Tag Archives: death

I Flick Through Contacts On My Mobile Phone

I flick through
Contacts on my mobile phone.
True they
Make it easy to
Keep in touch by phone
Or text,
Although it does vex
Me that technology
Renders memory
Unnecessary, for why keep
In your head
Numbers stored on the cold phone?
And you sleep
Forever in a house of stone,
Your number, dead,
On my useless phone.

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I Shall Sit Under This Graveyard Tree

I shall sit under this graveyard tree
And think on Gray’s Elegy.
The ploughman is as a sod
As are the great.
Oft of an evening late
I ponder on Gray
Who, one day
Wrote an Elegy
Which resonates now with me.
His verse will live on
Long after I am gone
And I doubt not
That this tree
Which overlooks this graveyard plot
Will outlast me.

The Picture

The picture stands out against the white
Of my living room wall.
A few birds still call.
A fascination with sunlight
Which, as I watch, slowly dies away.
The night
Takes the day
And the picture we see
Is lost in obscurity
Although we hope that this light
We borrow
Will be seen on the morrow,
But this we can not know.

How Convenient To Have A Graveyard So Close To My Home

How convenient to have a graveyard
So close to my home.
‘Twill not be hard
As, when I die
There will not be far to go
For my bones
But, you know
The place has remained undisturbed
By burials for many a year.
I am perturbed
And shed a tear
As I do not know
Where I shall go
When I die.

Perhaps my ashes will, in a pub find a place
And the drinker, with his or her flushed face
Will look at me and say,
“He used to drink this way.
Another beer
Here barman, for I feel suddenly queer
And must drink
Else I shall think
On dust
And he, who has into the grave been thrust!”.

I dislike
The idea of fire
And my desire
Is for burial. Yet the night
Will come down all the same
So why should I care
Whether I am consumed by flame
Or end up underground?
For the truth profound
Is that I will not be there
To know or care.

I am skin, sin, lust and dust

I am skin,
Sin,
Lust
And dust.
And one day I shall be thrust
Into a place
Where no trace
Of who I am now will be found
For underground
There is no sin or lust,
Only dust
Which once was thee or me

Throw A Stone Into A Brook

Throw a stone into a brook
And look
As the water ripples.
Then, when the ripples are gone
You may
Ponder, on yonder
Setting sun, or turn away
For to think on
Days end
Can be painful, my friend.