I made some mistakes, let my head get straight to jealousy
One thing I could never get over was that instinctive tendency
I was the easel to your painting, the necessity but not necessarily
You leaned against my support, just to fold me up and discard, victim of your dissection
Strokes fulfilling your streaks of confidence, unfinished to perfection
The easel of your time until my predecease
Paintings can’t revert
Easels are reusable
I’ll support a new masterpiece
The nails and screws holding me together are withering
Unable to decide between beauty and grace, cyclically dithering
I don’t want to make the same mistakes
Gambling my love for you in sweepstakes
Categories:
predecease, 12th grade, anxiety, feelings,
Form: Rhyme
My husband wants his ashes sprinkled
Right in Central Park.
He’s picked the spot and hopes that I
Find that specific mark.
Of course, I hope I predecease
So someone else will do it.
In that case, he’ll have my request
And hope that he hops to it.
For I would like the gardens near
The river to embrace
What’s left of me, for that would be
The perfect resting place.
Why not tossed into the water?
You may think I’m slightly dim
But although I’ll just be ashes,
I can barely even swim!
Categories:
predecease, husband, me,
Form: Rhyme
We treaded beneath the harvest moon
cursing the viper beneath the hideous act
that had left a man gibbering "Ave Maria",
too frightened to predecease his age mates
he lay lifeless on his death bed
a cosy platform made of fine bamboo
and his eyes spinned as if in a hex
drum beats acclaimed our arrival
at the abode of Sango the wizard of wizards
of course we had with us a black heifer,
snout enough to entice the gods
we entered the rounded hut willy-nilly
and quietly we fell on a Columbus skin
the accustomed comfort for the doctor's guests
the famed hermit displayed his aptitude
arrayed in mysterious amulets he looked creepy
and sure indeed our ticks palpitated
dancing in circles marked the preliminaries
before moving on to palpate,
his already awe-stricken patient
slowly the patient was made to gulp
a mysterious potion from Sango's secret recipe
which we all thought tasted like tonic water
that was one of our visit to a warlock
and sure enough it proved fruitful
for the patient -that- was lives to tell
of how magic had beat science
Categories:
predecease, magic,
Form: Narrative