Lilacs At My Funeral
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs when I’m dead
Lilacs in my coffin
Placed gently by my head
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs when I’m gone
Lilacs to help send me
On my journey home
Lilacs at my funeral
Lilacs for my grave
Lilacs instead of roses
Think of the money you will save
1978
www.dakotaraeaustin.com
poem by Dakota Austin
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Related quotes
A disagreement with T.S. Elliot (Partial Sonnet.)
I question T.S.Elliot’s remark
on April and the jist of what he said.
Some genius loves to languish in the dark
Lapping with the lilacs of the dead? *
So shakening the wakening of the year
Nostalgia and necrosis lay entwined*
For those who covet fantasies of fear
Hoisting sombre umbrellas o’er their mind
For me, this month’s allure has NEVER flagged.
(Coz “April” was the first lass wot I shagged!)
* Inspired by the quote:
“ April is the cruellest month, breeding lilacs out of the dead land, mixing memory and desire, stirring dull roots with spring rain.” -T.S.Elliot
poem by Reece Kaye
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Song in a Minor Key
There's a place I know where the birds swing low,
And wayward vines go roaming,
Where the lilacs nod, and a marble god
Is pale, in scented gloaming.
And at sunset there comes a lady fair
Whose eyes are deep with yearning.
By an old, old gate does the lady wait
Her own true love's returning.
But the days go by, and the lilacs die,
And trembling birds seek cover;
Yet the lady stands, with her long white hands
Held out to greet her lover.
And it's there she'll stay till the shadowy day
A monument they grave her.
She will always wait by the same old gate, --
The gate her true love gave her.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Lydia Is Gone This Many A Year
Lydia is gone this many a year,
Yet when the lilacs stir,
In the old gardens far or near,
The house is full of her.
They climb the twisted chamber stair;
Her picture haunts the room;
On the carved shelf beneath it there,
They heap the purple bloom.
A ghost so long has Lydia been,
Her cloak upon the wall,
Broidered, and gilt, and faded green,
Seems not her cloak at all.
The book, the box on mantel laid,
The shells in a pale row,
Are those of some dim little maid,
A thousand years ago.
And yet the house is full of her;
She goes and comes again;
And longings thrill, and memories stir,
Like lilacs in the rain.
Out in their yards the neighbors walk,
Among the blossoms tall;
Of Anne, of Phyllis, do they talk,
Of Lydia not at all.
poem by Lizette Woodworth Reese
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Fear is a slinking cat I find beneath the lilacs of my mind.
quote by Sophie Tunnell
Submitted by Micheleflowerbomb
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I Summon To Sleep
I SUMMON TO SLEEP
The flowers and the trees
I summon to sleep-
Lilacs, roses, almond-blossom, peach-
Play gently in my mind
And soothe me into dreams.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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A Bridal In The Bois De Boulogne.
HOW the lilacs, the lilacs are glowing and blowing!
And white through the delicate verdure of May
The blossoming boughs of the hawthorn are showing,
Like beautiful brides in their bridal array;
With cobwebs for laces, and dewdrops for pearls,
Fine as a queen's dowry for workaday girls.
In an aisle of Acacias enlaced and enlacing,
Where the silvery sunlight tunnels the shade,
Where snowflakes of butterflies airily chasing
Each other in trios flash down the arcade:
Arrayed in white muslin the wedded bride
Looks fresh as a daisy, the groom by her side.
The guests flitted round her with light-hearted laughter;
They hunted the slipper, they kissed the ring;
Of days gone before and of days coming after
They thought of no more than the bird on the wing.
Were the loves and the laughter and lilacs of May,
With the sunshine above, not enough for the day?
And the lilacs, the lilacs are blowing and glowing!
They pluck them by handfuls and pile them in a mass;
And the sap of the Springtide is rising and flowing
Through the veins of the greenwood, the blades of the grass;
Up, up to the last leaf a dance on the tree,
It leaps like a fountain abundant and free.
The blackbirds are building their nests in the bushes,
And whistle at work, as the workpeople do;
The trees swing their censers, the wind comes in gushes
Of delicate scent mixed of honey and dew.
Now loud and now loud through the garrulous trees
A burst of gay music is blown with the breeze.
And the girls and the boys from the faubourgs of Paris,
The premature gamins as wise as fourscore;
The vain little Margots and the wide-awake Harrys,
Surprised into childhood, grew simple once more,
And vied with the cuckoo as, shouting at play,
They dashed through the thickets and darted away.
Ah, fair is the forest's green glimmering splendour,
The leaves of the lime tree a network of light;
And fringing long aisles of acacia, a tender
And delicate veiling of virginal white,
Where, framed in the gladdening flowers of May,
The bride and her bridesmaids beam gladder than they.
They have crowned her brown tresses with hawthorn in blossom,
They have made her a necklace of daisies for pearls;
They have set the white lily against her white bosom,
Enthroned on the grass mid a garland of girls;
With the earth for a footstool, the sky-roof above,
She is queen of the Springtide and Lady of Love.
Oh, the lilacs, the lilacs are glowing and blowing!
They pluck them by bushels as blithely they go
Through the green, scented dusk where the hawthorn is showing
A luminous whiteness of blossoming snow.
And the Sun ere he goes gives the Moon half his light,
As a lamp to lead Love on the bridal night.
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Sequestered Writing
Horses were turned loose in the child's sorrow. Black and roan, cantering through snow.
The way light fills the hand with light, November with graves, infancy with white.
White. Given lilacs, lilacs disappear. Then low voices rising in walls.
The way they withdrew from the child's body and spoke as if it were not there.
What ghost comes to the bedside whispering You?
-- With its no one without its I --
A dwarf ghost? A closet of empty clothes?
Ours was a ghost who stole household goods. Nothing anyone would miss.
Supper plates. Apples. Barbed wire behind the house.
At the end of the hall, it sleepwalks into a mirror wearing mother's robe.
A bedsheet lifts from the bed and hovers. Face with no face. Come here.
The bookcase knows, and also the darkness of books. Long passages into,
Endless histories toward, sleeping pages about. Why else toss gloves into a grave?
A language that once sent ravens through firs. The open world from which it came.
Words holding the scent of an asylum fifty years. It is fifty years, then.
The child hears from within: Come here and know, below
And unbeknownst to us, what these fields had been.
poem by Carolyn Forché
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Hey You
Hey you upon this ship of fools
I have found you bending your own rules
Thank you I dont mind if I do
Dream a while of the lovin that we knew
There was such a flaming time
I never will forget
It was all so easy then
This is my one regret
Hey you my angel in blue
Mother nature saved her best for you
Green grow the lilacs on the wall
Heaven help them, catch them as they fall
Hey you angel in disguise
What is your angle what is your surprise
Hey you fever that is mine
What is your game plan what is your design
Reality brings mystery
And neer the twain shall meet
And all of my wild horses
Cannot pull you off your feet
Hey you angel on my mind
All around me til the end of time
Thank you I dont mind if I do
Dream a while of the lovin that we knew
There was such a flaming time
I never will forget
It was all so easy then
This is my one regret
Hey you my angel in blue
Im entangled tell me what to do
Green grow the lilacs on the wall
Heaven help them catch them as they fall
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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time eyes (From,134 Picture Poems)
time eyes
blue morning reality
walking instant
remembered
then confusing
dew on lilacs
loaded still
barefoot pretense
of aged innocence
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Time Eyes
time eyes
blue morning reality
walking instant
remembered
then confusing
dew on lilacs
loaded still
barefoot pretense
of aged innocence
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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She Did Not See The Lilacs When They Bloomed One Summer
in the past sense of my words
she had not seen the lilacs when they once bloomed in her garden
i swear they are so beautiful hanging on their stalks surrounded by their heart
shaped leaves
like a bouquet offering of spring
for the first rain
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Little Lies
wash away my pain
discovering its in my veins
I smell the lilacs in my hair
I'm wishing I was not here
always takes me back to this dark place
suddenly fills me I feel insane
I feel the warm sun from your embrace
Wishing love will take my place
Take me away from this moment
Run me away from these tears
Dragging my heart into this moment
I wish this moment was never here........
Disappointment from me again
Did you think I was your friend
But from a distance you stand cold and silent
but with your words you hit the target...
little lies, you promised you always love me................
wash away my pain
discovering its in my veins
I smell the lilacs in my hair
I'm wishing I was not here
always takes me back to this dark place
suddenly it fills me, I feel insane
I feel the warm sun from your embrace
Wishing love will take my place
poem by Sita Cabrera
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I opened the large central window of my office room to its full on the fine early May morning. Then I stood for a few moments, breathing in the soft, warm air that was charged with the scent of white lilacs below.
quote by Angus Wilson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upon Outing My Friend As an Optimist
I want the old you back.
You were my Edgar Allen Poet
and I could always be sure
that no matter how crappy I felt,
you felt crappier.
Now you’ve betrayed me
and have become happier.
Who do you think you are,
Walt Whitman? All smiles
and lilacs blooming in your dooryard;
It’s all very disturbing,
curbing your lack of enthusiasm.
You’re up on the pinnacle of joy
while I’m teetering on the chasm.
Your favorite past-time
was to crash a funeral,
pretending you’re Maud
and I’m Harold.
Now it’s weddings and christenings
every day. Hey,
what happened to serious stuff like Death?
What led you astray?
It looks as though
everyone I know
is embracing la vie en rose.
What’s the gloomy-gus to do;
where are we to go?
I must find an antidote to purge
the happy virus. Anyone know
a good elegy or a dirge?
poem by Sonny Rainshine
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The Magıc of Spring
Winter,
suddenly turned
to spring.
Flowers
burst into
bloom.
Lilacs
in the
mornng
Fragrance
filled my
room
The magic
of spring
was
present
Of sunny
days to
tell
It's entrance
severed my
yearnngs
I remember
well.
poem by Heather Burns
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Polka Dots And Moon Beams
(BurkeVan Heusen)
A country dance was being held in a garden. I felt a bump and heard an "Oh, beg you pardon."
Suddenly I saw polka dots and moonbeams all around a pug-nosed dream.
The music started and was I the perplexed one.
I held my breath and said "May I have the next one?"
In my frightened arms, polka dots and moonbeams sparkled on a pug-nosed dream.
There were questions in the eyes of other dancers as we floated over the floor.
There were questions but my heart knew all the answers and perhaps a few things more.
Now in a cottage made of lilacs and laughter, I know the meaning of the words "ever after."
And I'll always see polka dots and moonbeams when I kiss my pug-nosed dream.
There were questions in the eyes of other dancers as we floated over the floor.
There were questions but my heart knew all the answers and perhaps a few things more.
Now in a cottage made of lilacs and laughter, I know the meaning of the words "ever after."
And I'll always see polka dots and moonbeams when I kiss my pug-nosed dream,
when I kiss my pug-nosed dream.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Final Say: April
As Mother Goose says,
'April brings the primrose sweet,
Scatters daisies at our feet.'
As Ralph Waldo Emerson wrote,
'April cold with dripping rain
Willows and lilacs brings again.'
poem by Monty Gilmer
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Bulletin
FoOlisH sCiEnCe
Go To SlEep
FoReVeR
tHe UbIqUiToUs NiGhT
iS FuLl Of ScReAmS
iT iS rAiNiNg oN fLoWeRs.
BuLlEtIn:
ThE KeYs To HeAvEn HaVe BeEn LoSt On EaRtH.
iF tHe MoOn Is PoWeR tHe RaVeN (sNoW) iS
DaRkNeSs.
RoAr Of ThE lIoN aNd ThE gEnTlE lAmB
wHo WiLl WiN
sAiD a ChIlD oF nOwHeRe
ThE lIlAcS iN hEr HaIr.
poem by M.L. Squier
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In The Carolinas
The lilacs wither in the Carolinas.
Already the butterflies flutter above the cabins.
Already the new-born children interpret love
In the voices of mothers.
Timeless mothers,
How is it that your aspic nipples
For once vent honey?
The pine-tree sweetens my body
The white iris beautifies me.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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The Exile’s Desire
Would I could see you, native land,
Where lilacs and the almond stand
Behind fields flowering to the strand--
But no!
Can I--oh, father, mother, crave
Another final blessing save
To rest my head upon your grave?--
But no!
In the one pit where ye repose,
Would I could tell of France's woes,
My brethren, who fell facing foes--
But no!
Would I had--oh, my dove of light,
After whose flight came ceaseless night,
One plume to clasp so purely white.--
But no!
Far from ye all--oh, dead, bewailed!
The fog-bell deafens me empaled
Upon this rock--I feel enjailed--
Though free.
Like one who watches at the gate
Lest some shall 'scape the doomed strait.
I watch! the tyrant, howe'er late,
Must fall!
poem by Victor Hugo
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