Pondering Death

Tiny spurs in everyday tasks and visions that make me tgink of death.

Foxtrot:
 

Stained white coffee cup in blinding green of Springtime grass. Ants congregated at its

rim feasting on it’s only purpose.

Will they nibble what’s left of me from the edges of my discarded container? I just wish there was more to consume.
Remember to pay the satellite bill on the 15^th.

Dancing black vultures hop around a possum carcass be fore they dine. I only hope I’m worthy of such a flagrant ceremony.

Newswoman with voluptuous crimson lips speaks of a wasted hero destroyed in an explosion.

Destroyed?

Don’t forget about dinner with Mom tonight: 6:15.

If I explode will there be enough remains to constitute cremation or burial? Only heroes get destroyed. No need to entertain such

grand themes.

 

 

Echo:

An excessively thin girl smokes an excessively long cigarette by a vulgar brown dumpster. I wish her a good afternoon. She looks at me like I’ve just jammed an ice pick in her ear. Had a suicide cousin, and an uncle (different sides of the family). Don’t think I could be that brave and ignorant. Even when pain needs to die or piercing noises won’t abate.

A very old and weak woman dressed in s monochrome floral dress stands confused behind her grocery cart. Guess I should grill that salmon tonight. Been swimming in the freezer for a while. Has it been too long?

Will I ever get too old to consider?

Alpha:

Smoke escapes an exhaust pipe in swirling wraiths. Will I leave this wreck so eloquently?

Got a dentist appointment on the 8^th.

Man, I hope my essence doesn’t have to be extracted when the nerves die. Where will it go? Into a metal tray? Beneath this firmament; seeping like a melting morning frost? Splitting clouds in a path to glorious eternal apathy? Maybe just to dissipate discretely; no swirling, no struggling. Something spontaneously becoming nothing. Why does that notion seem awkwardly romantic?
 

 

Romeo:

It begins to rain, and my umbrella is dry and warm next to the shoe rack. I’m soaked and so is the brown grocery bag I’m carrying. Hope it doesn’t break. Guess it’s ridiculous to ponder an unplanned event when even carefully planned happenings go awry: Like falling asleep on the couch or having to use the bathroom in rush hour traffic. Disasters, accidents, miracles and nature move with no permission and end with no warning. Maps and schedules are often overruled.

Just hope there’s more waking than sleep.

Author's Note

HI

Reviews

[Robert Francis Callaci]

Now you got me thinking on death- An introspective poetic essay that almost reads like a meditation or the last few waking thoughts of a Mans life. It feels like a life flash -Foxtrot-Echo-Alpha-Romeo-gives me visions of battle-war- A soldier dying and these thought flash through his mind of the times he contemplated on the notions of death. The last line-just hope there's more waking than sleep- are his last thought and hope that death is not the end but a new beginning where wakefulness is still an option.

Now I'm probably way off base on this piece but being that poetry is a subjective art that's what runs through my minds eye when I read this. What made this effective were the mundane references that interrupt a train of thought- -have dinner with mom at 6:15- these little interjections just added a dash of reality to the piece. Overall a very effective piece.


my warmest
bob

[Lady leah]

Very nicely penned, unique yet different outstanding.

[The DuchessPoet]

This is a brilliant portrayal of talent at it's BEST!
You are an awesome writer !

The Duchess,