Sunday, August 14, 2016

August 14, 2016 The Sunday Whirl, Sunday's Whirligig, Poets United Poets Pantry/ When I was Dead

When I was Dead

my casket lays in view      the shoreline is as it always has been      teeming with life

i am but a corpse now        i've always wondered                   what would that be like

the casket rough-hewn       made by hand                          white sails again a blue sky

wearing my best italian shoes     a sunsuit just right for travel          my death is recent

all is new to me          i don't know what is expected         i stand apart from the others



the brook babbles               dashing over rocks                                 clashing in its' bed

on its' way to the sea     everyone seems to be going somewhere      pushing and shoving

i'll be staying right here        my journey over                                    i met the challenge

as best i could                       no more typos                               no more misspelled words

as i have received no instructions      i will stand silent      trusting in time all will be clear



the chips remain on the table         the game over                                 my mood dour

laying in the sun                             i am toasted                                    roasted

i never liked tanning                       i turn over                                       stretch

exhale                                              rays burn i rest                  on the crook of my arm

my death was not the result of a bullet                    instead it was the slimy thing i ate

August 14, 2016

















9 comments:

  1. You can make a thought i wouldn't want to think of into a thing of beauty - a casket full of humour, love, effort..life lived as only - YOU xo

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  2. This is an intriguing perspective to write from. I like the standing apart, waiting for instruction, or direction........staying right there, in the familiar till things become clear. Cool write, Annell.

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  3. Ha! Reminds me of the third act of Thornton Wilder's OUR TOWN--but your images are totally unique. I love the switch from worrying about writing correctly to toasting in the sun and then thinking of how death occurred. I haven't tried this perspective at all. Very surreal.

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  4. Hi, Annell. I like what you did with the words. A very interesting perspective. Hope all is well with you.

    Pamela ox

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  5. very interesting and intriguing point of view....

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  6. very interesting and intriguing point of view....

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  7. the brook babbles dashing over rocks clashing in its' bed on its' way to the sea
    everyone seems to be going somewhere
    pushing and shoving


    Sigh... beautifully poignant...!!

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  8. Lovely word-pictures and ideas. With the subject, the result should be morbid - but it isn't.
    As a compulsive editor, I hope you will take it as helpfully intended if I mention that 'its' as a word is already a possessive, so it doesn't take an apostrophe. The only time one comes in is to denote 'it is' - it's like this!

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  9. Grief is a slimy thing we have to eat when a loved one leaves us dead ourselves. How do we cope? Writing does help a bit.

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