The 18th of December was her last day;
she neither knew the date nor cared to.
Gathered at the hospital, keeping vigil,
we couldn't overcome her fright, or ours.
The pain, too great to be driven away,
was only "managed" with IV drips,
needles stuck in bruised appendages --
bony things -- arms and legs, hands and feet.
Above the medicines and washes, we sniffed
her scent, which, more than her yet familiar
face, to us identified our mother --
a smell we never would mistake
for any other. It went quickly
as her body cooled. The rouged and pickled
carcass they displayed was more a statue
than a person. We planned to bury her
with homely tokens, like an ancient mummy:
a family photo, a brooch she liked,
a pink hairbrush, and the brass bell she rang
to call her keeper during her last years.
But, when the time came, I could not bear
to see her leave so finally;
I took the bell from her metal box.
And, now, I ring it -- not to bring a keeper,
but to recall my mother on her birthday,
and on many dark days when I need her.
I see your name there written in stone
Beside so many others to me faces unknown
Do you see me or am I alone
In this place where last respects are shown
Are you walking here among the flowers
Where we laid your earthly body to rest
Where souls are set free to join higher powers
Is this, the final journey of our life-quest?
I see the dates there written in stone
Your day of birth and of your last breath
Are we merely made of flesh and bone
Or does time continue for us after death
I see the words of endearment there written in stone
Do you Beloved Husband my voice hear
Are my words like dust in the four winds forever blown
Or can the words chiseled here comfort you my dear
When my name is there beside yours written in stone
All these answers to me will be finally known
I pray you and I walk here among the flowers
Our souls joined forever among higher powers
They tried to make you go to Rehab...
Shoulda' packed your bags ta' Rehab...
A cousin called the other day saying "Another cousin has passed away".
Well my husband said "How old was she.""
A stalwart woman who had served family and community well. Producing one child that
became a missionary serving in a foreign land..
While talking the cousin asked "Did you know ______"?
My husband answered, "Well, I don't think that I knew them".
The cousin proceeded to tale this story.
"The man had been down with cancer for a while and passed recently..The funeral had been
conducted and the hearse had gone on to the cemetary..The family car with the family was
not to far behind..But when it pulled up, the wife of the deceased did not get out and the
funeral home staff was gathering around..The funeral home director decided to go see what
was going on ...."
The cousin said, " That this funeral home director told him". "That he had been in this
business for thirty-five years and faced something that he had never had happen to him or
any other funeral home director that he knew."
The funeral home director said, "When I got to the family car, I found the wife of the
deceased had passed from a massive corornary."
She had said, "I don't know how I will live without him." She didn't have to learn. God called
The roosters crow, the crows craw and are answered by the gobble of the turkey across the
Let the Deicide commence.
You're a voyeur at best!
Your vampiric heart is beating out of your chest!
And you have slayed the ones whom would love you for anything less
Ready to consume the final fragments of innocence,
And for you there is no forgiveness,
On your knees pleading, screaming to a tyrant in the skies;
The father of lies.
I will never be enslaved in your superiority
The people agree: jaded of your false dichotomies.
Know: I will be whomever nature intends to be
Apollo and I will share our dreams,
and you will be forced to see
I know who you are...
Readily the first to present your scars
Chained by some despot or mental czar
An emotional homunculus in your mind, behind bars
Reluctant to escape - even when proven fake
Your demented mind - depths no one will penetrate!
...And you see me suffering
Not caring of any casualties
Just as long you recieve your safeguard of sympathy
So very wary of the masses and their Anarchy; Liberious ways
Solipsist - Is there no one you can see?
Even if she was presented burning?
Solipsist - Is there no one you can believe?
Even if Sophia was screaming?
Solipsist - Know you have killed and abused me
Imprisoned in your own personal reality
Oh, how I miss the dead…
... the softness in their voices
That I cannot recreate,
the warmth of their silence
Where now only cold remains;
And I know, oh how I know
That they are long gone
And I have been long removed
From those fuller times
But still, when I feel around my heart
I find that it is missing things
Parts long lost and dearly missed,
And I sit here feeling fatally incomplete
And I know- that I can never be whole again.
But I still miss the dead,
And I miss the times
When I never knew
That I would live on
Missing the days when I was whole…
-So I still miss the dead
And the times when I was not hollowed by loss
Living every day with a lighter heart
So far from the times
when I would never be whole again.
And now, so far removed
from fuller times,
These few missing holes
they let in a chill wind
And somehow, these missing holes
they leave my heart heavy
And I know that it will grow heavier yet,
But I dread
That when I am lost
I die not just incomplete
Empty of all I could yet lose.
The Day My Uncle Died...
I was thinking about the smile on my uncle’s face….
This was a before he would “leave this place."
I'll never forget the words shortly before he died.
The more I thought about it, the more I cried.
He said, "you know Jimmy I wish I got to know you better."
I never received another phone
call or even a letter.
A few days later he was ready to go to a funeral.
But it was also him who received a burial.
I was shocked and amazed as to what happened.
The events took place. There was no way
I could "stop them."
Memories I had were from many years ago.
I often think about him. And I do miss him so!
I suppose many don't take the time to realize...
How quickly life passes...
Then someone dies.
Perhaps there's someone in your
life you can think of…
There's been a situation that you're
embarrassed to "speak of/"
A harsh word said, and angry thought was spoken.
And soon your relationship has been "broken."
This may be a good time with this person to spend.
Irregardless if they're what you'd call a "friend."
Everyone is important to God who reigns above.
We need to be filled with his mercy and love.
The person you haven't seen shall one day disappear...
The days are short... Our journey's end is so near!
May God speak to our heart and help us to see...
Where will you and I be spending our eternity???
By Jim Pemberton
Lived amongst the dead
Then decided to join them
You Drive me into this Malice, into this Maze
I can only see the last of days
Your Creation Failed With Me
Burn with malice as you bridge to the plains of ennui
I do not know?
(for the countless women, names unknown, who bore the brunt of Apartheid, and who fought the racist system at great cost to themselves and their families, and for my mother, Zubeida Moolla)
Pregnant, your husband on the run,
your daughter, a child, a few years old,
they hauled you in, these brutish men,
into the bowels of Apartheid's racist hell.
They wanted information, you gave them nothing,
these savage men, who skin happened to be lighter,
and white was right in South Africa back then,
but, you did not cower, you stood resolute,
you, my mother, faced them down, their power,
their 'racial superiority', their taunts, their threats.
You, my mother, would not, could not break,
You stood firm, you stood tall.
You, like the countless mothers did not break, did not fall.
You told me many things, of the pains, the struggles,
the scraping for scraps, the desolation of separation
from your beloved Tasneem and your beloved Azad,
my elder sister and brother, whom I could not grow
up with, your beloved children separated by time, by place,
by monstrous Apartheid, by brutish men,
whose skin just happened to be lighter.
You told me many things, as I grew older,
of the years in exile, of the winters that grew ever colder.
You were a fighter, for a just cause,
like countless other South African women,
you sacrificed much, you suffered the pangs,
of memories that cut into your bone, your marrow,
you resisted a system, an ideology, brutal and callous and narrow.
Yes, you lived to see freedom arrive, yet you suffered still,
a family torn apart, and struggling to rebuild a life,
all the while, nursing a void, that nothing could ever fill.
I salute you, mother, as I salute the nameless mothers,
the countless sisters, daughters, women of this land,
who fought, sacrificing it all for taking a moral stand.
I salute you, my mother, and though you have passed,
your body interred in your beloved South African soil,
you shall remain, within me, an ever-present reminder,
of the cost of freedom, the struggles, the hunger, the toil.
I salute you!
(for the brave women of South Africa, of all colours,
who fought against racial discrimination and Apartheid)
My ancestors came here long ago
Tough and strong not weak
But somewhere down along the line
Something went terribly wrong
And now I have to sit here and deal with my legacy
Of not what I thought it would be
Not where I choose to be right now
The legacy that’s me.
I can’t escape the past
The memories seem to last
Of the horrors of what has come before
The graveyard is the place
I can see it on my face
My family’s legacy of suicide
is haunting me.
My generational legacy
Is it going to kill me
Or will it just let sleeping dogs lie
And allow me to exist
Will it allow me to just to see
The me that I am meant to be
To live beyond my years
To grow beyond the tears
To handle all my fears
To defy what could have been
(November 13, 2010 Wausau, Wisconsin)
(c) Copyright 2010 by Christine A Kysely, All Rights Reserved
The storm I see you in
Caught in the race of Caïn
Held by the arms you cannot see--the conducter of Ennui
-No stronger than the void you hold within-
It began with a hope, an obsession
Casted into, slavery of repugnant possessions
Granted by, the Avaricious Lords, the ones we serve for
-They Told Us to pray, hope, away from despair, the despair caused by their immaculate Hands
Malice, envy, greed, was granted to me, The Feudal Dream, we want to be Them, just like him
-just how he solaces us, ambivalent hope, engendering knives to my throat
In this Valley of morning and weeping
Love lies bleeding, in desperate fear
With their talons, the hunt to rip out thy heart
As each velvet petal falls apart
Her body chained in their bile and lies, covered with their red-spy
-sent just to check if our souls are in line, do not defy
Her blood velvet and pure, drips away with innocence of the amber guardian
The soil of plagues, beggars, and graves
Is know her home, the coven of solace
Though the seed has died--resurrection Is near passing through death's fear
One stronger than you--and thy funeral skies
She is alive--anew
But the vapors still remain
The Apocalypse is here, do we fear?
Just for the death of our sins
Elysia never Seemed so far away
Solitary ruins, Fulfill their visions
We strayed far from the depths within
We all lingered to his solace--lies
-you make the sign everyday, but lack toknow the name
We are just the toys, he pulls all of the strings
We are nothing in this burning world
of Decadence, and Failed Semblance
Draconian--Reach for the shadows within
Draconian--Break from the Fallen's son
Draconian--Their empirical lies, only die
Draconian--Reach the shadows within
I do not know?
Grief took me by the hand
Lead where I didn't want to go
Straight into the valley of tears
That began to constantly flow
Now that grief had acquainted me
With sorrow in the vale of tears
It seemed at eternal spring of weeping
Was where I would constantly live
Then grief brought me up the mount
Where loved ones went before
When escorted in this place
The lessons to which exposed
Seems now working my way back
Changed forever from that meeting
Grief an aquaintance I had spurned
But now after the greeting
I will never be the same
Though given another hundred years
Grief taught me more in a few short fears
Than joy with all her pleasings
(in memoriam, Eugene Lawler, d. January 29, 2012, aged 83 years)
You fancied yourself a singer,
and indeed you were.
What songs we heard from you
you had made your own,
and you gave them freely
to all who would listen
(though we were just a few
who were, at times, inattentive.)
Time and remembrance may color
the images you left behind,
and the sentimental songs
you sang (and scribed on silver disks
for us to hear when, and if, we will),
may prod us to recall
your willful, dour demeanor
which could bloom into benevolence
or darken further in stormy sneers
at tardiness, or at perceived
maltreatment of any sort.
You were your own arbiter of behavior
who kept before you expectations
of what was appropriate, for yourself
and for us, the others of your kind.
We were few (still fewer now),
who flocked together on occasion
to celebrate, in quiet fashion,
whatever anniversary we chose --
perhaps your passing date
will become another to be marked.
And your voice, reproduced mechanically,
amplified, may remind us of our loss,
and of yours.
Mama cried when Papa died,
he was killed by a drunk on the interstate;
but Mama stopped shedding tears,
for she had a daughter yet to raise.
Mama cried when Becky died,
she was killed by an abusive husband;
but Mama stopped shedding tears,
for she had a grandson yet to raise.
Mama cried when Bobby died,
he was killed by an IED in Afghanistan;
but Mama stopped shedding tears,
for she had her own life yet to live.
No one on earth cried when Mama died,
she was killed by a deranged drug addicted junkie
for the seventeen dollars and change she had in her purse;
but the angels cried in paradise when Mama died.
W hen you go to someone's wedding
H ave you done so in clothes that are unsuitable?
E ver shown up for an evening out wearing shorts?
R emember the times when we "dressed" for dinner?
E ven now, some do so.
I t isn't everyday that special things happen in our lives...
S trange how inadequate we are in showing respect.
T here are times when a casual attitude is not offensive.
H ovever, that is for the mundane.
E ach one of us makes choices with regard to events in life.
R ecently, I attended the memorial for a friend's mother.
E very one who was there knew that this was a somber occasion.
S ome, however, did not take the time to think about their demeanor.
P erhaps we have gone overboard with our "casual" attitudes.
E xpectations for me are that one would come dressed for the ceremony.
C asual attire and wearing baseball caps are fine at a picnic, but
T hen, I was taught that social graces begin at home.
Do You find your-self
With-out a ladder
And just don't know
What to do?
Try the "Law Of Reciprocity"
Fore only good thing's come
Back to You!
Plant your-self a Seed
And then You shall
Have a Tree...
Just give it a little time
And soon you will have three...
Then You shall be able
For the very first time...
Strange or not
Odd and fun.
That’s not all
And still are
Strange and odd.
life is life.
Not is lies.
Truth seeps from
Lies, lies, lies
Move, move, move
Lies are life.
Lies are death.
Lies are homes.
Lies are pain.
Lies are truth.
Truth is life.
Truth is death.
Truth is home.
Truth is pain.
Truth is lie.
Truth is that.
Lies will die.
Lies will cease.
Truth will live.
Truth will be.
Many Have Gone On Before Me…
As I grow old, many I know have gone on before me.
Some I didn’t know. And some knew me.
In our lives, there’s one thing that’s very certain.
We don’t know when we’ll meet life’s “final curtain.”
No matter how we try to look, or seek a “younger appeal.”
One day, old age comes, and the end of life seems real!
Our lives down here, could end tomorrow!
No matter how many years we may try to “borrow.”
God knows when the end of our lives will be!
The question is: Where will you spend your eternity?
You may seek all of this world’s wealth and fame.
But when death comes calling…
It knows your name!
You can go through life, and keep “pretending.”
But God knows when your life will be ending!
He’s prepared for you, a place in his eternal city.
There’ll be no more sorrow, pain or pity!
All of the angels in heaven await your choice!
Each person coming to heaven,,, They all rejoice!
Jesus loves you! This is great news!
His gift of salvation... Please don’t refuse!
Think about those who’ve gone on before you!
And the wonderful God that always knew you!
Every breath you breathe… Each step that’s taken…
Jesus is your only hope and secure foundation!
By Jim Pemberton
My friends, this saga slowly unfurls
a love story that went quickly awry,
seems greedy Bob dated a pair of girls
when with one, to the other he’d lie.
The homlier girl’s name was Edith
who, nonetheless Bob was fond of,
but, greedy Bob wanted to live out the “myth”
and with sisters, he was sure to find love !
He began slyly asking about sister Kate
for her beauty was equalled by few,
she was young, and he believed her well worth the wait
she had enough sex appeal for two !
Bob’s antics had him severely troubled
because, he covered his tracks day and night,
his love-making prowess had quickly doubled
so his lovelife was going just right !
Well, finally Bob’s saga ended in terror
because the girls both found out what he’d done,
Bob had mixed their names up, in a passionate error
and what transpired next, was not very fun !
One of the sisters had taken Bob’s life
because he’d proven he couldn’t be “true”,
and the lesson he learned, at the end of that knife
taught, “you can’t have your Kate…..and Edith, too !
On roads to nowhere/everywhere
white crosses dot the countryside seeking
a final resting place abandoned now to
wait for plastic flowers to be placed as if
somehow this will bring closure to loved ones
who mourn their passing from interstate to ether state
from sadness to glory from son daughter mother father
grandfather orphan to eternal rest.
White crosses maybe one maybe five
returning to death no longer alive.
one brief instant horror to blessed rest
on a cold siding/a concrete ribbon/
a drainage ditch/a nowhere road.
Are they resting there or are they crying
to let them be with others in this clay
state that means nothing.
now the remains of yesterday clinging to memories faded as
the plastic flowers/teddy bears/grayed out names that
mean nothing to but a simple few who will
not let them rest.
Oh my soul mourns to let them free
let Jeanette go free Bill S. on that lonely road
let B.R. road worker lay his tools and vest and
hard hat down Fred S. is a memory nothing more
nothing less/let them rest … we long to be at rest
not be looked upon by passersby who
wonder why our crosses are in the middle of
Nowhere/we are nowhere to be found.
We cry for justice of the past/let us sleep where
we are not where the metal and pain and stench and broken
glass found us …
He never played by published rules --
he lived his life as he saw fit;
instead, he left to other fools
their rash pursuits, the glory bit.
He studied gulls -- the birds, their flight --
and wondered why they shrieked all night.
Dark shadows deepened in his eyes;
the light from shaded windows faded.
He heard the shrill, the poignant cries
of gulls in flight from perches traded
for graying, vague, and empty skies.
At last he knew what birds foretold.
In dry whispers, with rasping breath,
he greeted the arrival of cold-
natured, bony-fingered, grasping Death.
Inspired by the untimely deaths of young people I knew. RIP
In a dream, tonight would be my last
and I demanded to talk to God.
Of all the things I've gotten past,
to go now seemed so odd.
"You've taken all my friends you see
and now you want me, too?
Unlike one who pretends to be
I've always honored you."
Those sinners who outlive me still,
all I have to ask is how?
It mad me question His very will.
Why take a good man now?
But God just sat and let me rave
on and on about my worth
and why I didn't need a grave,
but rather eternity here on earth.
Pride let my voice be rather loud.
He never said a word.
I told of deeds that made me proud
and good things that I'd heard.
And when I tired He simply said,
"No doubt your life's been good.
But many younger are now dead
and their legacy simply would
be the song that is never sung,
no children call them dad.
for they came to me so very young
and left the world confused and sad.
Yet now your time has come as well
and selfish thoughts are all I hear?
Your life was full and I can tell
it's really death you fear.
Just remember that you have no choice,
for you all will one day die.
Be strong and with a humble voice
tell loved ones they can cry."
And in that moment I knew a peace,
and I felt a tear well up inside.
That most feared was now the least
as my selfish motives died.
There was no casket to be set into the earth.
Only memories were to be burried washed clean
by the bottles embrace.
Strangers do we part a vist to a familar cold place
by the oceans shore.
Words spoken never hurt when you understand
The dark inwhich I only know.
A dark river flowing unto the sea.
Its broken current flow's with no true direction.
As children we start fresh only to loose the spark.
Dancing under a shroud of tenderness apon lifes
Bitter souls reflect anger lost only tears of regret.
Me i just cast demons down in some twisted hope
I just might forget.
Sometimes you gotta realize when you crash through that glass
celling you only got to look forward to the floor.
The bottle now empty I cast into the dark waters
Along with a memory I'll pretend to erase.
Distanse is only a thought away.
The road echos my lifes song.
Underground burried so deadly the truth
just as sweet as the lie.
Barbwire and daydreams plague my soul.
Like the bottle that sit's within the depths
of a water cast tomb.
I know strangers as friends.
Night as backdrop.
Farewell seems fitting as hello.
When the river has run dry
To whom will go?
Read more: http://hellopoetry.com/poem/the-death-of-a-friend/#ixzz0suxHEd00
The Aphotic rays reach higher
And shame, shade reigns over all
Lacuna, Apathy is all I feel as I fall into the ashed grave
I'm living, the slowest way to die
Elysia, rapture where are you now
What will I do when the flame is extinguished
What will I do when I drown in ash
What will I do when they sing my name in funeral dirges
How can this be all, one short organic vitality
Scares to die, but afraid of a new day
Scared to die, but so afraid of a new day
Will I Ressructe to Paradise, burn in Hell, or lay in Sheol
Is this a there is, one feather, to the dirge
My life so long - my suffering grows
Scared to die, but so afraid of a new day
In all of the ashes, a flame begins
Once again, here I am
Living, the slowest way to die