Tag Archives: Death

RETIRED

Photo by Joshua Woroniecki on Pexels.com

I still awaken in the dark cold

to watch ribbons of color tie closed

the sun, wrapped and waiting

below the horizon;

until sun breaks the chords of night

in a quiet song of anticipation,

and rises before my tired eyes

into a blue, partially-cloudy sky.

I remind myself that I am retired now.

Re-tired to sleepless nights of hunger

for more ways to feed my needs,

and naps un-asked for every day.

I cannot resist the unwrapping

of each new, unexpected, gift.

Like any child, I am ready to play

until the final curtain draws a close

to the play I write day by day;

and the last night of the play descends.

And, I shall bid you adieu, my friends.

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HOLY HOURS

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Hours are not carried by Time.

Hours carry Time, and define

the meaning of each minute

night and day.

In wakefulness or sleep

Hours are mine.

Holy Hour is the time I pray

before the sacred Host of Immortality,

Grace enters with great mystery.

Indecent Hours get in the way of wakefulness

with sleepless nights, and dreams, in play.

Make every minute count, wise women say.

Hours mount their weight day by day.

Their heaviness brings down clocks, yet chimes

that days left are too few; I shall soon be out of time.

Make haste to use each Hour with a smile.

the time we have left used well makes life worthwhile.

Hours do not carry us into unfilled Time to waste.

We carry Hours like a weight to remind us to make haste.

Hours are not carried by Time.

We carry Hours. We carry Time.

Every minute of every Hour is mine.

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ODE TO LINDSEY GRAHAM

Senator Lindsey Graham speaking at a podium with a microphone during a press conference
Senator Lindsey Graham addressing the media at a press conference in Washington, D.C.

How does one honor the dishonorable ?

Whose deeds and words were  unfathomable?

Not while he lived to injure and harm,

stepping on humanity to reach the stars.

It was always just part of his charm,

which gave him power to praise and assist

acts committed by others,

as he laughingly followed along.

Then, he died.

The rules change as custom required.

Speak no ill of the dead, 

as if evil deeds, too, expired.

How do the tears rent in our nation mend

if we must simply pretend

He was all goodness and light.

Such a memorial I cannot attend.

Who am I to judge? Imperfect in every way.

Silence is golden on a day like today.

He tried to do good, in his broken way.

I cannot offer false condemnation nor false praise.

I can simply write an ode to death’s malaise.

Finally, finally able, to continue to pray

for a soul laid to rest, as our struggle against hate continues.

Perhaps he can finally find love in his new venue.

This is all I can offer. This is my best.

Now, lay this flawed human being , like all of us, to rest.

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LIVE FOR TODAY

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Eternity is 

a slippery slope upon

which to place one’s hope.

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4TH.OF JULY, 2025

Photo by Brendon Spring on Pexels.com. Read the full text of THE NEW COLOSSUS, (partially quoted below)by Emma Lazarus and inscribed on the Statue of Liberty in New York Harbor.

Today is my funeral.

I have always been myself.

everyone else was taken.

I had become a fossil.

So many layers of sediment

have built up over time

that I

am hard as rock.

Too soon

It has become 

too hard

to remain human.

Especially, when monsters

roam the earth with heavy feet

in lockstep with one another.

They stand atop 

the crumbling rock and pray.

They say

that they

are God’s representative

on this dying earth

to show all the way

to greater days.

We were already pretty great,I say.

I thought we were stronger than they.

I thought they could not

make me, me, me ! their prey.

Yet, on this day we celebrate my birth,

I die during parades

of those who march behind 

school bands playing my songs.

A Statue of Liberty drone-scape

dots the night-time sky

above Red-White-and Boom

crowds cheering while immigrants die.

De-naturalized, de-refugeed

de-citizenized.

No irony there? 

How can the crowds

not realize I am dead.

They are cheering at my funeral.

After all is said,

I am done.

Too few mourners attend.

They have been forced to hide.

Even the Fourth Estate

has crumbled before my eyes,

its voices silenced, 

without enough pride nor ratings

to turn the tide of my demise.

Perhaps it is a Celebration of Life

which once was, but is no more.

Can you bring me back from the dead?

Can you resurrect what I stood for?

“Send these, the homeless,

tempest-tost to me, I lift my lamp

beside the golden door.”

You can still speak these words.

you can still act on my behalf,

on behalf of liberty itself.

This. This. This! I sincerely implore.

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TIME FLIES

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Time flies when you are having fun;

even faster when life is nearly done.

Aging compresses memories

weighted heavier day by day,

which one would expect

should slow time down.

Instead it speeds time up as we create

new memories to fill life up

before it, like we, pass on

before we accomplish all we seek.

Months now seem like a week;

years seem like a month at least,

and decades seem like a single year.

How can one compare the age of time?

How can one compare the time of age?

One simply turns life page by page

to finish the book so long ago begun.

Time flies when you are having fun.

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The Passion of Old Age

Photo by Anastasia Shuraeva on Pexels.com

I carry the buckets heavy with ash

from the spot where love burned 

long in the past.

Charred earth remains.

Charred hopes dashed.

Passion so bright it lit up the night.

Only ash remains in dawn’s cold light.

Ash is good for the soul.

It reminds us what we all know

in the darkest recesses 

where we seldom go.

We are dust.

and return to dust we must.

Thus, I carry buckets, yours and mine,

with ashes from a brighter time

where light was stronger,

where we could see better.

When we were stronger,

and we were better.

I remember the sparks

that lit love sublime

as I empty the buckets

and spread a dust so fine.

It covers the garden bed

where our roses now climb.

Each rose is a kiss

recalled from the time

when your touch started a fire

and your lips on mine

offered a taste of the Divine.

And love, warm love,

continues to grow.

Its fire now banked

in a steady, warm glow.

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REGRET

Photo by Anna Tarazevich on Pexels.com

When even words hurt

too much to write on a page,

it is time to stop.

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GOOD FRIDAY

Photo by Ivan Samkov on Pexels.com

I do not kneel

at the foot of the cross.

I climb upon it and feel

the pain and loss.

Each of us carries deep within

our own crucifixion.

We pull our weight up the hill

to our own Golgotha and pray,

accepting the help, with humble will,

of those who come along our way.

Perhaps it is sacrilegious to believe

suffering is truly sin’s reprieve

when we have been taught

His death made us free.

The curtain of my mind was wrent

and any hate I felt was tossed

beyond the confines of Lent

which led me to this Holy Day of loss.

Yet, hope remains that on the third day

My soul shall rise along His side

and fear will finally be put away,

knowing nothing can destroy me now.

I will live to see Him rise on Easter Day.

Not even death can stop me now.

Photo by Jill Wellington on Pexels.com

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HAPPY BIRTHDAY,IMMORTALITY

Photo by Marina Utrabo on Pexels.com

This day is the last day

that I am able to say

I am seventy-four. 

My aching body feels the score.

I have pushed constantly my rock uphill.

Now, it pauses at the top, momentarily still.

I halt to feel the weight of years gone by,

the laughter and tears, the chuckles and sighs.

I am ready to cross the great divide

and slide downhill as my youth subsides.

It is downhill where I shall find 

my fastest speed of all my time.

The wind feels stronger,

helping my journey, afraid no longer

of what awaits at the end,

or even, just around the bend.

The scenery blurs on the way,

replaced by memories of every past day.

Memories are more sure to my eye

then all that staccato-like flies by.

When I finally reach bottom

I can let the rock roll away, forgotten.

Finally, I can spend my days at play

take off my shoes, grinning teeth on display

and smiling with unbridled joy at the past

sigh to the heavens, “At last! At last!”

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