Today's post is from Louise, who blogs over at "Defective Tykewriter" (although the blog is collecting dust once again...). Louise is a serial procastinator, sporadic writer and is sometimes published. She offered me a selection of poems but I've decided to print all three. Over to Louise...
* * *
CHILDREN OF THE TITANIC
They say that the
Souls of dead sailors
Live On as porpoises
And as your bodies
Rotted
In your watery grave
Maybe your soul
Was swimming
And the tears
That you cried
When the last lifeboat
Was lowered
Perhaps they fell
On the faces
Of those you loved
Last kisses of saltwater
And the screams
Of those left behind
Sound so like the gulls
Maybe your soul is flying
BODIES
Rotting he lies
On gentle grass
Stomach distending
Skin black and bloated
Maggots and blowflies
Caress putrid flesh
His fluids staining
The hallowed ground
No burial for him
No discreet grave
Nor polite cremation
But bones gathered, and kept
No ashes to ashes
But corpse to bones
Scientific knowledge
Revealed like intestines
On the body farm
The dead are decaying
Pioneers of the forensic world
THE DAY THE BARKING STOPPED
(a.k.a. how to tell a four year old the dog died)
(a.k.a. how to tell a four year old the dog died)
At peace - I said
Not in pain anymore
It's like being asleep
For a very
Very
Long time.
Not in pain anymore
It's like being asleep
For a very
Very
Long time.
The park was bleak
I was in tears
She was silent.
I was in tears
She was silent.
She's in a better place
I said
And she was very
Very
Old
I said
And she was very
Very
Old
(Older than Grandad)
And it's okay to be sad
I said
Death is a very sad thing
I said,
Wiping the tears away
I said
Death is a very sad thing
I said,
Wiping the tears away
She looked at me
I can't open my sweets
She said.
I can't open my sweets
She said.