The children are grown and gone
I'm four grand in the hole
from pet cremations and such.
Just two of us are left to the will of the dust
With less distractions and hodge podge plans
life has taken on a hue of fledgling madness.
Alone is our mutual garment.
So, tell me dear what have we... left
a single dull bulb-or crackling chandelier.
I'm often called upon to write a verse
for someone's birthday or a funeral,
four or eight lines,
rhyme scheme of ABAB or ABBA.
But here are no rhyming line ends -
those small, same-sound four-footer ones
or those that have five feet or even more,
oh more, more beats than that, yes more than that, oh more than that.
Yes, no rhymes, except at times
within lines, yes, as you can guess.
Great fun, even for burials or cremations.
(March 2022)
Some people say
Cremations
Out of their religion
Some people say
Cremations
In their religion
All I have to say
Every religion to respect other religions
FUNERALS
I’ve been to four cremations,
Just since the start of the year.
And we haven’t even reached August yet,
So some more may occur by the New Year
For we’re all getting more and more ancient
Of course we must expect it,
Nearing the end of our time.
In history no-one’s cheated death yet
The great certainty of this life is death
But nevertheless l miss some of them.
Last week, it was Bernard Jones,
Who I’d known since we were kids.
We made a bet way back in our twenties
About which one would outlive the other.
I’ve won the bet but he has the last laugh.
How could I claim my winnings?
He’s come out on top once more.
So as one by one they’ve all shuffled off;
I’ve done my duty and paid my respects.
But they’ll not be grateful to me for though
I’ve been to all their send-offs,
None of them will come to mine!
Date 19th September 2018
FUNERALS
I’ve been to four cremations,
Just since the start of the year.
And we haven’t even reached August yet,
So some more may occur by the New Year
For we’re all getting more and more ancient
Of course we must expect it,
Nearing the end of our time.
In history nobody’s cheated death yet
The great certainty of this life is death
But nevertheless l miss some of them.
Last week, it was Bernard Jones,
Who I’d known since we were kids.
We made a bet way back in our twenties
About which one would outlive the other.
I’ve won the bet but he has the last laugh.
How could I claim my winnings?
He’s come out on top once more.
So as one by one they’ve all shuffled off;
I’ve done my duty and paid my respects.
But they’ll not be grateful to me for though
I’ve been to all their funerals,
None of them will come to mine!
(Date 19th September 2018)
Dear someone,
there are no funerals
for the flesh
no hospitals
for the mind
no curtains and no cremations
for all out pretty words
paradigm,
you can't save every patient
sweet,
a corpse would warm your bed
Timeless,
the eyes and fractured wisdom,
the two of us, extremely prudent, suffering
the dislocation of vigilance against wrinkled sin,
I am on my own today
disconnected to
the unearthly rehearsal
of breaking the cycle of carbon assimilation
in the veins of white lies, of crude bombs,
moonbathing we were colloiding in void
of consciousness and scattered verses
in scriptures remained unsearched;
the brutal hierarchy of chromosomes,
loud and merciless, in the birth of new settlements,
huge ovens for cremations, collecting the golden
teeth from the ashes, celebrating the
return of blood and death, me,
blessing the unborn poem.
SATISH VERMA
Timeless,
the eyes and fractured wisdom,
the two of us, extremely prudent, suffering
the dislocation of vigilance against wrinkled sin,
I am on my own today
disconnected to
the unearthly rehearsal
of breaking the cycle of carbon assimilation
in the veins of white lies, of crude bombs,
moonbathing we were colloiding in void
of consciousness and scattered verses
in scriptures remained unsearched;
the brutal hierarchy of chromosomes,
loud and merciless, in the birth of new settlements,
huge ovens for cremations, collecting the golden
teeth from the ashes, celebrating the
return of blood and death, me,
blessing the unborn poem.
SATISH VERMA
I wonder how law
Comes in to play
We plead insanity
Lesser charges on the way
We are all insane
Each having our own little quirks
So, that brings me to wonder
If the Statute of Limitation works
I'm limited in thought sometimes
Vision has limited view
Limited in strength day after day
Patience has limits too
Is there a law that
That can prevent these Limitations
No. That's why we have so many
Burials and cremations.
to cremations
I once bled black sin
it poured from mine heart and kin
once cooled it curdled into crimson
heavy thick n haired like a bison
open and free to parch the land
to match the beat of the oncoming band
never in the crowded ground
whilst markers lost point to me found
chop down a tree and place me on it
burn my sins and flesh til they split
offer me up to the king of all
so that I may never again fall
but rise ever more onto him as a
burnt offering.