DEATH SONNETS

“HAPPY FUNERAL.” (Song – a sort of “Happy Birthday”)

It may seem strange for something that’s so sad,

in the circumstances, acting so cool.

But we’re respecting you, and that ain’t bad.

Here to say goodbye. Happy Funeral.

 

We’ll think of you and celebrate your life,

‘though consider the taking of you cruel.

If living’s cake, yours’ was a mighty slice.

Thanks for what you gave. Happy Funeral.

 

Not a birthday with those sort of wishes,

or wedding, or occasions multiple,

where joyful, celebratory speeches.

But you’ve been just great. Happy Funeral.

 

In our memory, you’ll stay integral.

Your end of it all. Happy Funeral.

LOSS

Coping with inevitability.

Placed, in time, at the awful happening.

With unreasoning sensitivity,

would cry at the loss of everything.

 

Loss of loved one in this category.

Sentenced to carry on alone whilst lost.

That one of us goes first, mandatory.

But it is at an unbearable cost.

 

Shaking my fist at its proximity.

Hitting one’s head on the wall. That upset

at the condition, merits sympathy.

It’s as devastating as it can get.

 

Endure then accept, inevitably.

Not be with the grief interminably.

FUNERAL EULOGY.

Goodbye and thank you. Thanks for your presence.

Farewell and god bless. Thanks for being there.

Yours, I can say, a rare intelligence.

Your going, almost to awful to bear.

 

Goodbye and thank you. Great to have known you.

Farewell and god bless. You enhanced my life.

So many memories I can recall.

Through troubles, with you ev’rything alright.

 

What I want to say. Thank you and Goodbye.

I say it to you. God bless and Farewell.

Thinking of you gone, will mean a sad sigh.

And emotions much more than I can tell.

 

I have been lucky. Lucky to know you.

Just saddened that the time spent with you, flew.

GOTHIC MIND.

Over the backyard wall comes that devil,

to claim a soul and carry it away.

Then across the ground, mostly unlevel,

his passage, without intention to stay.

 

Camouflaged in the darkness of the night,

Stealthily approaches destination.

Back to the shadows when the light goes bright.

Torch, unnecessary information.

 

Role; to convert a person to nothing;

Empty shell leaving behind for decay.

Extraction of the spirit is his thing;

To secure from the failed without delay.

 

Gothic imagining, seeing ahead.

Trick of being taken from body dead.

ALONE.

So many poor souls have all died alone.

We too could have similar sad endings.

Friendless, perhaps comfortless, on our own.

Who we’re with, if anyone, depending.

 

It’s fate, if there’s someone there to hold hand.

A person who you like and likes you too.

Priceless presence, care that you understand.

So precious, fond farewell that’s right for you.

 

But a strong possibility, alone.

Then, no memory would be a blessing.

Won’t comprehend. What’s that when it’s at home?

Well before then was time for confessing.

 

Just a person whose life deeds have been sown.

It’s chance, to go acknowledged or alone.

DEATH CERTIFICATE.

Actually unimaginable.

Practically inconceivable too.

To be named as such, not comparable

with the death of others but remains true.

 

Cause denoted on the certificate.

With reasonableness, explained away.

Those who want to, can then pontificate.

Inevitably happens anyway.

 

I, for one, not be participating

That is what I am anticipating.

Unless someone’s been impersonating.

Delusion, though, as passed hesitating.

 

I’ll be elsewhere, unimaginably.

What killed by, will be referring to me.

MOMENT OF DEATH.

It’s coming surely as night follows day.

Experience, to end all, on its way.

Simply put, I’ll not be allowed to stay.

What happens happens. The fears to allay.

 

Flat out, gasping, awaiting conscious loss.

All but my face, perhaps, covered with cloth.

Last breath, last thought, slip into sleep; life lost.

Hard, immovable bone, as look goes soft.

 

The moment deemed to be unfortunate.

Consequence oft thought disproportionate.

At certain point, process will culminate.

Date and time no more indeterminate.

 

Position, then, of helplessness, utter,

Concluded with a final heart flutter.

RELENTLESS

Feels like nothing I can do about it.

Every day and night just comes and goes.

Seeds of my destruction incubated.

So much so, am, now and then, comatose.

 

Takes its toll, the second hand going round.

Still keep my disparate parts together.

No purpose for it, is there to be found,

save being saved for this strange endeavor.

 

Yet it is relentless in its slow way.

And I age imperceptibly, really,

as each moment I’ve known passes away.

The cost of my life to be paid dearly.

 

What to do is absolutely absent.

Interspersed, till the end, with each event.

THE HUMAN CONDITION.

Reflection on the human condition.

Obviously, not always in control.

Serious gaps filled with superstition.

Sometimes bad fortune, some good, on a roll.

 

At core is a vulnerability.

Knowledge of one’s own death, which can’t alter.

To one side with intense activity,

but even a mindful life will falter.

 

It’s physical in the end. Flourishing

and fading. Going, stopping. Thoughts, then none.

Life is, and it isn’t, encouraging.

When one’s time is up, there’s no extension.

 

But what a gift, here with these faculties.

Enjoy living, yet, not fully at ease.

ROCK AND A HARD PLACE.

So, in the end, there is nothing. Nothing.

Having life, now that sure is something.

The tribulations. Huffing and puffing.

But means little as means of answering.

 

For what is meaning? Just something contrived.

Giving purpose within which to reside.

Living’s justification is implied.

By doing something outwardly applied.

 

Yet, I will become dust, and even less.

No brain cells functioning. Not me. Useless.

It will happen, and pointless to protest.

Notion of anything more, lay to rest.

 

But life can be grievous, and hard to face.

No meaning beyond. Rock and a hard place.

IRONY

Win the lottery on the day you die.

Arrive and say ‘hello’. Told ‘Go. Goodbye’.

Chance of betterment but bet will not try.

Questions never asked, receive a reply.

 

Think, I’m on stage, but the curtain comes down.

Into the final act, the beginning.

What I thought lost for good, suddenly found.

Fortune, misfortune, sends straight head spinning.

 

A conundrum, the Lazarus effect.

Forgiven, I suppose, but do not care.

Return to life unlikely I expect.

All to be gone but will feel no despair.

 

House of cards strewn as vigorously fanned.

Could not be worse…At last, dealt a good hand. ???

ZOMBIE

It is not a natural state to be.

Dead, but somehow alive, allegedly.

Something in a horror film you might see.

A zombie; a ‘not all there’ entity.

 

Intensity, though, about the absence.

Wants to attain what’s unattainable.

Unachievable, but desire immense.

And effort. To live once again is all.

 

But already a lifeless existence.

A surly state, from long desperation.

The longing has been with such persistence.

Forever halving half-life damnation.

 

In the past, was potential to fulfil.

Now, lost soul, and lessening mindless will.

WHAT’S THE POINT?

What is the point of annihilation?

Putting an end to it. To be humbled.

But why the complete disintegration?

The same whether we’re cowardly or bold.

 

Why enforced complete and utter ruin?

Not having any communication.

Humankind, but not me, is renewing.

So very harsh, the extermination.

 

So, the aftermath, obliteration.

About which, no worthwhile information.

Could be a pain free initiation.

But then there’s no further intimation.

 

To cease to exist in entirety.

For my being, it is calamity.

SOUL

I believe there’s a metaphoric soul.

A compository of compassion.

Wisdom and virtue’s purposeful control.

Unbowed to everyday distraction.

 

This soul may lead to the unexpected,

comprising faith, belief, morality

in varying degrees, introspective.

Perhaps this could outlast mortality.

 

Is this a comforting superstition

for responses whilst alive for when dead?

Linked to beneficial intuition.

And not absence, but life beyond, instead.

 

Unevidenced the passage of the soul.

Yet, still worthwhile, metaphysical role.

WHAT IS DEATH?

So diabolically tortuous.

Notions of what it is like to be dead.

Extremes of what could be are infamous.

For activity, what is there instead?

 

Without body function or consciousness.

No control over the slightest aspect.

Nothing new that’s taken my interest.

Whatever will be, I cannot expect.

 

No playing any more with thoughts and words.

An absence of essence; of being me.

Disintegration can never be stirred.

Feel all that now, but not then, intensely.

 

Gone. Gone. Gone beyond. Forever beyond.

With lives before, now, and to come, this bond.

POSSESSIONS

No need for attachment to anything.

Objects I know have a life of their own.

In my life they still form an anchoring.

But, after me, in someone else’s home.

 

All trophies will lose their meaning for me.

Treasure them now but they’re only short hold.

Into another’s hands their destiny.

They’ll not be mine anymore when all’s told.

 

Like loved ones, will be lost from memory.

As forgetfulness clouds over my mind.

So everything will be dead to me.

No cause for worry, then. I’ll be resigned.

 

No clutching on to dearest possessions.

Their stories with me will be lost legends.

CONTEMPLATING DEATH.

Few things impinge on the morbidity,

that infiltrates much of my poetry.

Occasionally serendipity

appears, averting a calamity.

 

In this mode of my creativity

disbelief surfaces at my demise.

Although have this innate ability,

I’m prevented seeing beyond these eyes.

 

Yet I know that an end is haunting me.

And therefore ending sensitivity.

So why delve for the words, incredibly,

that seek to make a connectivity?

 

‘though I do not think I really succeed,

it’s for this contemplation feel the need.

ACCEPTANCE

In due course I will be left with nothing.

Not even myself. Nothing sentient.

Oblivion forever. There’s the thing.

Understand, accept what I can’t prevent.

 

And, here, a life that is solitary.

A preparation of sorts, I suppose.

The decline will be involuntary.

My pride … acuity of thought … it goes.

 

So, the return to meaningless awaits.

Darkening the glossy glow of the light.

End avoidance, the ultimate to face.

If asked, I’d say, and even mean, “alright”.

 

This last word’s subtle ambiguity,

can drift me into perpetuity.