Long Obituary Poems
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Many years ago, birth announcements caught my eye.
But now, obituaries top my morning read.
Oh yes, these pictures stare at me with smiles.
Within each dear face- a small snap of life:
some, with expressions caught in younger days-
and others showing somber ones near death.
Below each face- the span of life in years-
and chosen words that list expected facts:
those left behind; accomplishments revealed.
Too short- to capture how they really lived.
This age- too many
stare at me from dark pages-
many I have known.
But those brief words never show
how sorely they will be missed.
October 18, 2021
Contest: Let's Mix It Up
Sponsor: Constance LaFrance
Theme: #1 Death
Unrhymed Couplet (2 lines)
Unrhymed Imagism (8 lines)
Tanka (5 lines)
Obituary of DAVID FRED JONES-
Here we gather today to pay homage of a lost brother whom lived and died
We honor him with are presents as we mourn his lost of live in this plane and time.. Today we celebrate the life of he whom we know and loved..
Obituary
Name: David Fred Jones
Nicknames: Dave/Too Tall Tavid
Date of birth: Thursday 11th January 1979 (Age 40)
Star sign: Capricorn
Nationality: British
Ethnicity: Mixed
Social class: Middle class
Religion:Agnostic
Sexuality: Straight
Education: PhD Business and Political science College graduate
Political views: Left
Relationship status: in a relationship with Wade Emma Dean(engaged)
Probable age if death 62
Probably cause of death killed during an extreme ironing competition
Coinciding with chronic lower respiratory disease heart disease from falling off a cliff
Funeral noteworthy attendees...
Wade Emma Dean, aged 70 girlfriend
Weston Herb Norton 62 friend
Elsie Israel Jones (nee Craig) aged 92 mother
Maximus Sonny Jones 67 brother
Kelly Ashton Shannon ex girl friend
Rest
In
Peace
DAVID FRED JONES
~1/11/79-5/12/19~
5/12/19
Ancient tomb where a lady does repose
Guarded always by her most faithful friends
Sarcophagus carved with eternal rose
Always safe forever they will defend.
This tomb completely lost to march of time
Buried deep under eternal city
Floral smell invades space it is sublime
The guards are stoic no sign of pity.
Life lived where duty did always prevail
Her young beauty was compromised by age
In declining years she became so frail
Yet, wisdom was boundless a mortal sage.
Her lost tomb and guards do not perceive time
Even though the city bells oft-times chime.
'Killing" time while homebound until...,
a cure gets distilled and/ or found
for pandemic, thus... I expound.
(Yupper - courtesy coronavirus CORVID-19),
how ja guess my good smear it in friend?! -
within Perkiomen Valley, Pennsylvania
toyed with thought to withhold or send
hmm... perhaps superstitious end
synonym with ominous trend,
methinks hoop fully auspicious,
and synonym with propitious will not abend
mine luckless mien kampf,
cuz the latter two similar lend
heft well woolworth
their weight in gold - words,
would moost notably, likely,
and heavily portend
toward disastrous, disadvantageous, disharmonious...
to Matthew Scott Harris,
whose time on Earth would
uninhibitedly, uneventfully, and unabashedly end
(ous ending intimating "possessing, full of...")
in this case foreboding...,
yours truly rendered permanently
incapacitated to offend
sense and sensibilities
honorable sacred tenets to poetics
tantamount to committing sacrilegious sin
if hypothetically practiced orthodox church goer,
and believer in reincarnation legend.
No matter getting cremated
(ha - of course after I die -)
good one, though... ha) crafting epitaph,
impossible mission to claim alibi,
while on leave from life,
and into cerulean heavenly sky
of course this guy would never lie
even in jest..., though all joking aside,
now tis golden opportunity well nigh
to compose obituary (mine of course),
one garden variety
(veggie burger eater) generic guy
who... doth not fear death, nor shy
about bidding permanent goodbye
to sordid vices that
DO NOT (no way) apply
to yours truly, he coon sitters himself...
well rather ho hum, (especially as singer -
for Curmudgeon Dummkopf Ensemble
(also known as the all star Schlemiel band),
no idea, I cannot explain why.
She was as tough as they come
they don’t make them like her anymore.
Hands in the dirt,
working in silent reverence
a way of life not long forgotten,
but suddenly remembered.
Beneath the tough exterior
lived a tender heart,
raising children of a lineage
that wasn’t hers,
yet answering the sacred call
to care for babes.
Her hands were never idle
always working with care,
magic pouring from her palms
as she wiped the sweat from her brow
in quiet remembrance
of earth,
sky,
stars,
and spirit.
True to herself,
a light in this world.
I remember the day
I placed my hand
on your cold body
one last earthbound touch
before we returned you home.
I never had bad dreams of you,
because I touched you
before they came to take you to God.
What was left of the woman
who cared for me,
loved me as her own
a love with no limits.
A mother’s love
that reaches beyond
the constructs of time.
The parlor was bright,
flowers climbing every wall
more than the funeral home
had ever seen.
A true matriarch,
now inspiring generations
from beyond.
Riding with my brother
to lay you to rest,
an ache rattled in my chest,
my gut drowning
in the tears
my eyes held hostage.
Driving behind the hearse,
Hank Williams’ crooning through Mr. Lincoln
on the radio
a regal calling,
a hymn to carry you home.
I remember the pink roses
on your casket.
Everything you nourished in this life
made room for more like you.
I see myself in you,
and I feel only honor.
You were my mom.
And I was daughter.
A knight on his steel steed
rides the wind on two wheels.
One with the elements
he enjoys how it feels.
He likes the biker look
not a big fan of suits.
And he's clad in leather
down to his stuffed-up boots.
His flaming hair and beard
complement his bronze tan.
And he's a fine figure,
of a masculine man.
A jack of all trades,
he was born to tinker.
And he loves to party,
but he's not a drinker.
Without a helmet on,
he puts on his best shades.
And mounts his love and joy,
like he's done for decades.
He's paid all of his dues,
it's time to say goodbye.
And ride to paradise,
under an open sky.
(Quatrain)
11/26/2017
Point of no return
7pm All the boys arrive at the sports bar/pub
7:30pm The championship game begins, first round of drinks
8:00pm 2nd round of beers, Johnny pays is in good mood
8:15pm Hometown team scores ahead 1-0 crowd goes wild
8:30pm Bill buys a round of shots for everyone, mood is high
8:45pm Hometown team scores again 2-0, sense of victory in the air
9:00pm Celebration starts with 3rd round of beers
9:15pm Visitors score silences the multitude of spectators
9:30pm Hometown team scores room erupts in applause
9:45pm Chanting Victory another round of beers, Bobby pays
10:00pm Visitors score 2 goals in quick succession, panic sets in
10:15pm Nervous customers swill shots awaiting final minute
10:30pm Final minute hometown score, win championship final 4-3
10:45pm Jeff buys round of shots in victory celebration.
11:00pm Everyone feels like a champion, decide to go home feeling good
11:15pm Johnny, Billy, Bobby, Jeff, get in the car together
11:16pm Johnny puts the key in the ignition
11:17pm Johnny drives drunk- kills everyone.
11:16pm Was the point of no return.
For Nicolas point of no return contest
December10,2016
Being or spirit whom to say
A living light, life with emotions
Who say that to which we are
A monkey's descendant or rock we crawl
That of a heart pumps with assistance
DNA similar in all aspects
The same red blood flow vein
Why different type, does make difference
That even pigments have its own color
Inner soul, a meaning with purpose
Some talk of light, as if hope believe
Believing that we are something more
A grasp of breath before death
That even in ourselves we kill existence
Our hearts as wicked as minds thought
We kill even our own hatred discontent
The heart, inner soul main function to life
A ghostly being walking earth or alien nation
The value of inner soul, the price for life
Chance to leave your print obituary reads
Or that of yourself picture paints memories
Psychologists opinion to human race
We judge another as we ourselves are guilty
Inner soul, truth or fake behind image
Sharing a journey of life and death
Inner soul, like a candle consume to light
the way for others
Dutiful discipline drives devoted diligence...
Quotidian dedication describes
das deft dude,
his promising passion
with English language
within recent past dim sum
might notice he brewed
poems about common
trials and tribulations food
for thought self sadist factorially
reasonably rhyming oft times
incorporating analogy, metaphor, simile
more so to stave
writer's block fortitude attitude
versus less to impress any
first time unknown reader,
or anonymous regular
guy/gal follower disproportionately
emphasizing burgeoning agonizing
travails analogously Druid
cursed his existence fearsome
oaf got me matt chewed
rendered into pulp fiction
subsequently spit viewed
within circle comprising
cannibalistic primate creatures
roam'n around within
makeshift amphitheater crude,
yet sophisticated as
simplistically configured, construed
convoluted edifice witnessed
snaking snarky conga line
weaving and bobbing amidst
totemic pillars where well
kneaded, muscled, oiled...
flesh glimmering while nude
on green acres, whereat
arbitrary petticoat junction etude
aired by linkedin foo fighting
beastie boys in the hood
paying homage to their
benevolent patron - Saint Jude
honoring self serving
cisco, duck, eagle - feather nesting
arrogant, bombastic, conceited...,
egos trumpeting barren airs
exuberantly keyed how
village people got royally screwed
taken to cleaners riverside,
whereby sudden deluge didst flood
courtesy of... mad
don (huh) feeling stewed,
who sought world dominance
raged at populace he should
receive nobel peace prize
and voted, nee crowned emperor
demanded cachet else...
he promised to force unglued
freedoms of life, liberty
and pursuit of happiness!
When you came home
you were flying high
chattering on about
all the lovely wild birds you had seen.
I was writing and nodding
not really listening,
just surfing
the harmonic waves of your words.
Eventually you fell silent.
Then - in a small voice:
“Do you think I am boring?”
The dusk began to paint an obituary.
Within a harrowing silence
a child's angry fist
began to beat upon my heart.
A hundred beautiful images of your
charmed and spontaneous nature
immediately broke
the thin ice of my mind.
I got up and sat next to you,
reached for your hand,
- my speech thick
with the weight of remorse:
“Tell me about the birds again."