Quotes about buried, page 5
With All my Love From Buffalo...Her Rebuttal
on our wedding night
I buried myself into
your arms
you buried yourself
into mine
indifferent
to you now:
like the winds that blow
off Erie that form
the storms
that buries Buffalo
in the shroud
of winter
no Christmas
in Buffalo:
no warm feelings for the tide
we harden our hearts here
we carve them into grave markers
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poem by R. James Sterzinger
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Egyptology
I am the Sphinx.
I am the woman buried in sand
up to her chin.
I am waiting for an archaeologist
to unearth me,
to dig out my neck & my nipples,
bare my claws
& solve my riddle.
No one has solved my riddle
since Oedipus.
I face the pyramids which rise
like angular breasts
from the dry body of Egypt.
My fertile river is flowing down below-
a lovely lower kingdom.
Every woman should have a delta
with such rich silt-
brown as the buttocks
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poem by Erica Jong
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To Damian Who Buried His Dog 'Miss
He buried poor old 'miss' in the backyard
And on her shovelled earth he swallowed hard
And struggled just to keep the tears at bay
And this for him perhaps his saddest day.
She was his friend and canine friends are true
And your dog up to the end will stick by you
Your dog will always be your faithful mate
And wag her tail and greet you at the gate.
And 'Miss' to damian was a faithful friend
She stuck by him up to the very end
Her balance poor her eyes with age grown dim
But to the very end she stuck by him.
A drive in car, fetch stick or chase a ball
Some of the things she enjoyed most of all
Till age came too soon and wore each bodily part
Still miss was always a young dog at heart.
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poem by Francis Duggan
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Good News
Beautiful are the feet of those who bring the Good News of Salvation,
The Good News is not just for the few, but for each and every nation.
The Good News is that Jesus died, was buried, and that He rose again,
Christ did all this because you and I are wicked sinners my friend.
The restoration of fellowship with God is at the heart of Salvation,
As Jesus' primary purpose was to redeem the Jewel of God's creation.
The importance of man in the eyes of God can be easily understood,
For on the day He created man, He saw all and said it was very good.
But the perfect fellowship at the start by Satan's design fell apart,
For by subtlety deceiving Eve, that liar had corrupted man's heart.
That is why God's Only Gospel must be expounded by all believers,
That Christ died, was buried, and raised according to the Scriptures.
Christ who had no sin, had to die to pay sin's price for you and me,
And we too, must crucify ourselves on the cross to truly be set free.
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poem by Bob Gotti
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The Common Sea Of Humanity
‘the sea so deep it never sleeps
by day or night it lives on... [perpetual] fight
against... [embattled] rocky coast
which is... [weathered worthy opponent] host
rushing ramming against...
[sea sculptured mountainside]...
[wave action causes whirlpool, boiling
swirling whirling, eddy rolling] quick fast dive
down below [flotsam surface]
its [more serene] calmer here
for no [crushing roaring] waves roll [disturbing
equilibrium as violently] way down here...’
Undercurrents are true demarcation lines
interactive beneath apparent surface of all things.
Surge tempest storm blasted vibrant sea,
so immensely powerful so immensely deep;
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Buried and unclaimed
Buried and unclaimed
Thousands are buried here unclaimed
Victims of brutality, abused and shamed
None to be found by ignorant world
Buried in dead silence and early morning cold
Who they might be and what may be their fault?
Might be trapped in between gun fire and caught?
Might be even singled out as informer and gunned down
But surely no heinous crime committed by them of their own
Dictatorial regimes resorted to such tactics for silencing rivals
They are afraid of loosing powers on rival’s arrival
Fierce battle is fought in streets and many are killed
The earth is shaken as coffers are silently filled
There is lawlessness and anarchism
There is no place for human and humanism
No one is there to hear your cry
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Chimes
I.
HONEY-FLOWERS to the honey-comb,
And the honey-bee's from home.
A honey-comb and a honey-flower,
And the bee shall have his hour.
A honeyed heart for the honey-comb,
And the humming bee flies home.
A heavy heart in the honey-flower,
And the bee has had his hour.
II.
A honey-cell's in the honeysuckle,
And the honey-bee knows it well.
The honey-comb has a heart of honey,
And the humming bee's so bonny.
A honey-flower's the honeysuckle,
And the bee's in the honey-bell.
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poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The Last Duty
ı t is two days or three
since with soil we covered thee
we gathered here
in your mother city
from all over the country
may be the unı verse
to perform our last duty
in fact you are doı ng your last duty
perfectly
you gathered friiends together
after so many years
a peculı ar thing too
just notified me
they have cut the lonely poplar
that shoot
from the root
which were a friend to me
my friend in winter
in my loneliness..lonelihood
in my all days on foot
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poem by Metin Sahin
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The Concubine
Chen Xiao Fei while the sun does shine
Was taken as the Emperor's concubine,
Just one of a hundred from the village Yang Ping
And chosen by the placing of a bright gold ring.
The Emperor's minions took her by the hand
And led her far away from the life she'd planned,
Her tears flew wide as she said zy jian
To the Ma ma, signing her away with a pen.
She said farewell to her friends from the school
Then they bathed her well in a rose-petalled pool,
They dressed her in the silks of a young girl's dream
And gave her to the Emperor, at just fourteen.
She lodged with the other of his concubines
Who taught her the rules she must follow all times
She never must climb in the top of his bed
But crawl beneath the sheet from his feet to his head.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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Fidele's Grassy Tomb
The Squire sat propped in a pillowed chair,
His eyes were alive and clear of care,
But well he knew that the hour was come
To bid good-bye to his ancient home.
He looked on garden, wood, and hill,
He looked on the lake, sunny and still:
The last of earth that his eyes could see
Was the island church of Orchardleigh.
The last that his heart could understand
Was the touch of the tongue that licked his hand:
'Bury the dog at my feet,' he said,
And his voice dropped, and the Squire was dead.
Now the dog was a hound of the Danish breed,
Staunch to love and strong at need:
He had dragged his master safe to shore
When the tide was ebbing at Elsinore.
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poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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