Tag Archives: death
Murder
I am repulsed by the weight of my skin
As if my every breath is a sin
Emotional trauma’s affection
Dissociative disconnection
Grappling a height I’ll never climb
For long ago, I was left behind
Every step I’ve made, I’ve done alone
Bitterness in my haunted bones
Illusions of love, of commitment, of joy
Are rotting with lies set to destroy
At times, I believe, I will rise above
That I will know peace of the mythical dove
But the curtain falls and the show is done
And I realize I have never won
I’ve stepped in line with my own path
Which cost me relationships in its wrath
But choices made were neither bad nor good
But all were made from a basic falsehood
That I was never good enough no matter how I tried
So, you see, I murdered her, so that I could live and thrive
Narcissus
I am the fairest in the land
I will not grant you to hold my hand
Women weep and lords they kneel
So taken are they by my appeal
I am a hunter, true, by trade
But that is not where my fortune’s made
For none can compare to my majesty
For those left behind me, it’s a tragedy
while wandering eve in forest’s thicket
the dusking chorus of chirping crickets
I leaned over the pool so clear and still
I heard the song of whippoorwill
Taken was I by the vision I saw there
With bright green eyes and curly hair
Immediately I fell head over heels
Born-again with religious zeal
I had finally met my illustrious mate
The vision fading as it grew late
I fitfully slept on the water’s edge
Praying not some sortilege
At morning star, I approached the shore
Gazing with beloved ardour
And there reflected so I could see
The most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen
But every time I attempted to touch the hand
Ripples destroyed us like a reprimand
I beat my chest in furious pounds
Wrecking the forest with ferocious sounds
I wept to be kept from whom I truly desired
My chest turned purple, my loins afire
So intense was my love that I wasted away
And a flower with my name is known to this day
Narcissus, they say at my beauty unmatched,
Your vanity, your curse, will not be dispatched.
Hero’s Quest
Moonlight ignites the open shore
Heroic lives are no more
Ballads sung of victories won
will mist away in morning sun
Still, the waves continue on
The sword declaring, “It is done.”
Forgetful kisses of water and sand
Corpses recovered to the land
Formidible fortress now is silent
Peace ironic after the violence.
Groundhog Day
The atmosphere is filled with fear
While the scythe swings deathly near
Labored breathing, barely there
Scars of battles warn: Beware!
The flies swarm round like vultures keening
Recycled life of profound meaning
The Otherwhere claims the tiny soul
Regret is mine for the life I stole
Who knew?
I have a client whom I’ve been with for over 8 months. I companion care he and his wife three times a week. He is extroverted, claims he hates people while socializing, laughs with his entire body, and is charmingly impish. She is quiet, speaks when spoken to, defers to her husband, but is sweet and expressive when she feels it.
I was doing a normal Thursday visit. He was in rare form. He declared himself indomitable then laughed when myself and his other visitor cheered his word choice. It was a grand celebration of friendship and excellent conversation.
The following morning I received a text that said things had taken a turn for the worse and he was in dire straits. Could I go visit? Absolutely.
Dire straits is an understatement. Although no fever, he was having a health crisis not experienced before. The secondary visitor of Thursday was informed of the situation and they also arrived. It was crushing to know that what we experienced the day before had done a 180. His stats were critically low, but being on hospice, comfort was key.
We prayed.
Okay, I confess, I thought prayer, like funerals, were for the comfort of the person attending to their love. Positive vibes and all that. I prayed to the Universe that peace would prevail, that the highest good would be met, and that his children would arrive in time to attend the final hours. He was put on several prayer chains, of which, I’ve also been skeptical.
For four days he knocked on death’s door. He wasn’t eating or drinking. He couldn’t swallow. He was doing a version of Cheyne-Stokes breathing (It’s kind of like a fish out of water. Because they can’t swallow, the mucus that normally goes down remains in the throat causing a “rattling” sound) He knocked hard, but…nobody was home?
Tuesday he was awake and aware of visitors; even speaking.
By Thursday he was sitting up in his chair, conversing, demanding, agitated that he couldn’t exercise “to stay fit.” He ate more than he had all week. He drank hot tea. He was cranky, but alert and responding to input.
Okay, so let me explain why this struck me as unusual. I honestly believed, as did the nursing staff, that he was going to die. His body showed all the signs of that coming up quickly. The children (my age and better), were told to prepare. But, what changed?
I’m sure there is a scientific reason for his sudden turn-around. I’ve seen and experienced people doing a “rally” (That’s when the dying person suddenly has a burst of energy that can make them seem competely “normal” again. They may want to eat their favorite foods, or drink, or talk with their loved ones. It happens surprisingly often.) Four days of awareness is unusual.
This particular set of events has really forced me to confront my views on prayer, on my own experience, and honestly, I feel like a bit of imposter. However, I’ll take the guidance of my fellow guest and roll with the grace that has been granted with this incredible occurance. I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to be wrong, yet I want so badly to understand.
The next few days, other family members will be attending to him in conjunction with his children.
I will continue to pray. I am baffled, feel awkward in my Unitarian Universalist faith, curious as all get out, and willing to laugh at myself for thinking I knew enough. Do we ever?
Unknown Sacrifice
The earth requires sacrifice
The blood of generations
Spilled to sate the thirst
Women’s children slain
Prayers washing sins away
From the dearly departed
Best dressed pieces
Shards of life protruding
Draining deeply into the mud
Returning to the dust
willing to be sheep for causes
Draped in flags of uniform coffins
Souls unwittingly worth pennies to borrow
Billionaire comfort on widow’s grief and sorrow
Whatever The Face (VIDEO)
Beauty of Grief
Where is the beauty found in grief
when the eyes swell up without relief
and spill in torrents over cheeks?
when snot runs thick filling tissue upon tissue
and sobs are wrought of unresolved issues?
Where is the beauty found in grief
where emotions steal time like a skillful thief
rejecting what is, without relief?
An alteration of time, of space
pilfered from the “what was” place?
Where is the beauty found in grief
a loving acknowledgement of the deceased
acceptance of the transition to their newborn peace
One breath forward in the journey of healing
At the altar of death knelt keening
The Last Birthday
For Alan England
We gathered in joy to celebrate
92 years of adventures
We ate carrot cake with cream cheese frosting
He ate a whole slice
Small forkfuls gifted
I gave him nourishment of body
Refreshment of spirit
Asked questions of his life
Heard stories of his rescue
From a cave from a read report
From a caving buddy
Decades of friendship revealed
Small and barely loud enough to hear
The man approaching his history, laughed at himself,
Surrounded by love and tenderness
Exuded by his blessed daughters,
Cherished by friends
A relaxed camaraderie blossomed
Filling the room, breaking through the windows into the wooded view
We celebrated his life joyfully
By showing up in loving attention.




