My last rites
The solemn funeral
took place in the
humid desert
trail of mourners
walked on the
thirsty hot sand.
The fragrance of
those miserable flowers
ending the path
blooming to survive
in that gloomy evening
unweighing all burdens.
Wrapped in melancholic
green shiny cloth
grounded with
comfort case
dampened soil in pit
to be laid to feast.
poem by Mubeen Sadhika
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Related quotes
Questions to Desert Wind…
You wonder,
Did the desert wind already forgotten to past?
No dearest, it has always blown so gently…
Crafting this dry open desert,
Shifting mystical sand dunes,
Bringing precious droplets to a thirsty bird,
To comfort her broken heart!
You further asked,
O desert wind…
Why erased my written message in the sand?
So let it be a permanent secret,
Cause I have already engraved it in my heart.
poem by Desert Life
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For A Poet
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold;
Where long will cling the lips of the moth,
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth;
I hide no hate; I am not even wroth
Who found the earth's breath so keen and cold;
I have wrapped my dreams in a silken cloth,
And laid them away in a box of gold.
poem by Countee Cullen
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Desert Rain for M lady Tara
A myriad of silver spears.
The raindrops pierce the earth below.
They rarely come and quickly go.
Then as expected there appears
questing green shoots which quickly grow
into a great variety
of pretty flowers seen to be
as fine as any flower show.
Selected by men carefully
to demonstrate how much they know
of cultivation sure and slow
and always scientifically.
The desert flowers daren’t be slow.
Their growing season is too short.
They set their seed just as the ought
within the soil and wait below.
Until the silver spears report
in massed array once again.
Bombard the thirsty earth with rain
to nourish growth of every sort.
Across the lifeless desert plain.
The seed are waiting patiently
until the raindrops set them free
from the dry soil to bloom again.
4-Oct-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poetic piers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Funeral
The last chapter
none wish to witness
when, they are alive.
Wails of the beloved ties
rites of belief held
accompany the dead
along the solemn trail.
Mysterious indeed this visitor
even flowers of stupendous beauty
appear sullenly shrunken
when in garlands they are attached strongly.
I wish one day
before I die
this funeral of mine
I want to witness
wholeheartedly,
so I may leave gladly
knowing what satisfaction
my funeral prepares for me.
poem by cyclopseven Ram
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A Poetry Of Smell
a smell, your smell,
that perfume that sticks
to my skin,
your sweat, that wetness
between us,
dry before us, desert sand,
nothing to talk about oasis,
camels in a caravan
under the stars one evening,
you are my tent,
i live there, but you are not
there, there is this blankness
that i face within me,
there is this trail that smells
like you, i follow,
and then i stop, it is not us
there, there is no us,
there is the star that shines
one evening
it does not last,
but every evening it comes
back to me,
too near, in my mind,
too far, in reality.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Falling Flowers
In the beginning I saw your smile…the unwithering flower…
I was dancing onside of thousand blooming flowers…
The bud’s fragrance was overwhelming silently.
That moment, I felt it in the town of wind with calm breeze.
Every tear and smile has a beginning and ending.
This time, my unwithering flower is falling down onto my tainted road…
The song of storm and fire take away all of my unwithering flowers.
The fragrance, the flower’s colours…everything is melt vastly.
Inside the locked remorse, I find a falling flower.
Inside the cold guiltiness, I start dancing and plant the flower.
This falling flower, I plant it…on the empty soil named despair.
This falling flower, I water it…with my tears named blood.
poem by Mizushi Hikari
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Forest Lawn
This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the take me to tomorrow? album, and on the changes album. it has also been released on the an evening with john denver album as a liv
Sion.
Oh lay me down in forest lawn in a silver casket
Put golden flowers over my head in a silver basket
Let the drum and bugle corp play taps while the cannons roar
And sixteen libertied employees sell souvenirs from the funeral store
I want to go simply when I go
Theyll give me a simple funeral there I know
With a casket lined in fleece
And fireworks spelling out rest in peace
Oh take me when Im gone to forest lawn
Oh lay me down in forest lawn they understand there
They have a heavenly choir and a military band there
Just put me in their care Ill find my comfort there
With sixteen planes and a last salute theyll drop across in a parachute
I want to go simply when I go
Theyll give me a simple funeral there I know
With a hundred strolling strings
And topless dancers with golden wings
Oh take me when Im gone to forest lawn
Oh, come, come, come, come
Come to the church in the wild wood
Kindly leave a contribution in the pale
Be as simple and as trusting as a child would
And well sell you the church in the dale
To find a simple resting place is my desire
To lay me down with a smiling face comes a little bit higher
My likeness cast in brass will stand in plastic grass
While hidden weights and springs tip its hat to the mourners filing passed
I want to go simply when I go
Theyll give me a simple funeral there I know
Ill lie beneath the sand
With piped in tapes of billy graham
Oh take me when Im gone to forest lawn
Rock of ages cleft for me
Forests lightly higher fee
Oh take me when Im gone to forest lawn
Amen
Words and music by tom paxton
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I believe in burdens,
I believe in burdens,
I believe in burdens that are changing,
I believe in redemption that was not fighting these burdens speedily,
I believe in burdens that seem ending,
In reality they were not,
I believe that feigned verses were making from unfeigned verses,
Plant the corn,
Look at it with a scorn,
It is going the same with burdens,
I believe in burdens that will end,
I believe in burdens that are making,
All Truth is that Christ will conquer the burdens,
Truth is the Sword,
When Christ give's me the Swords,
I will see Him giving me Sword to conquer the Burdens.
poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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The Old Road, The Old Way
Somewhere, somehow
There must be a road, a path
That goes, that leads beyond
Way beyond woman and man...
A Way, that really can be travelled
By all who desire;
An old-old road, a dirt trail
From the deep past
To far ahead
-neither traversed by plane, boat nor rail-
Simply a road, a path
To be walked, crawled, or carried upon by mortal man...
Blazed from and for eternity
-not always difficult nor easy-
A quiet, a gentle Way
Ever calling, ever leading
A peaceful, a beautiful trail...
It is somewhere, out there, and in here
Then and now, forever
From before light, to beyond the last sunset
Going so far
That it now only 'seems' to be
Yet so near
It always is.
Only God truly knows
Where all it's been
And to where fully it finally goes.
But for all
All who do seek
It is a very welcome old road, a good old path;
Down it look, see
A connecting... of now to all eternity...
A million-million
Perhaps a billion-billion
Shadows upon it go, and shall go
One and all forever unending.
Along the way is such beauty
Peace is the air to breath
Rest and joy the pace offered
Something grand dim and far ahead
Where music and laughter faint is heard
A place of great dancing, and fiesta surely awaits.
This old road, the true-old path
So hard to see
Yet so easy to find
It runs between the eternities
Connecting God to man
The never beginning
With the never ending
It shall forever stand.
Tread upon it, walk it's wonderous way
Released from burden
Heart and soul begin to mend.
No more pacing the cage
End of the ravinous age
Stroll freely on
Meander joyfully along
This good old path
This good old Way
That runs forever into
That pure, promised never ending Day.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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A Life Encounter in Shekomeko
Many a rides I have taken
Through villages barely awakened
Green grass and blooming flowers
Whispering willows at morning hours
My joy is never ending
Too many wondrous sights are blending
Into meadows and sleepy lanes
Sheep and cattle gleaming white fences
Leave bedazzled my senses
But there is no pretense
Driving through the village
I have never seen a Mensch
But what a surprise on that beautiful day
I will never forget that moment in May
Strutting the left side of the lane
Was Peacock proud and vain
He walked with a majestic stride
Gleaming feathers what a sight
Straight ahead was his gaze
After all Shekomeko was his place
I passed him up slowly
With a smile on my face
Now I have seen a living soul in this place.
poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Aurora
Like a fairy with flowers in her hair,
I possess sweet remembrance of her.
In the coolness of the September air,
Strains of melancholic chords I do hear,
And though I might not know what,
Yet something may have changed,
For I possess sweet remembrance of her,
And the emblem of her beauty caresses my heart,
Like the fluttering of birds' wings in the cool air.
Yes, like Aurora with flowers in her hair,
I possess sweet remembrance of her,
And her fragrance follows my path.
poem by Enoch John
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The Unmarked Grave
There are mourners beside an unmarked grave
witness how quietly they all there do behave.
All shedding silent tears for one they’ve lost
perhaps some loved one in this way to accost.
It seems uncertain if anyone about really knows
who is buried there beneath the grass that grows
at this distant lonely place away from all the rest
perhaps it was the deceased person’s last bequest.
There isn’t any indication to say when, where or how the person died
just these mourners that have come here it seems from far and wide
to pay their solemn respects to one for which only they all know
perhaps it’s the least thing to the departed one they now do owe.
The buried person must have left a strong impression in everyone’s mind
and when alive would have been an influence of some remarkable kind.
There’s no real telling just what the circumstances might then have been
but judging from the expression on all their faces one of deep loss is seen.
The flowers brought by all the mourners there
and placed on the ground at their feet where
they formed a cross inside a circle of distinction
to commemorate the passing with a benediction.
------------------
poem by George Krokos
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Ozymandias (in reply to Percy Bysshe Shelley)
I saw a traveller coming from the desert
wrapped in white cloth
and the man greeted me, asked for water
and told me about Ozymandias, the great king
whose broken statue still commanded respect
whose kingdom was now laid bare
from the covering sand
and suddenly the sky darkened
as if the sun for moments took flight
and far of out in the desert
the red dust hang like a huge sandstorm
but the size of it was severe
and I saw something rising, materializing
getting form
the huge legs of stone blazing alive
and the entire body of it,
that colossal wreck became whole
and around it was gathered
a might crowd of armed men
bowing down to its honour
and praying to it
while a voice like thunder
cried out for the entire world
to despair, to bow before
before its supreme reign,
before it turned north,
marching with its army
right into Europe
to destroy, to enslave
and to take with force.
[Reference: Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe Shelley.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Terror In Sand
Is it terror to live in desert sand
and fear exploring the dried out land?
Of course it is. What do you think?
Not even a dropp of water to drink.
Is it terror to die in desert sand
and fear expiring because of man?
Of course it is.
How would you feel
ending up as a snakes's last meal?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Tourist not Tuareg
I have visited the lands
where no sign of green is seen
I have walked the desert sands
where the Nomads roam between
the oases which they know
Secrets that they do not tell.
As they wander to and fro
by hidden ways from well to well.
I don’t know how they navigate
A total mystery to me
but I can appreciate.
They see signs I do not see.
Adapted to their habitat,
they have learned to live an thrive
They deserve respect for that
ability to survive.
I am glad I can return
to my own green fertile country.
Leave behind the sands which earn
A lasting place in memory.
23-May-08
http: blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Salve Eternum
I.
Farewell! O soul departed!
Farewell! O sacred urn!
Bereaved and broken-hearted,
To earth the mourners turn.
To the dim and dreary shore,
Thou art gone our steps before!
But thither the swift Hours lead us,
And thou dost but a while precede us,
Salve-salve!
Loved urn, and thou solemn cell,
Mute ashes!-farewell, farewell!
Salve-salve!
II.
Ilicet-ire licet-
Ah, vainly would we part!
Thy tomb is the faithful heart.
About evermore we bear thee;
For who from the heart can tear thee?
Vainly we sprinkle o'er us
The drops of the cleansing stream;
And vainly bright before us
The lustral fire shall beam.
For where is the charm expelling
Thy thought from its sacred dwelling?
Our griefs are thy funeral feast,
And Memory thy mourning priest.
Salve-salve!
III.
Ilicet-ire licet!
The spark from the hearth is gone
Wherever the air shall bear it;
The elements take their own-
The shadows receive thy spirit.
It will soothe thee to feel our grief,
As thou glid'st by the Gloomy River!
If love may in life be brief,
In death it is fixed for ever.
Salve-salve!
In the hall which our feasts illume,
The rose for an hour may bloom;
But the cypress that decks the tomb-
The cypress is green for ever!
Salve-salve!
poem by Edward George Bulwer-Lytton
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Flower Gardener
Gas got me in the first World War,
And all my mates at rest are laid.
I felt I might survive them for
I am a gardener by trade.
My life is in the open air,
And kindly is the work I do,
Since flowers are my joy and care,
And comfort too.
My flowers are a fairy sight,
Yes I'm an ugly, warped old man,
For I have lived in Fate's despite
A year beyond one's mortal span;
And owe my health no gentle toil
From dawn to dark, contented hours,
Of loving kinship with the soil,
A friend of flowers.
My dahlias are my pride today,
And many my creations be.
They're worth a fortune, people say,
But what does money mean to me?
Their glory is my rich reward,
And as their radiant heads they raise,
I dedicate them to the Lord,
With love and praise.
I grieve to think that sullen Powers
On bombs and guns their might depend;
If man had heart for growing flowers
Then would we all be friend and friend.
The glory of the world is his
Who seeks salvation in the sod,
And finds that golden sunshine is
The laugh of God.
poem by Robert William Service
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Unity Of The Elements
It was a pompous show,
For everyone should know,
The funeral procession
Of a rich man of the town.
Inch by Inch, the funeral cart moved.
Step by step, the mourners walked.
In black costumes, each one was dressed.
Front and back, march passed the crowd.
At the gate of the burning ghat,
The procession came to a halt.
Each one spoke, in praise of the dead
And tears flowed, for what they said.
On the sandalwood bed,
The body was laid,
And his son lit the fire,
That engulfed the funeral pyre.
The dead man's remains,
In the form of ash and bones,
To the sea, were consigned
As a finish, at the end.
At the bottom of the seabed
The bone of a poor man dead
Addressed his bone and said
'Welcome to this silent seabed.'
'The difference, when we were alive
Is no more with us, now let us live,
Not as poor or rich, but as one element,
No hatred feelings to foment.'
From the elements, man comes,
And back to the elements, he goes.
In between arises a low-high status,
That brings a world of differences.
poem by Rajaram Ramachandran
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Poet's Graveyard
On the hills thick fog creeps along
the haunted soil of your grave
Ghostly birds sing misty, morning songs
-there's nothing left for you to crave
Mourning you - your friends you knew
dragging solemn shoes across the morning dew
crickets chirp in the gloomy mood
all is bad - all is good
Death stands nearby, with scythe - in black hood
Your final bed's headboard made of rock
in daylight hours - in moonlit storms
defeated skeletons of trees above you mock
your bones that feed the flowers and worms
All is bad - all is good
Even the Poet is a slave
wrapped in coffin-blanket made of wood
Clock is ticking - Road of Fate is paved
-and Death's a Dream we all shall have.
poem by Ray Quesada
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Wonderful Seeds
What does sprout from seeds?
The flowers might, but do not war with deeds.
Then a darling panting comes from the breathing space,
Wonders adjust the expenses of the body, and this is the case.
The seeds of wonderful nature collide with the wind
To sprint in the sand and loam, all agog, all dinned.
Such surprise! Such a soil of wonderment!
The seeds from seeds are springing into flowers and abandonment.
poem by Naveed Akram
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