Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
  Oct 10 Micrography-Mike D
Bardo
I left photograph albums of her out on
    the coffee table
Thinking the neighbours might like to
    see and so, celebrate her life
Her youthful days spent at home,
playing among the fields, by the river,
In the little country village where she
  lived,
Her time in England and in America,
Her joys, her loves, her hopes,
I thought it was a good idea.
But when the neighbours came by
They talked only of their own families,
    their kids
About their hobbies and what Clubs
   they were in & what they were doing
      the weekend,
About their cars and how big they
    were
What horsepower the engine was,
They talked of Life and of getting on
    with life
And enjoying life,
Maybe they had it right, trying to be
    positive in the face of sorrow
It must have been awkward for them,
Maybe it was my own fault too, for not
    drawing their attention to them (the
        photograph albums)
But I was busy getting drinks, making
    sandwiches, serving tea
(And had a fair bit of drink taken
    myself by then)
But the photograph albums they were
left their untouched, not a single page
was turned like no one was interested
Like no one wanted to know, like no
    one cared at all
I thought it kind of sad, and my Dad
    who had sat there silently for a long
       time
Listening to what was being said
Suddenly got up and walked out in a
    bit of a huff.

We needed a suit of clothes to lay her
    out in, in the coffin,
I thought rather foolishly I suppose,
    that I should put them on the
     radiator first to warm them
It would be cold in that coffin, and colder still down in that deep dark
    clay.

In the Nursing Home she had
    complained of being very hot
I used to take her in a little tub of ice
    cream
And give her a few teaspoons every
    night,
Now when I open the freezer door,
    there's still one tub left inside
The last one, the final one I'd brought
    in
But never used, that same fateful night
    she died.

It's funny but I try not to think of her
    that much
Because I know if I did, it'd only upset
    me, make me all sad & teary eyed
And I'd be no good then, no use to
    anyone,
There's a time and a place I suppose, a
    time and a place to grieve... to
         remember.
I know she wouldn't have liked to see
    me that way either,
She would have wanted me to get on
    with my own life
She used tell me, "Don't waste your
    time on me, my life is over now,
        my days are done,
It's your turn now, go live your own
    life and find your own happiness".

It only hits you when you go into her
    room & see her clothes still hanging
       there
And you realize she's not around
    anymore to wear them,
I bought a lot of them for her myself
Used to embarrass me going into the
    Ladies Section to get her stuff
The pyjamas, their the saddest, they
    hurt the most
The ones with the little woolly sheep
    on them, the ones with the nice
        bunnies
( Heh! they always used to joke I had
    such poor taste)
The one with the bright red flowers
And the one with the little penguins
    on skis
With the scarves wrapped around
    their necks.

We had to write a final farewell
   message to put on a card
To go on the bouquet on her coffin
I struggled at first, looking over at my
    brothers, not knowing what to say,
My mind, as always, wanted to say the
     'right' thing
But luckily, my heart got in the way
I said, I wrote " Thanks for all the
    Years Mom,
It was a great pleasure knowing you,
Enjoy the next life, you deserve to,
I'll be seeing you! "
This was written several years ago after my Mom died, it kind of wrote itself, it was the things that stuck out to me in the days just after she had died. - Is a bit unfair to the neighbours, most of them went to the funeral home where Mom was laid out. Me & my Dad stayed at home just in case anyone came to the house. Only a couple of neighbors came & one brought their grown up sons whom I knew. I was glad they came & despite all we had a good night. -Also the ending of this, it isn't some death wish, I like to believe in reincarnation and that we all come back, every time I see a little girl or boy I think that could be my Mom or Dad (he passed away too a few years later).
  Oct 10 Micrography-Mike D
SJG
The future's written in neat little lines.
Everything looks so good tonight.

The lobbyist looks through his window
— what does he see?
He sees a world of disposable human beings.
He sees perpetual disregulation. He sees individual responsibility.
He sees the right to be a pig as the right to be free.
And he doesn't care what happens to you or me.

God bless this weaving class.
Hell in a handbasket, the world hits its brakes
And our man goes flying through the glass.

He flies from the garden. He flies through Constantinople and Rome.
He flies past libraries torched and monasteries sacked.
He flies past as the Church irons undesirables through the racks.
He flies over merchant ships with spice and human traffic aboard.
He flies through The West and sees genocide and barbarity.
He flies through The East and sees genocide and barbarity.
He flies over Iraq and sees the British Empire occupy for the 1000th time.

And skies did storm. And oceans did rise.
And bunker mentality and disaster capitalism governed everything.
And the poor got poorer while
The rich weren't satisfied with the time of their lives.

Oh, the passenger. Oh, how he rides.
He takes and takes, with no compulsion to give back.
He tries to understand this living crap.
He befriends the dolphins and the dogs.
He eats the fungi, he licks the frogs.
He sits with the bibliography until he grows bored.
Starts wondering how much happiness he can afford.
Wants old money radical to sing him to sleep at night.
Wants a woman to do exactly as he likes.
Requires everything to be within his sight.
He takes the holistic **** and wields it like a knife.
And the future is so bright. The future is so clearly bright.
And the future is the crushing of whatever spark may live inside.

And here comes January heatwave again.
It's hotter, just like the year before.
And my washing machine spits out my threads
Onto my nice clean kitchen floor.

I'm not here to don various guises.
I'm not here to pray, or start to say
That the answer to your fear dwells inside you all along.
Because it does not, never did, never will, son.

And could someone fax me the itinerary
Of what it takes to be a big narcissist at large?

Yeah, I know I won't always be such a modern guy.
But I swear, I didn't need to get through half-cut before.
But people, they lie.

Here comes Ronnie Spector
With this frightening dude chasing her down the street,
His hair like a burlap moon;
And he's a hitmaker, yeah, but he doesn't care if she lives or dies.

Well, I'm still a modern guy.
I think we've been over this before.
And I'm even queer in the right light.

Where's your revolution?
Are you waiting for the machines
To **** the fascists for free?
Well, who do you think builds them?

And each of us a walk-in fantasy.
Each of us a ball of shrieking want.

Hey, I'm not here to offer no surprises.
Or point to a mercy laid between the heart of things.
Species of invertebrates go extinct every day.
So, friend, what keeps you safe?
As summer fades
Fall has begun
Our once bright days
Now setting Sun
Uncertain what the future holds
Just know that I am getting old
For youth one does not get to keep
Through window blinds of life I peek
A path that's been filled with mistakes
I've walked alone but chose to take
My baggage with me where I went
Much money earned; much money spent
An epic track that seemed to reach
Earth's corner's as I searched and seek
For happiness with love and joy
These things I lost when just a boy
Were taken; someone stole from me
No safe to crack; there was no key
Defenses were not set in place
A child who had yet to face
Like Adam when bereft of sin
Attack that had struck from within
Where body fully left in tact
A shattered mind you won't get back
And over shoulders look for pieces
Equaled grains of sand on beaches
Traveled much, went far and wide
Blind to the circles spun inside
If challenges aren't met and faced
One can't expect to win a race
In life, with loss comes also gain
For cost brings lessons for our brain
All adding up to wisdom learned
So as time goes we can discern
This is the trade for youth with age
In our "life book" we write a page
Our bodies start becoming meek
Not equal outlook that is bleak
As faculties get old and fail
Some ways our vessel is a jail
The footsteps made are less and less
But minds expand an endless breadth
A question though of great concern
is, What if someone never learns?
They pay the price; accept the cost
But in return there's only loss
There's no trade off or benefit
An idiot who is a twit
You'd almost feel some sympathy
For one pathetic and who's weak
Unless of course you realize
The suit he wears; tried on for size
No twisted arms; he was not fooled
All info given; went to school
Just sat and stared off into space
So much potential he would waste
Break-even point, where are you at?
Is it still forward or way back
There comes a point, true with all things
Sometimes it hurts the heart and stings
We realize the end has come
There's nothing more that can be done
All effort from here on, a waste
The money spent is better saved
Don't think of it as giving up
More simply that one's time is up
Life is a journey that's for sure
But may be one that is endured
Instead of riding off in glory
Constantly are saying "sorry"
Trying to right each mistake
There is no life; an endless chase
A dog who tries to catch his tail
An nonstop game of "try-and-fail"
You ask "Why should I even try?"
Pathetic tears to say 'goodbye'
I have one choice that I can make
That will erase all my mistakes
If I'm not here I can't ***** up
Forget "half-empty", there's no cup
The disappointment and the shame
No longer need to play that game
Sure people might feel bad at first
But don't forget; somehow subvert
In closing I can finally be
What all expected me to be
A hero or a champ who "wins"
Not loser who just fails and sins
So tears don't cry (and you may not)
I'd say that I had fought the fought
But you know that is one more lie
Don't need to add; just say 'goodbye'
Written: September 2019

All rights reserved.
[Iambic Tetrameter Format]

I wrote this poem as a sentiment or feeling but I am not actually contemplating suicide. I would never actually do that. I don't want to harm myself but sometimes the sadness, desperation, and despondency bring me to a place where it runs in my my mind not as an actual act but more of a thought of sympathy. So, I am in no way making light of suicide or trying to be coy. This was written from an honest place inside but I am not in a dark place or thinking of hurting myself in anyway. (Just to be very clear in case anyone might think that or be concerned). This piece is more of a perspective piece (and an honest one) but not one I share in any true or meaningful way at this time. =)
Next page