The Boneyard

On the thirteenth day of the seventh month

Big Max came into town,

He came with a clutch of plans, he said,

We’d be ‘mad to turn him down!’

He walked right into the council

And he huddled up with the mayor,

The mayor could only see dollar signs

As he sat him down in his chair!

 

We’re just a common old country town,

There’s not much happens here,

The town grew up around farmers,

Pioneers of yesteryear!

There’s shops and government offices,

A bank and a couple of pubs,

And the highlight of the weekend whirl

Is a night at the social clubs!

 

We also have two cemeteries,

The ‘Old’ one and the ‘New’,

There’s not been a burial in the Old

Since 1852,

It sits right there, at the edge of town,

All weeds and overgrown,

A bit of an eyesore, tell the truth,

While the New is nicely mown!

 

The news went round like a forest fire,

Big Max had bought the Old,

He wanted to build a Burger joint

And a Pizza Bar all told,

And then the parking, fifty cars

Should take up all the ground,

Where the bones of our pioneers had lain,

The founders of the town!

 

The moans and mutterings grew apace,

The mayor was brought to book,

How dare he sell off the hallowed ground?

This Max might be a crook!

The council went in a huddle

And approved the mayor’s plan,

They quoted some ancient ordinance

While the people shouted: ‘Scam!’

 

But then the heavy equipment came

The dozers, trucks and rigs,

With men they hired from the city

To compound his dirty tricks,

While Max looked on, a complacent smile

Was fixed on his ugly face,

‘Just wait ‘til you’re tasting the burgers!’

He’d reply, when they’d shout: ‘Disgrace!’

 

As fast as the headstones tumbled, they

Were laid around the edge,

‘They’ll come in handy for fencing,

We won’t need to grow a hedge.’

But then the coffins began to rise

And they spilled their cache of bones,

The dozers piled them in heaps, as if

They were shunting piles of stones.

 

That night, a wind in the eucalypts

Swirled round that hallowed site,

It moaned with a grim and haunted sound

And it howled to the dawning light,

While Max, they threw him out of the pub

And told him he’d have to roam,

With the souls of the dead uncovered there

As his men took off, went home.

 

The lightning flashed as he walked the streets

And the thunder chilled his spine,

The rain came down in a stream not seen

Since the winter of ’59,

He sought relief by a dozer, sheltered

Under a locked up truck,

Then heard a sigh, as a ghost went by

And a hundred more rose up!

 

He tried to run, but the ground, undone

Was a series of pits and holes,

He ended up to his waist in one,

And turned, and prayed for his soul.

The last of the standing headstones there

Then toppled, and pinned him down,

When the sun rose up in the morning

One of the council found him, drowned!

 

The ‘Old’ has become a pretty park

In the shade of the eucalypts,

The headstones laid, flat to the ground

In a lawn that is kept well clipped,

The pioneers have been laid to rest

Once more in their holy ground,

And we’re more than blessed, though I must confess,

There isn’t a burger in town!

 

David Lewis Paget

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

I enjoyed the story. I like the way you led the reader into the good history of a town. I like the ending a lot. We must respect the dead. No weakness in this amazing story. Thank you for sharing the outstanding tale.
Coyote

[Ramya]

Fantastic story here, riveting till the very end. It is a great feat to capture the reader's attention from the start of the poem to the very end...and you have effortlessly done it here!

I love the usage of simple words and the seamless flow. Thank you for this brilliant piece!

[Manpreet]

Each time I read your work I am amazed at amazing word use for presenting a perfect story. Yet another Great write from your work!

[TL Boehm]

You are one of the best poets here. Tell me that you are published. I've been here since 2007 - or maybe 2006 (I'd have to go back and check) and I've seen a LOT of people come and go. You are a storyteller, technically polished, eloquent and there is a great overtone of humor in this piece as well. Nicely done.

[Extant]

I always see small town and tradition in your verses, but in the greatest sense; the good, the right, the proper, instead of all this main-stream pollution and garbage. Respect is all you call for, and in such enrapturing rhymes.

[A Soap Mess Stories]

What a shocking ending....

[Dayran]

A great reminder not to forget where we all came from, be they simple or poor, they represent a quality of experience in our memories today that anchors our own fast paced and giddy urban modernity. It persuades us to take a re-look at ourselves, and to ask the question, ' Did we do all these for a fast burger? '

[Cliff Rhodes]

This has the ring of the old movie by Steven Spielburg in 1982 called "Poltergeist". The souls of dead from the new subdivision, Cueste Verde, came back to haunt the people in brand new houses. They never really moved the boxes and bones, just the headstones. This sort of thing is creepy and construction companies do it all the time, like Love Canal. Never know if you are living on top of a toxic waste dump or not.

I like the prose narrative, and the story is very attention getting. I had to read to the end to find out what happened. No burgers! One of my favorite foods, but not on a graveyard. Great storytelling.

[Dean Kuch®]

This was simply fantastic! Great "tall tale". I simply can not give it enough praise.

[Tate Morgan]

There sadly is no other like Paget Your works are a great legacy .You are the wonder of the age. Years from now your name will be spoken above the greats of the past. And you will be remembered fondly.