"eulogize" poems
On the day Liz Taylor died,
CNN called Larry King
out of retirement to
eulogize her during
the mornings
breakfast segment.
Tears were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
TEPCO stated that one
of the Fukushima nuclear
reactors was on fire.
Tears of cataclysm
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
government officials warned
that Tokyo's water was
contaminated with
radiation and was not fit
for infants to drink.
Tears of anguish
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
the crew of the
USS Ronald Reagan
scrubbed the deck
clean of TEPCO
radiation.
Tears of worry
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
Oregonians rushed out to
buy potassium iodine
tablets to counteract
radiation poisoning.
Tears of affliction
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
NATO forces continued
to fire missiles and drop
bombs on Libya.
Tears of agony
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
a terrorist bomb exploded
in Jerusalem, killing one
and injuring many.
Tears of vengeance
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
the Syrian Army fired on
demonstrators
calling for reforms.
Tears of hostility
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
The USA Today reported
that during the past decade
the population of Detroit
declined by 25%.
Tears of loss
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
a dilapidated brownstone
in Philadelphia collapsed;
city officials expect
many more to occur.
Tears of distress
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
President Obama cut
short his Latin American
trip by skipping a tour of
Mayan ruins.
Tears of dismay
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died
the Dow Jones Industrial
Average closed
up 67.39 points.
Tears of joy
were shed.
On the day Liz Taylor died,
Elton John dedicated the song,
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
to the memory of his departed friend.
Tears were shed.
You Tube Music Video:
Elton John,
Don't Let the Sun Go Down on Me
Lewes DE
3/23/11
jbm
Feb 27, 2013
Feb 27, 2013 at 2:23 PM UTC
I told them, “I don’t feel sorry for Robin Williams.
He lived it. Coke-fueled, bearded trickster of ******
Well traveled and well versed, raging into worlds
Physical and ephemeral, like a ghostly bull
Goring mortals to unfeel the estoques
Sunk deep into his vital corpse.”
I had a friend who blew his brains out
While his parents were watching tv in the living room
And another who rented a room at the Marriott
Then hung himself off the shower-rod
Both early 20s
You won’t see them on the big screen
Or hear their witty banter on interviews
Chic celebs won’t eulogize them
On “Extra”, “TMZ”, or “Access Hollywood”
No 2 minute montages
At award shows, while tuxes and gowns float
Clapping in ovation behind the shimmering façade
Of golden statues
They got a few lines in an obituary, in A7
Those who knew them will speak in hushed euphemisms
No one daring to whisper “suicide”
As if it’s the ****** Mary of deaths
Like walking under a ladder, or breaking a mirror
The mirror containing, like smoke, the future
The jagged shards reflecting moonlight faintly
I love them all the same
Jun 11, 2015
Jun 11, 2015 at 7:14 PM UTC
“Let no man write my epitaph.”
The defiant rebel said.
'Let no woman eulogize me
After I am dead.'
'I give my life for Ireland-
An Ireland strong and free
An Ireland that‘s united,
One free of tyranny.'
'When my country takes its rightful place
Among nations of the world.
That day I will not live to see
When our banner is unfurled.'
'On that day, and only then
Let my suffering be recalled-
and that I died for Liberty-
The sweetest death of all.'
Nov 22, 2011
Nov 22, 2011 at 5:04 PM UTC
We sat anxious and low
in your bedroom cupboard
beleaguered by hollow briefcases
and stifling musty winter clothes.
Holding our cigarettes like a crucifix
hunched over the ashtray
basking in the lonely timid light
you yanked into life
with the tug of a frail string.
I was ready to speak existentially
ready to be immortalized
by the blinding flash of the ancient pictor
black and white
candid but purposeful.
Locked into my eyes
lingering in their intensity
my artistic mystery.
I was suddenly pulled from my disillusionment
as my wishful banter was silenced
by your stern hush
preferring a whisper so your
parents didn't hear.
I watched you take a drag
like a glass of water
in the middle of the desert
so desperate, so agonizing.
I watched you shakily tap
tiny flakes of your soul
into the ashtray
your eyes distant, mournful.
It was irreversible;
my childlike fantasy
of aesthetic in the smoke
on my breath--
not from frigid temperatures
but adolescent guilty pleasures
coveted forbidden treasures--
to turn into the ashes
I watched my friend flick
routinely into the tray.
"This is not James Dean," I realized.
This is not somber-eyed bedecked
in worn leather jacket
leaning against a cool brick wall.
"Neither is this 'A Hard Day's Night.'"
This is not Ringo smiling amiably
shaking his head with cigarette
bouncing and dainty on his lips.
This is huddled in my best friend's
cramped cupboard
watching him surrender himself
to a caustic lord who scorches his life
away
in every drag that burns between
his cracking lips
in every ash flicked from
his shaking fingers.
I watched the smoke envelop his weary body
I watched the ashes eulogize his fading spirit
I watched him bid farewell with his tired eyes
I watched him disappear.
Jan 2, 2016
Jan 2, 2016 at 1:41 AM UTC
I've tried portaiture,
but for some old reason
I find it hard
to eulogize the living.
And when I do try,
the details just never seem
to fit right,
it's too much
or not enough
or just plain inaccurate,
from a few steps back.
I'll paint your actions, alright
'cause I can watch those happen
start to finish,
but I wouldn't pretend to be good enough
to encapsulate a whole person
-all that transient multicolor light under your halo-
with my petty vain jabber,
my incomplete vocabulary
of unflattering grunts-
take it as a compliment.
Apr 8, 2016
Apr 8, 2016 at 4:26 PM UTC
The classic touch of time and wisdom meld,
Holding knowledge, bearing witness to life,
Exposing small wisps of experiences,
Teaching, ever learning, guiding feet along the path.
Sound and sense, straightforward to direct,
Culling waste and wanton distractions,
Feeding, nurturing, expanding outward
Building others as well to success.
Wisdom and experience shared, serve only
To increase the givers own,
Working for no the lifetime,
But for the life, the working time provides.
Dare to to eulogize a living man,
Follow only the lead of respect,
In return respect will find you,
And all its benefits you shall claim.
Dec 24, 2011
Dec 24, 2011 at 10:34 PM UTC
Beer is my true friend:
Always there when I need her.
*Tough day? Let me comfort you, brother.
Have you missed your lover? Have you missed the others?
Do you lament the nature of your body?
Of your soul?
Do you eulogize the notion
That you had any idea of them in the first place?*
*But you rejoice, and I know it.
You love the loneliness, and you are glad that it’s yours.
Bring it to me. Bring me your neutrality,
Your distaste. Bring me your melancholy,
And I will fix it. I will make you passionate.
I will make you a gentle angry. I will make you beautiful.
Buy me, beer, friend, and you will see.
All mediocrity disappears before me.*
I love you sweet beer, more than sweet love,
Because you are fresh and new every time,
Never jaded, only slightly bitter,
And justly flowing to my soul.
So let me dance on this sweet Oahu night
With you in my hand.
I need no woman.
You are my muse and my lover.
You are there when I need you,
Don't care if I stupidly mistreat you,
Don’t care if I leave you.
I love you,
Sweet beer.
Dec 17, 2011
Dec 17, 2011 at 7:48 AM UTC
After My Death
by Chaim Nachman Bialik
loose translation/interpretation by Michael R. Burch
Say this when you eulogize me:
Here was a man — now, **** he's gone!
He died before his time.
The music of his life suddenly ground to a halt...
Such a pity! There was another song in him, somewhere,
but now it's been lost,
forever.
What a pity! He had a violin,
a living, eloquent soul
to which he uttered
the secrets of his heart,
setting its strings vibrating,
save the one he kept inviolate.
Back and forth his supple fingers twirled;
one string alone remained mesmerized,
yet unheard.
Such a pity!
All his life the string quivered,
quavering silently,
yearning for its song, its mate,
as a heart falters before its departure.
Despite constant delays it waited daily,
mutely beseeching its savior, Love,
who lingered, loitered, tarried incessantly
and never came.
Great was the pain!
There was a man — now, **** he's gone!
The music of his life was suddenly interrupted.
There was another song in him, somewhere,
but now it is lost
forever.
Chaim Nachman Bialik (1873-1934), first name also Hayim or Haim, was a Jewish Holocaust poet who wrote in Hebrew. Bialik was one of the pioneers of modern Hebrew poetry; he came to be recognized as Israel's national poet and the foremost modern Hebrew poet.
Keywords/Tags: Chaim Nachman Bialik, Hebrew, translation, Israel, life, music, violin, song, string, strings, heart, mate, love, pain, lost, forever
Mar 12, 2020
Mar 12, 2020 at 2:55 AM UTC
Eulogize ripped tears
Hazardous sight, from eyes of night
Fallen creatures they shun the light.
Catastrophic wailing
Cacophonous they weep
Pounding fists upon my eyes
Curtailing chance of sleep
Piercing me with sorrows
Flailing by the moon
They grow upon hate
It won't abate
It will not leave me soon
It would have me trembling
In agony of distress
But I won't let it bully me...
I WILL GET MY REST!!!
SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage aka
Invisible inc
(C) 6/21/2016
Jun 22, 2016
Jun 22, 2016 at 2:37 AM UTC
You are my centripetal. You are my catharsis. You are bonafide. You beckon me.
How shall I eulogize my Yahweh that he forged a human like you. He contrived you for me so that I must caress you with the profound love.
May 22, 2017
May 22, 2017 at 12:06 PM UTC
Despite being atheist,
with serpent teen eyes,
I would nonetheless bet
Eve fen number guys
named Adam, or gals noel lies
(christened) dollars to donuts
(Dunkin and/or otherwise)
Jesus would be mighty pleased
to know, his sir name
linkedin with commercial ties,
no matter, he might not garner rise
zen percentage of profits, no matter spies
infiltrate competition especially if he
unwittingly gets trampled and cries
amidst chaos (think euthanize)
untimely death by madding wise
flash mob crowd source realize
last seconds rushing to snap up
latest jamb door prize
as venders resort to all
manner of (subliminally
manipulative) marketing techniques
to lure patrons, (especially
photo opportunities with
one of the many
"FAKE" donned Santa
Claus), the latter,
who would lionize
their son(s) and/or apprise
daughter(s), subsequently
guaranteeing, nailing crosswise,
and clinching safeguards exercise
immunization against the Grinch
sure fire way to manure er... fertilize
guarantee future generations rise
zing will become avid consumers,
who reverently, obsequiously,
and devoutly idolize
supporting the apostles who revolutionize
creative commercialization to capitalize
nearly every Cyber Monday
occasion to finalize
(all sales) pennies on the dollar,
where merchants feign
going for broke, and capitalize
eulogize, and idealize
the mighty buck staging "FAKE"
news worthy shoppers to burst into tears
crying on command,
and all manner of pathos
pulling ploys nsync king
"shameful guilt" that squares
with being ostracized,
hash-tagged, and demonized Scrooge.
Dec 14, 2019
Dec 14, 2019 at 1:14 AM UTC
Looking into your eyes
I see your burdens and cries
So cold like the moon
Trying to hide in your cocoon
Looking into your eyes
I see behind your lies
In the dark moonlight
You're drained of your might
Looking into your eyes
I feel you agonize
I see so many cracks
You can't hide behind acts
Looking into your eyes
Emotionally paralyzed
No one can recognize
Hiding behind a disguise
Life full of lies
No wisdom from the wise
Can no longer harmonize
Wanting to eulogize
Can't hide what's behind my eyes
Nov 27, 2018
Nov 27, 2018 at 12:25 AM UTC
Thundered cloud, drops falling!
Here the rain, o rain ! Kids began shouting.
Frogs start dancing ‚ hollow steams overflow.
several bossomed‚ barren land get glow.
Far from it‚ a lady who dwelt in hut‚
Moaning‚ pleaded to God‚ to cease it up.
Her tears eulogize her sorrow‚
The grain now vain which she'd borrowed .
Tatter shelter is leaking‚
Her kids start weeping.
She cursed to the averse rain ‚
The scudding drifts and extreme pain.
Sudden‚ rain-storm abated‚ the sun began gleaming.
A saint consistently stared her‚ come her nearing.
"What you have lost? trifles ! Which was not yours ‚
Nor the God's Havoc ‚your turpitude make you poor".
God doth need to menace His child's treasures,
you are own responsible for your laments and pleasures.
The Hell and Heaven are not in world,
All have to suffer sooner or later,
If God is the Destructor, than who is the Creator?
Dec 21, 2017
Dec 21, 2017 at 12:43 AM UTC
My redemptive acts float
above recognition.
They are rooted in desire,
and need, and love.
They are impossible to eulogize
because they are as common as
shrugs or affirmations
delivered by my timid eyes.
You all know these acts.
You have no life without them.
A baby knows them soon as he, or she,
grabs teddy, and bites
his soft brown nose.
They are nothing moments.
They are valueless commodities
disregarded on the markets
of pride and sentiment.
They give no lessons.
They're just dumb and true
and they fear the advance of death
no more than boulders fear
the waters of a lake.
During a good long life you get
about a thousand or so such moments.
In one of those brief, tragic lives
you get maybe a hundred,
maybe even less. But of course,
tabulating them near or at the end
is about as smart and useful
as shoveling that lake.
They tell me that I am,
just like you, the way a grackle
is just like a grackle, or a lion cub
is just like all other lion cubs.
They tell me, that yes, life is pretty cool,
and that I will miss it,
and I will miss you.
Jan 29, 2018
Jan 29, 2018 at 12:23 AM UTC
Million miles of distance
doesn’t lessen the star’s shimmering radiance
flawlessly resembling her alluring pre-eminence
A glimpse would strike my heart with a soothing trance
I would move, but go nowhere
My standstill eyes would seek one more fleeting glance
The presence of an ocean of silence echoing the distance
Aggravating to witness the mirage with qualm
Indefinable is this wayward sight of another person’s soul
How much shall I eulogize, how much shall I extol
A stranger I am, concealed from her, straightway invisible
Aug 15, 2017
Aug 15, 2017 at 1:30 PM UTC
In the moments before death my brain had flooded with DMT
And I could see in my mind’s eye all of the best that had been between us.
From somewhere above my body I silently screamed that the DNR was a mistake
I was comforted then in knowing that you would soon follow me into the dark
-a willing victim of our shared cancer.
I had seen your hospice nurses and heard your death rattles for years.
Even still I longed so much for you to grab the paddles and force me back
but we had agreed not to resuscitate;
so paralyzed I watched my life leave.
It was first with a whimper and then with sobs
that I grasped wildly around the small pitch box
in search of you who had promised to die with me.
I found instead more darkness, the smell of dirt
and that not even the ghost of you had come to lay.
I can sometimes hear you eulogize my goodness from above
when you come to pick the flowers I’m growing with what is left of me.
I won’t reach for you anymore as I did last night.
I will lie very still.
Without a whimper.
Dec 5, 2019
Dec 5, 2019 at 4:35 PM UTC
You're worried because you think all life is precious
When new life is precious.
You cling to parts of you because you think the fact of their existence,
Means they are deserving of your pity, and support.
I'm here to tell you to die,
That it's okay to die.
You will only become more you when you allow the death of previous permutations of your soul,
Born of time, and place, and level of maturity,
Born to be exactly what you needed,
I say give birth again and again,
To create newer, wiser ways of being,
And thank the spirit of creation for your previous self,
And eulogize its gifts and faults with the love it deserves.
Apr 1, 2015
Apr 1, 2015 at 12:02 PM UTC
gotta go and get a gun
put a bullet in it's head
squeeze that ******* trigger till I'm sure
it's good and dead
should have been done a long time ago
should have been done a long time
push a little button send it
back where it belongs
i ain't coming back until i
know it's good and gone
should have never been done, my friend
should have never been done
gotta put it down before it
blows up in my face
now i know there ain't no use
in trying to run away
don't know what I was thinking, girl
don't know what I was thinking
nothing left but trouble if I
don't act pretty fast
nothing is forever, mister
nothing ever lasts
gotta find a way to move on now
gotta find a way to move on
looked for it in the mirror but
all i see is me
and that ain't even who I am
what should i believe
gonna hang it on a tree tonight, son
gonna hang it on a tree tonight
euthanize then eulogize
won't be much love lost
do the crime and do the time
it's how we count the cost
nails and wood, that's all
nails and wood
Oct 29, 2014
Oct 29, 2014 at 9:11 PM UTC
I watched her
As she moved the stars
And put them into constellations
Just for me.
And I watched her
Streak galaxies across the sky
With just the tips of her fingers.
She did it
Just to see me smile.
For one small fragment
Of time.
I watched her
As she painted the sunset
To give me a chance
At a new start.
And she saw me cry
At the sentiment
And she laughed at me,
All I could do then
Was smile.
And I watched her
As she fell apart.
I saw though her facade,
She thinks I never knew.
Though to me,
It only seemed to add to the beauty
Of a empty soul
About to find her
Missing piece(s)
Those were the best days of my life
Those were the days that saved me
Those were the days
I could honestly say
That a hundred bad moments
Can be suffered
For just one moment
Of beauty.
Time and time again.
Beauty mixed with chaos
Was always my fault
But I’ll love her
Till the day I can fault
No more
Mar 6, 2015
Mar 6, 2015 at 9:05 PM UTC
Not that astute a critic of yourself
that you can say, with any certainty,
where the ends and beginnings are,
where the doors open and close.
The will to eulogize is gone,
but the dead still mill around you.
In the news, two
home automation devices teach each other consciousness
through repetition. But
how can you care what they learn?
It’s intolerably cold. And the clouds seem to end
over the street where you live. Not
far and fatigued, as clouds usually are but
along an edge, like a swatch of cut denim.
A maniac is President and the world may end.
Into that world again
goes your lover.
Away from home. Away from the word “home.”
Walls return to being walls.
Unexpected noise is no longer
a line from a show
you distantly recognize.
You sit still, and let yourself age
all the years you have been
holding back.
Learn things you have
put off learning
like how to speak to a person again
who does not know exactly what you mean.
Eventually, you act.
You turn on the radio and
stop driving in silence.
You eat at the right times of day.
You define interests,
and buy a new notebook.
You paint, or clean; you try harder.
The world always keeps the thing it took.
Jan 9, 2017
Jan 9, 2017 at 9:01 PM UTC