The Scent Of Carnations

based on a 'true' story

Came one night, someone said

"Who was that lady?

The one that just left?"

"What lady?" I asked (there was no-one else there)

"She just passed me in the hallway, immaculately dressed

a fluffy cream blouse and blueish-rinse hair"

(If she'd known who she was, she'd be rather impressed)

"Short lady; glasses, blue suit, debonair -

And the way that she looked at me!

She gave me such a stare!"

Miss McPherson is dead

she's been dead now for years

she'd never leave this place, she said

now she echoes in my ears

I heard her counting coins

at the end of the night

she once cut a small figure

and ever so slight

but commanded a presence

just like she still does

an immaculate essence

and a scent of carnations

blue rinse and glasses

and she always wore gloves

Miss McPherson is dead

but she's really still here

she'd never leave this place, she said

there's really nothing to fear

I took over her classes

of church hall dances

that's her picture on the wall

at a glittering ball

The Grosvenor, '55 

(some time before she died)

but she's very much alive

moving hangers in the cloakroom

her footsteps by the door

she's still here, though she's really no more

Miss McPherson is dead

though her music still plays

she'd never leave this place, she said

how she loved the old days!

And as I count these coins

I can smell her carnations

Were the fruits of her loins

just invisible sensations?

Feelings of bliss must always persist

and part of what's gone will always live on

The soul must be at rest, the churchman attests

and even science appears to be bluffing

for nothing is ever what it seems

and always seems to be nothing

Miss McPherson is dead

but is there really such a thing?

she'd never leave this place, she said

what does death really bring?

Reviews

[Crowley]

I am so hung up on the point that the last stanza makes. It really doesn't matter where its physical manifestation, memories or rattles in the night....death may not be what we think it is. I like to think that death is just like many of the other principals of energy and when the mortal shell kicks, the energy returns to its original form as another life...kind of like a spring. I think that is what reincarnation is. 98% physics, 2% psychics. Not that I would ever pretend to know...but this what I thought about when I read this. The whole thing was beautifully laid out like a buffet on Easter. But really....the last stanza could very well stand alone. You rock.

[just rose.]

this reminds me of some of the epic ballads of yore. i know you hate being compared to yore, but i'm doing it anyway. the rhythm in this is wonderful; the whimsy, especially whimsical, and, as always, the pathos and the sock in the gut, along with the existential revelation running like an absurdist undercurrent beneath, that bursts forth in a geyser of subversive zen-like shimmer of epiphany ... truly admirable.

[Fran Marie]

Miss McPherson is dead
but is there really such a thing?
she'd never leave this place, she said
what does death really bring?

This is such a a great poem with rhyme and cadence spot on and gives one
much to ponder especially the last verse, which I find myself asking so many
times~What does death really bring? and I'm sure everyone has their own interpretation on the subject~Where do all the people really go, like in
my pulse poem I thought we're all mindless drones entraped within the pulse
of a different space/time dimension, dead or alive, past or future deaths and
pass over into a higher realm and are all of the same collective mind~all connected in our thoughts~See how I am; babbling on about my own insainty, lol~ This is excellent writing my friend~ Kudos!!