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I stare at graves
and the autumn leaves
that fall,
as my envy
for decay
consumes me.
Manpreet Gill Apr 29
Hot winds caused the charming petals to wilt,
Withered leaves slept under the dew quilt,
The sky looked red and fawn,
Rays of sorrow broke the dawn,
Icicles of trust started to melt,
Roses of love resembled a welt,
Cerulean oceans of wisdom turned black,
Light sleepers don’t like the busy track,
Life goes through phases like the moon,
Sky belongs to those who break the cocoon,
Graves have no room for grudges or vengeance,
Have no ill-feelings or hate, but only reverence.
Anne J Apr 27
bodies drop, no pulse
graves with no name inscribed on
downtown festive no more
With 54,938 cases, the state I live in is the state with the 3rd highest corona rate. The downtown of my city, which used to have plenty of events and people roaming the streets, is a ghost-town, something that never happened even when the marathon bombing took place. This virus is terrifying. Everyone, please be safe during these times. (I just made this haiku about 5 minutes ago. I actually meant to make a haiku for haiku day but forgot lol.)
Jenish Apr 21
Inside and out,
Happy faces on streets,
Hugging, Kissing, Playing, Dancing,
in glee..
The little monster who jailed us,
who dug graves of loved ones,
The King of rift,
Lay dead.
Crescendo Against Heaven
by Michael R. Burch

As curiously formal as the rose,
the imperious Word grows
until its sheds red-gilded leaves:
then heaven grieves
love’s tiny pool of crimson recrimination
against God, its contention
of the price of salvation.

These industrious trees,
endlessly losing and re-losing their leaves,
finally unleashing themselves from earth, lashing
themselves to bits, washing
themselves free
of all but the final ignominy
of death, become
at last: fast planks of our coffins, dumb.

Together now, rude coffins, crosses,
death-cursed but bright vermilion roses,
bodies, stumps, tears, words: conspire
together with a nearby spire
to raise their Accusation Dire ...
to scream, complain, to point out these
and other Dark Anomalies.

God always silent, ever afar,
distant as Bethlehem’s retrograde star,
we point out now, in resignation:
You asked too much of man’s beleaguered nation,
gave too much strength to his Enemy,
as though to prove Your Self greater than He,
at our expense, and so men die
(whose accusations vex the sky)
yet hope, somehow, that You are good ...
just, O greatest of Poets!, misunderstood.

Published by NeoVictorian/Cochlea, Poetry Life & Times and The Eclectic Muse. Keywords/Tags: crescendo, heaven, salvation, price, graves, coffins, crosses, cemetery, church, spire, God, distant, silent, misunderstood
by Michael R. Burch

We forget that, before we were born,
our parents had “lives” of their own,
ran drunk in the streets, or half-******.

Yes, our parents had lives of their own
until we were born; then, undone,
they were buying their parents gravestones

and finding gray hairs of their own
(because we were born lacking some
of their curious habits, but soon

would certainly get them). Half-******,
we watched them dig graves of their own.
Their lives would be over too soon

for their curious habits to bloom
in us (though our children were born
nine months from that night on the town

when, punch-drunk in the streets or half-******,
we first proved we had lives of our own).

Published by Barbitos, Trinacria, Songs and Poems that Changed the World (, Atomic Publishing and The Eclectic Muse

Keywords/Tags: Villanelle, hangovers, drugs, alcohol, drunk, ******, parents, children, graves, death, habit, bad habits, wasted, drink, drinking, *****, liquor, beer, wine, tombs, gravestones, headstones, lives, deaths, pregnant, pregnancy, pregnancies
Pfennig Postcard, Wrong Address
by Michael R. Burch

(for the victims and survivors of the Holocaust)

We saw their pictures:
tortured out of our imaginations
like golems.

We could not believe
in their frail extremities
or their gaunt faces,

pallid as our disbelief.
They are not
with us now ...

We have:
huddled them
into the backroomsofconscience,

consigned them
to the ovensofsilence,

buried them in the mass graves
of circumstancesbeyondourcontrol.

We have
so little left
of them

to remind us ...

It was my honor to work with survivors of the Holocaust as we translated their poems and prose accounts into English as a way of preserving them and making them available to larger audiences. Unfortunately, time waits for no one and the Holocaust survivors I worked with are no longer with us. But their words and testimonies remain, if we will only take the time to read and consider them. Keywords/Tags: Holocaust, victims, survivors, mass graves, pictures, images, tortured, frail, gaunt, skeletal, emaciated, thin, malnourished, golemic, horror, terror, inhumanity, madness, racism, antisemitism, slave labor, slavery, death camps, concentration camps, gas chambers, ethnic cleansing, genocide, memory, remembrance, memorial, tribute
CAL Feb 6
ghosts and ghouls
the beasts and their rules

cotton sleeves
and fallen leaves

amber brown eyes
suspects of lies

empty lives
and bodies left to the flies

lie down cold
Poetic T Jan 11
I ain't got no signal,
              to tell your boys that

your shallow, shallow graved

beyond that your silent and I
                    throw gravel of silent
words over your face.

what that's all your worth.

I ain't got no signal to #hashtag
            you been died
                      after I shot you full

of body shots of verbal body shocks..

I never got your followers on my phone cos
            flakiness doesn't get followed but
                                 just shallow graved.

I poured water over you, cos a cap isn't worth
   finishing you off,

                     na my words collateral damage

on your form your slumped
                    blooded but no blood falling.

You need to realise you haven't got a shoot off,
            and your riddled with insecurities that

                  you and yours will have to either
   be buried in shallow graves or respect my
                                                            word around town.
Adam Black Dec 2019
His eyes tell what others don’t know
There’s only one he wants;
to lay by his side
He can not go to him,
for the living don’t belong
in graves
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