Joints and tendons ache
Water works partly block
Teeth; gums you forsake
In the mix, the odd rock
Nobody prepares you
Suddenly, the decline
Friends not foes, few
You want to only recline
Like yesterday's news
You are now quite stale
Worth very few views
Repeating a woeful tale
Your pals drop dead
On goes the count
Next obit to be read?
As health events mount
I
If any writer here didn't like him --
If Souper One, or 2023, dislike Rico,
Please correct my notion: Rico made you smile
Even when you hated to smile or laugh
ThanX Rico for leaving your fingerprints here
More respectful than boot prints --
You tried to enjoy life, and people,
Even when people deserved less
Godspeed! I know you fought "mind control"
Free Spirit who wanted the best of GOD
Thanks Anaya (I am Anaya) for "epitaphing" well
OBIT
unrequited love was
found dead last night
naked and alone
in a hotel room
killed by a single shot
to the heart
police have no suspects
at this time think suicide
was the cause there is
no family to speak of
although countless thousands
have sent flowers
Reading obits Frank had quite a surprise
There he learned of his untimely demise
'Twas beyond his belief
But he read with relief
'Twas another Frank with a name likewise
Unless you have indisputable proof to the contrary
Always trust a friend who tells you they read your obituary
They wouldn't lie, they'd spit it out
It's not something people lie about
A real clue, you're not up to par, heading for a cemetery
The Gravity of an Eternal Obit
David J Walker
Scarlet, Red, Rust
The colors of the Scorpio
Whose path crossed the
Capricorn both black and brown
Woke to the uncharted space
Between us
The dance of ages
The embrace of creation
the planet of transformation
Yours was the flower
waiting to bloom
I was the gardener of patience
You were the physician in the
Waiting room
I was the emergency patient
And now I am the moon
Caught in the gravity of
An eternal obit
Unless you have indisputable proof to the contrary
Always trust a friend who tells you they read your obituary
They wouldn't lie, they'd spit it out
It's not something people lie about
A real clue, you're not up to par, heading for a cemetery
With 365 days of mourning
we'll never need the news.
Or even read the paper
for any kind of clues.
We'll always have our mission
to bury all the dead.
And never stray from suffering
to make the trip ahead.
We'll always feel the shame
we didn't do enough.
and never need to blame
another for our slough.
We'll always see no choice;
the end was coming near.
And take the time to pray
foresaking all the fear.
We'll swallow all our tears
for what we didn't do.
Accepting all our fates
for what's aqquainted to.
And relive all our past
for what's been print to view.
Accepting what the term
obit has claimed for you.
Make a wish
to summon
the fish to crowd
around so he'll
be found.
I'll always see
his little shape
in the shallows
of the lake,
forever to bathe
in his Betta
baptismal
grave.
In the beauty of his obit, (this
soulful man), there was one omission:
His soul was purloined in a world
of privilege, too much permission.
Freddie, where were you when
I was ready. Now, only your
music plays in my mind.
There's no rewind.
for Freddie Mercury w/ love
Have you ever wondered
As time goes marching on
When someone who you knew quite well
Goes to the Great Beyond?
Although this person that you knew
Always did their best
They had many little flaws
Of which you could attest.
No one is perfect need not be said
It’s certain that’s for sure.
But strong or weak we all go on
We’re able to endure.
That being said now here’s my point
It’s a gripe that I submit
When I open up the paper
And look up their obit.
As I said nobody’s perfect
That should go unsaid
But you’d think they walked on water
Once you get the obit read.
You’d think they were devoid of flaws
They were angels all aglow
Not one single fault
Pure as the driven snow!
Just once I’d like to read
An obit with this to tell
“this person wasn’t all that great
And may end up in Hell”!
A great man is dead
How do you measure that? How do you say
That certain of bread
Condoned not that he ate and just walked away?
When a man assumes
Certain responsibility, how do make his task
Unique? What fine brooms
Do you use to tell if his face is but a mask?
A great one his dead
Honor him, honor him well. O but too late
If you honor the dead.
Did his work merit the passion of the state?
Then our one tribute
Is to make a man's work eternal; all his dreams
Give means to salute
The people passing in their mourning streams.
Born January 31, 1953 – Rev. Rebecca Guile Hudson – Died January 30, 2048
HeRe, tell the truth,
liEs The Right Reverend Hudson
reBorn almost a century ago –
thE time was winter,
suCh long, long hours
baCk in cold, cold days
clAndestine rape
SaFety was unim-
poRtant for women
whO were married –
noNe spoke of
suCh
thIngs back
thEn
By God! This woman
refUsed to let that
get In the way of
her Living –
she Excelled at life
AlcHemist,
she Understood her birth
diD not define or restrict
her Self, her choices, her
lOve, her presence, or her death – she
kNew, with certainty: only truth is true!
Nota Bene – January 30, 2048 is the 100th anniversary of Gandhi’s assassination
We Thank All That Is Good She Was Here!
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