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Poetry Magnum Opus

Isn't it grand---


Benjamin
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With one hand

on the polished coffin,

the widow

(great female,)

was heard to say--

She had thought of cremation

but didn't want him over-done.

He was going 'that way' anyway.

She'd fantasized castration:

to have his 'bits'

preserved

as a door-knocker,

(that she could ignore)

for all those times he'd pestered her.

 

She smiled behind the veil

at prune-faced friends,

who looked on all men

with sharp disdain.

The priest spoke

(sanctimoniously)

of someone unfamiliar.

And I recalled what a friend of mine once said:

"Can you please tell me

where all the bad un's are laid?"

 

A barmaid giggled

at two dogs rutting

over by the railings.

And mourners

(bloody hypocrites)

wafted prayers like flatulence

around the grave.

They simpered at flowers

and drank whisky---(free)

from cups and bottles--

And a surge of relief

came with the soft brown earth,

as two world-weary prats

patted it tightly.

 

One broke wind:

they both laughed,

smoked a joint,

and then left.

Isn't it grand to be bloody dead.

Edited by Benjamin
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rosschandler

very well told little tale. its important to be able to convey ones message clearly from beginning to end. many people can use flowery words and crafty structures or forms but not everyone can do this as well as actually have something thought provoking to say. all in all i enjoyed this.

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Being dead solves a lot of problems. All, actually.

Drown your sorrows in drink, by all means, but the real sorrows can swim

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When I am in my grave and dead

And all my sorrows are past and fled

Transport me then into a fish

And let me swim in a jug of this

Tommy Makem

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I enjoyed this for its lazy, unfolding of sarcasm about the end state. Lyrical poetry with an interesting slant. Enjoyed the sonics too.

"Words are not things, and yet they are not non-things either." - Ann Lauterbach

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