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

[Leslie Philibert]

This is a really good poem in the tradition of telling a story, every word fits, the rhymes natural, the verses flow,the details and background very real. Great.

[Ama May Cooper]

A somewhat humours poem of deserved commuppance... lyrical, entertaining and intellegent. In bits the flow seemed a little off but not enough to take away from the end product... was an enjoyable read very glad i stumbled across it

[Thomas Fitzgerald]

The plotting of points that pverlap leave a bitter taste in ones mouth if you will. What makes a reader want to read you, is your inate sense of morality, a well placed piece.

[Lumière Dé..]

Oh my. I love your scheme and rhythm. What I love even more is that there's nothing meaningful or sentimental or personal about your poems. You tell a story, clear as day while others chose to write in code that must be depicted and disciphered by the reader. Amazing. Why aren't you published yet?

[Griffin Hill]

Excellent work! Great imagery. I didn't want it to end. I'd love to hear some comments on how this poem developed for you, your process of writing it, if you will.

[*** Hey Jude***]

The characters you bring together seem familiar. I place, and time I have seen before. The depth of imagery you give in consistent throughout.
The last stanza wrapped this gem up with humor. Your writes continue to inspired me as I sit at the feet of a Master Author!
Thank you ~ :-)

[ba_mcfarlane]

Just a great read. Bravo for your polish and your art. Best of all, the sly humour had me smiling all the way through. Kudos my friend, and thanks for the poetic ride!

[Sanjeeta Sharma Pokhar..]

Outstanding- both the flow and the depth!

[The Scholar]

So chilling. Max got what he deserved I suppose. Brilliant idea and masterful use of words. Wonderful, humorous ending as well. You are a poet with a remarkable gift.

[MoriartyMesa]

This is a great peace of work, the words can be said on the Cape in 1860. Small boom town in California 1908, or a old factory closing in Detroit in 85.