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Two Poems from our Funerals Poetry Collection

 
 
WOODLAWN CEMETERY
   
Author: Joe Frey
   
Poem:
WOODLAWN CEMETERY
   
  I stand here against granite,
admiring pompous headstones
and granite mausoleums that only
these rich and famous could afford.

So long ago they were all untouchable.

History springs from an arboretum,
dedicated to a recent hero of battle,
in much the same way it still does
from the ancient Levantine graves.

Carved of fine granite, a proud tombstone
erects itself, resembling the statue of
Webb's Clippers - not far off, the Duke
has souls jumping and swinging on Wild Rose.

The spook of a presumed dirge here can raise
hairs and make even the most radical shiver.
Such is the story at dusk when the haunting mist
emanating from Woodlawn lake creeps over the
landscape.

The water slips over rocks like invisible souls
and falls into collecting pools where the restless
soak and bathe. So long ago they were all
untouchable, active here now throughout God's
Little acre.

For now their cigarettes have finally dragged
themselves to their butts. LaGuardia's Humanitarian services have ceased - cameras have gone out of focus - Melville's inkwell has dried. Ambient spirits only reside.

They're all here, on Alpine Hill;
Yew and Wild Rose...basking.

If I listen hard, I hear echoes from
chants of Woodlawn's residents,
in hopes their glorified legacies will live on
another thousand years.
Their iconic souls stolen and silhouetted
by majestic graves.

So long ago they were all untouchable.
   
  More Funerals poems
 
 
EULOGY FOR OUR GIRLS
   
Author: Stanley Mungai
   
Poem: EULOGY FOR OUR GIRLS
   

I see a flash
A sight to behold
The work of an immortal sculptor
Walking straight in elegant pride
Worth of a princess of the sun
Firmly transfixed in her twelve
Moving into the emptiness of an invalid society
Her innocence screaming
In an unchallenged clarity

And only twelve moons
The framework of her modelling salivates
Wolves in men
Who’s been exposed to the virus
Emerging from the bushland of their desires
To seek their vengeance in a fanatical hatred
And poor me the princess
With the sex lunacy roaming the streets
Sanity of abstinence is the greatest challenge

Swung from poverty to adolescence
A pendulum of fates
Hunger at home for the family
And her homestead a moonscape of desolation
The two hundred shillings does the trick
She trades out her innocence
And virginity too, a girls pride
And alongside the legal tender
Comes the virus
The minute monster
Savouring a society of huge minds

There is the tuberculosis
In a hospital ward
Full of undug graves and shrines unnamed
Drawn into the vacuum of her fate
Eyes wide open in dismal finalty
The princess
Lie in freeze frame of death
A pyramid of events
Moulded out of her last several terrible seconds
Lamentation for the society
A dull eulogy
For our girls
 
More Funerals poems

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