms give love the world over.
Lessons learned at our mother's knee
Last a lifetime till we grow older.
Popping up when troubles accrue
Like a whispering angel on our shoulder.
Gods gives us friends that mean so much
Children, fathers, sisters and brothers.
Though far, far above all the rest
No one loves us more than our mothers.
In and out of friendships, jobs and partners
Our mothers always remain our evening star.
Those who where born to a selfish mom
Make the rest us realize how lucky we are.
How great life is to have a good mom,
Who reads what we feel but can't say.
Nothing means as much, as her tender touch
And for all who are without one, 'we pray.'
GOD'S POET TOM ZART
The Lord can close doors no man can open
And open doors no man can close.
It's up to us to prove our heavenly worth
By our lifetime example of the path we chose.
DARLING I LOVE YOU
Darling I love you with all of my heart and soul
Much more than any of God's blessings on Earth.
It's hard to believe Heaven planned it this way
For your love for me is far beyond my worth.
Life would be meaningless without your love
With no one to cherish, honor, protect and provide.
I treasure our moments and all that we share
You're always my angel of love, at my side.
I love how you love me beyond all compare
I've never seen anyone so wonderful so long.
I can't help but love you absolutely and completely
For every time I think of you my heart sings a song.
Every night before sleep I say thank you to Heaven
For the past day I was allowed to love you and serve.
And if I awake I say thank you once more
For God has blessed me far beyond what I deserve.
Tom's 463 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
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Open Arms
If love is what you want
Baby here I am
If tenderness is what you need
Ive got that to give
If you need some affection
Baby these are open arms
Open arms open arms open arms open arms
You come hem youve had a hard day
Every door you tried to open
Was closing in your face
Im right here Ill be right here
Ill embrace you
Ill be open with my heart
Ill let you in
Ill be open with my thoughts
Ill be your best friend
If you need some attention
Baby these are open arms
Open arms open arms open arms open arms
Every corner you turn
Trouble come your way
But when you get home
Ill try to be there
And Ill embrace you
These are
These are
These are
Open arms
If time is what you need
Baby Ill stop the clocks
If youre looking for something
Maybe Ive got what you want
If theres one thing to remember
Dont forget that these are open arms
Open arms open arms open arms open arms
These are
These are
These are
Open arms
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Graveyard
How painful and discomfortable
it is to stand at an open grave
and I stay astonished,
about how strange it is
at an open grave.
It’s as if the words of the pastor
at times brings bigger heartache
and people struggle to get peace
with the close concurrence
between love, sorrow and mourning
The idea of mortality
which meets immortality there,
the last goodbye and greeting
leaves you empty.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Star Child
Joy alloyed with sadness,
And sadness alloyed with joy.
Filled the hearts of witness
To the birth of this unique boy.
For he possessed a unique genius,
The very soul of God himself.
Who knows the beginnings of this genus,
That resides unborn within all else.
For lightning paled in comparison,
To the light of glory he embrace.
It was the light to open dark's prison,
To lead us to a freer place.
But his enemies will grow with anger,
For it is not all men he could save.
And his course would be laden with danger,
His fate crucified and the grave.
Still joy alloyed with sadness,
and Sadness alloyed with joy.
Fill the hearts of witness,
To the death of this unique boy.
poem by Mark Anthony St. Rose
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The big question
Sex is this wondrous, marvellous thing
that the young discover
and bring home to mother
Mother, of course, only ever indulged
that night that the light bulb
blew up in the lounge.
She never enjoyed anything quite so rude,
she just thought of England
or made us beef stew.
Sex is reserved for the young, so it seems,
their mothers don't do it
it's far too obscene.
What about fathers, perhaps, do you think?
Do fathers all do it?
Ask mum in a tick!
Mother denies it; she says it's not true!
Then how come she gave birth
to me and to you?
poem by Ruth Walters
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Truly, Truly, This Is The End
They say deaths an open door
Into another room
Within the city of the dead
(Our New Kingdom)
They say we walk like dreams
Sharing the same breath
Seeing through the same eyes
(A collective spirit)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
They say the Earth it gives no peace
Nor does it take away
We all survive the grave
(Unfortunate eternal)
They say that in times past
A king walked in the sky
Until dethroned by man
(Tribe of Judas)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
As we pray (As we pray)
On his grave (On his grave)
Or words fall and decay (And decay)
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
Truly, truly, this is the end
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
It's not the same
I'm plagued with pain and I can't let go
This is the end
song performed by by Zao
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mohini Chatterjee
I ASKED if I should pray.
But the Brahmin said,
'pray for nothing, say
Every night in bed,
'I have been a king,
I have been a slave,
Nor is there anything.
Fool, rascal, knave,
That I have not been,
And yet upon my breast
A myriad heads have lain.'''
That he might Set at rest
A boy's turbulent days
Mohini Chatterjee
Spoke these, or words like these,
I add in commentary,
'Old lovers yet may have
All that time denied --
Grave is heaped on grave
That they be satisfied --
Over the blackened earth
The old troops parade,
Birth is heaped on Birth
That such cannonade
May thunder time away,
Birth-hour and death-hour meet,
Or, as great sages say,
Men dance on deathless feet.'
poem by William Butler Yeats
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