Long Deceased Poems
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I'm a criminal and my name is Doctor Claw.
I'm very mean and I've broken every law.
Most people haven't seen my face and they'd better hope they never do.
I'm so ugly that if you see my face, you'll have a heart attack and it will kill you.
I recently learned that Inspector Gadget doesn't foil my crimes, I'm defeated by his niece.
She and her damn dog are the ones who defeat me, I won't rest until they're both deceased.
Chief Quimby is an idiot and he deserves to have those notes blow up in his face.
A part of me wants to give up crime because being defeated by a child is a disgrace.
(This poem was inspired by the Inspector Gadget cartoon.)
Originally Written on February 05, 2024; 12:13 AM
Written for my deceased grandmother: Purification C. Ferrer
In Manila, where work fills my days,
I’d visit for your birthday in so many ways.
I'd ask what you'd like to eat,
Papa would always say healthy,
but Jollibee was your treat.
Ignoring his advice with a quiet scheme,
You insisted “healthy lacks the dream”
This year, with an excuse in mind,
I missed your calls, a regret I find
On sunny days, meetings took my time,
On rainy ones, I chose sleep's climb.
Gloomy days slipped through, on silent phone,
Multiple times you called, I left them alone
In shadows of regret, where pain resides
Waiting for me, your patient heart
I’m sorry Mama a profound impart
I'm sorry, Mama, I wasn’t there
I’m sorry Mama, with all regrets
People say the dead can't hear, yet
Still, I pray my sorry reaches you, oh dear
I’m sorry Mama Ta with all my heart and sincere
And as Daddy CF would always say,
“I love you with all my heart”
In our reply, a sentiment clear
“I love you forever & ever"
We all wanted to inherit Aunt Ida’s ruby choker.
It is gorgeously set with rubies, emeralds and diamonds.
Are they real or fakes? Someone asked. .
Carol, a very annoying in-law.
She should have no right to this gorgeous piece.
We lied and told her they are all faux gems.
We know better.
But we know another thing about this relative.
She is a thief, so lying to her was easy.
I would wear it anyway, she told us.
Aunt Ida always cautioned us to never wear it to bed.
Our cousin Lulu inherited it.
Wore it to bed.
Was found the next day, deceased.
That’s when we decided Carol should have it.
We told her it would be good luck to wear it to bed.
Some Chihuahua dogs are hateful but you weren't hateful in the least.
You were a very special dog and it's painful because you're deceased.
Just one month ago today, you were still alive.
It's sad and heartbreaking because you didn't survive.
I didn't realize that you were sick until it was too late.
I lost a terrific dog and it's something I'll always hate.
I was hoping you'd survive long enough for me to take you to a vet.
But the animal hospitals were closed and it's something that I regret.
You were wonderful and it was painful to watch you die.
When a man loses a great dog, it's hard to say goodbye.
Your life came to an end in the evening on the ninth of December.
You were my Sweetie Pie and you're a pet who I'll always remember.
(Dedicated to Hazel who passed away on December 9, 2023)
If you are alive and on earth my brother
You better take every risk to succeed,
Even if you do not court any hazard
Existence is the biggest risk you must heed.
Some things about this life are just not fine.
You may gather remarkable wealth over time,
Skipping meals and working instead of sleeping
Until you end up with such abundance of dime;
But then your Jeep loses one of its speeding wheels
And you end up on the ice-cold slab of the morgue.
Some other lazy folks take over your hard-earned estate,
As other licentious rascals comfort your wife with a sinful song.
The biggest risk my uncultured brother
Is the fact that you live here on earth;
Here heavens give you the grace to make the world better,
And soon after the labor demise trims your mirth.
Something about our earthly existence is simply not alright.
You start the maturing of some expensive whisky, forty years in all;
If you are fifty, be sure other never-do-wells will sell your whisky,
Don’t think Azrael will watch you outlive the ninetieth fall.
So those impatient chaps will imbibe your distillation without gratitude,
Not even mentioning the name of the deceased fellow who brewed the thing,
And cursing the ‘idiot’ who made such a crisp thing to be by others imbued;
Not even humbled by the fact that the whisky is far much older than they!
Living is the greatest peril, man.
And if you dare attempt some funny suicide
To do away with the unbearable menace,
What do you think the final Judgment Council will decide?
That a brazen murderer you should burn forever.
You might be irreligious – but it’s a possibility still!
Gertrude Bangle
1895-1914
By name I was called Trudy.
When living.
Dear friends of the living,
Do you know Whittier town
Is a very haunted town?
Do you know my ghost still walks
Still silently steps by you?
Oblivious you?
Here in the stalking shade of the myrtles?
Here in the dark shadows of the walnuts?
I still seek the solace from a seeping sadness.
Still seek the light of truth
The air of freedom
In a dark smothering hole
Here in Mt. Olive Cemetery.
Come my friends, come to me now.
Come inside this old resting ground
This long deceased land of a thousand yawning holes
And find my wandering ghost.
You will find me lurking by the Bailey and the Baird graves
Here in the dark belly of death and life eternal.
Here in the stalking shade of the myrtles.
Goldfish appear to prefer the color orange
They have no arms to reach conclusions
Live out their lives in water bowls or tanks
Some college students swallow them as pranks
Bad people with no manners
Gold fish are not meant as snacks
Children spill them on the carpet in accidents
They are not guilty of killing their fishy friend
And when stepped on by their little feet
Well that was simply an experiment
Fish die all the time
Survival outside of water is not their style
Fish can't escape at times like this
Fins stop flapping. Fish comes to an end
Gold fish are not inclined to go to war
Or live on or off the floor
The military rejects them
They have deferments for their infirmities
Fish are lacking hands and feet
Goldfish don't walk on streets in evenings
They have no need and have fear of beatings
Preferring loitering in water to sidewalk journeys
They take no interest in dentists either
Goldfish have no teeth and don't eat sweets
Swimming around in its own feces
People are too lazy to change the bowl or feed it
Making for something sad and bleak to see
Inevitably flushed down the drain
No one gives a pittance
They all look exactly the same
Goldfish can easily be replaced
Just pick one up at the pet store
And give it the name of the deceased
Piecing together Harris/ Kuritsky tattered family tree
(Betsy Ross would beam at unflagging effort)
Ah, here all along yours truly
thought himself an abductee,
and/or zoologically
linkedin with chimpanzee,
hence imagine my disappointment
flipping laminated pages ye
ja undertook undoubtedly
painstaking effort,
plus wireless subcommittee
stitched together plain to see
helpful input thank you Amelie,
plus unnamed, undaunted,
and informed cousins
contributing to digging
into archives to help free
some unanswered nagging questions
only to generate others re:
garding ahem little feet
legs skinny as spaghetti
this haint no phallus si¿
lodged within me
noggin, which effort crudely
analogous fitting
prosthetic to amputee,
who understandably loosing limb,
would find her/him
screaming like banshee,
which one with diminished hearing
might sound like
suite (sweet) firebird stung
explaining flight of bumblebee
nonetheless, the bundled, compiled,
and detailed genealogy
courtesy eldest sister prithee
perhaps inspire "FAKE"
trumpeted voluminous tome twee
starring pooch donning
windblown heir spade fur -
or sporting canine toupee
with apt title regarding petsmart
bonafide muttering dog gone pedigree
hump backed es
in heat making whoopie
would become best selling fiction,
whereby Hollywood
might come calling
of course anonymous
actors/actresses,
or training one or another Arctic monkey,
where production costs
totally tubular less money
versus famous Homo
thespians portraying
long gone i.e. bissell mishuga
characterizing deceased exhumed
(figuratively) ghosts
might be (like...y'know...really) eerie
yet, a possible windfall
after signed contract
once all parties privy
to dramatize ancestors
unilaterally abide and agree
this unsolicited barkback feedback
countless many shindigs
witnessed predictable
yours truly absentee
soul (and sole) brother pulling
no shows claiming lame excuse
ah betcha I inherited emotional uncoupling
generations ago dirt poor peon,
perhaps unwitting creator
of peanut butter and jelly.
When hatred and fear become a fusion
We live in a terrible land of confusion
Watch the elite dogs all bark
When they see the revolutionary spark
The problem is our world is burning
And the masses not caring is concerning
The reality is intelligence is what they fear
So they keep us dumb so we'll never be a peer
Men gunned down relentlessly on the street
It is through racial division we find defeat
When we are locked in a war of brother versus brother
It gives the elites an excuse for our rights to smother
Let us be clear that it is not up for debate
That you cannot defeat hate with hate
This is the world we live in but is it worth fighting for
And if we're ready to do battle for more
For many existing day to day is just a pain
So many with nothing to gain, so many slain
When I watch the news it is with a heavy heart
At how families can be so easily ripped apart
Forever burdened by the deceased voices of the dead
Damned to an evil system their souls were fed
And those who remain are simply here to ask why
We allow ourselves to live this atrocious lie
The machine grows and promotes the groth of cancer
And I'm not here to pretend as if I have the answer
I'm just another guy trying to live out my insignificant dreams
In a world that crushes the imagination of children it seems
If we are ever going to defeat the greed
Hope is something we need
We live in a terrible land of confusion
But it does not have to be the final conclusion
Tiana used to brag that she could tame the ferocious striped beasts.
Common villagers laughed at the small girl with the all-knowing blue eyes.
Until she marched into their lair and came out alive, riding one of their cubs.
Clovershire was full of people who were afraid of Tiana’s mystical ways.
Now they were terrified of her, and her steed, a gallivanting frisky tiger.
And she was only ten years old.
Tiana and her tiger were soon battle trained with the knights.
No girl had ever done this until now, but King Virgil saw the true Tiana
For who she really was, and he wanted her to have the best ammunition.
Few knew that her birth had been forecasted in his main prophet Sai’s dreams.
None would have believed that King Virgil had been expecting her,
or that he dabbled in sorcery and magic.
Tiana became the fiercest combatant in Clovershire’s
history of battles and wars, slashing her way across bloody meadows.
Leaving deceased rival villagers hither and yon in pieces.
Villagers still tell the tale of Warrior Tiger Woman
none realizing she had been imagined and created by Sai and a warlock
twenty years before they could conjure her up, and present her to King Virgil.
Visualization is a powerful tool of mystics and sages.