Bury me
where bluebells grow,
bury me where wild dogs go,
where the rain laughs
over leaves that shimmer green,
where rivers glint, clear and clean,
Oh, that's where to bury me...
In crushed velvet shadows,
struck with copper shards of sun.
Here, at last, I'll come undone
My hair unbraided
My lips unpainted,
My cool flesh so natural,
and now untainted.
Here I'll be merry, so merry,
my joy will grow like a seed,
I'll bloom in bluebells
and yellow dandelion weeds.
I'll be lovely, so lovely,
wild and viciously free,
Yes there, oh there
you can bury me.
Burying is a personal thing as I've been told I will be creamated and thrown in with the horse manure...but I will have very little to say about it then...I would rather be sprinkled over my Mother Ocean in my home town of Sea Isle City, NJ...thanks by the way for stopping by my den, much appreciated & Kentucky is not so bad, I have friends out there about 60 miles southwest(?) of Louisville...ed (PS: welcome to the Den)
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
This book represents a thirty-day period of my poetry journal. Each poem addresses
the dominant thoughts occupying my mind during the early morning hours of a given
day.
Regis