The Final Phase

to all who looked

could bear to look

he was diminished

a skeleton of man

the faintest stamp

 

a vague tattoo upon

earth’s crusty dermis

his ink near finished

vibrant shades now

faded by his hands

 

a pencil etch-a-sketch

self-erasing shaken with

each dram and draw he took

a tracing watercoloured

in a wornout painting book

 

a disappearing frame on which

the cloth of life was worn

to disassembled threads

eliminating, obsoleting

even with each breath, he dreads

the final phase, the loss of vocal chords, the emptiness, the void of words – the stoking fear as death draws near, the absent smile, an unchecked tear – the fatal blow that takes him from those loved, those lost – the furtive reek encroaching, the avalanche, the bitter cost – the vapour misting, the misfiring heart, the solemnities, those torn apart – the shitting and the palour, the wasted times – the pungent puke of silence, he could taste the signs – his shell, it crumples, crumbles, vanishes and then – his one enduring, fleeting, ever-breathing thought that he should live, and live again – denying not his errors nor his sins long past – he sits, transfigured, mute, disfigured, and awaits his last-

behind the neutral mask

the fading screen

the maybe thoughts

of one still barely living yet

the might have beens

the deep regrets

desire to delay

the realisation

he cannot stay

a dying friend

and his careworn wife

the thoughts of death

the longing for life

no substitute

no greater bond

he sits and waits

for the not-so-great beyond

no consolation

in the years he had

too soon departing

husband, dad, grandad

a face resigned

while his heart’s aflame

no, no consolation

and I, I cannot him blame

for in the journey

we will never know

the choices taken

nor our time to go

Advertisements

PC and Stupidity

Hang her high!

She tweeted what she should not.

Out to dry!

She did it, yes, she did, she posted it.

Said a thing or two she’s now regretting

And some are saying, stupid girl, a dullard, what a tit.

Me, I’m wondering, what about the old days,

The things we did and said that keyboards never caught,

The silly, stupid things, the mad and mental,

The things we did, full knowing, we should not.

I’m thinking she’s a silly girl for tweeting,

Sharing status, dubious, to all,

Putting neck and job online, forgetting,

That others see

That anyone can run with

Make a private call.

I’m thinking that she shouldn’t have, but musing,

How many of us would still have been employed

If everything we’d done and said, back then, had all been

Captured on a timeline, on the internet, for the world.

I’m vexing for young woman caught, so stupid,

Twenty-four or so, so soon to be dismissed

If what she wrote is deemed to be inflammatory or offensive

And why the hell, oh lassie, did you not resist.

I’m thinking of all we others who have ever

Been just as stupid, in our pasts, or presents, never seen,

Are we any less culpable than she is,

For stupid not now showing on big screen.

I can’t stop thinking of that lassie,

Career on hold, most likely, gone for good,

Such a waste, and how two-faced some folk are,

As if they’ve never fallen, always done what they all should.

I’m thinking of the arguments, the counter,

The should-have-known, should-not-have put it there,

I’m thinking of Big Brother and her mother,

Of voyeurism. I’m thinking it’s not fair.

I’m thinking and I’m glad it’s not my daughter,

I’m hoping that good sense and fair play win the day,

I’m thinking still of how we could all be that lad or lassie

And I’m cussing on pc and on the internet today.