Flying to a funeral—a poem
We will be happy for she was happy/ and strong and funny and old./ A good person who died old/after a single stroke.
Continue readingWe will be happy for she was happy/ and strong and funny and old./ A good person who died old/after a single stroke.
Continue readingNever mind that my last words / were “Bloody hell!” Bloody hell / was not the grand summation/ of my time on earth.
Continue readingMother (as we called her then) had lost her friend her dear friend Verity had died and Celia was sad. Three days later in the dead of night she had a visitation. Verity stood at the end of her bed laughing and laughing and laughing and shining with delight. Celia was enraged. “How dare you […]
Continue readingWhen Aunty Lesley died of tuberculosis
she was thirty and I was only three.
I have no memories of Aunty Lesley
I have no memories at all from little me
only the mythology of tragic death
(Reposted from 2015) In which I try to come to terms with Death by comparing Ruby’s God of Mud with Death as described by Steve Jobs. When Ruby (not her real name) was very young, she used to share her insights into life, the universe and everything. I wrote down 79 of these as found poems. […]
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