Poems

There is no place to hide

No magical reprieve

All souls born of the earth

Must bear their final leave

There is no consciousness

No judgements to receive

All souls braced at death's door

Must bow and take their leave

There is no waking up

No gates where angels grieve

All souls must make their peace

And take their final leave

Get thee to a CT scan

Or at least an ECG

Never mind the nunnery

Get some tests ASAP

Get thee to a specialist

An ace in diagnosis

Disregard the sticker price

Pay now for your prognosis

I feel weaker and heavier

than I've never felt before

An intellect 'tis telling me

I'm 'pon Grim Reaper door

Wisdom don't stop asking

too late now for good doc?

Intuition holds an answer

thou fate thee cannot stop

Confines of the cancer study

domestic Cavies with a hope

Postponements of inevitable

leave asterisks hung by rope

I'd sooner play a dead rodent

alive free and clear in dream 

Then die a lab rat Guinea pig

'pon heal not wanted or seen

'Tis over for me here

that's perfectly okay!

As I'll be going sober

memory here to stay

Feels like influenzas

check mating umph!

Moment momentum

adding up my month

I count my lucky stars

Then eat more humble pie

I go for gratitude

And vie to be that guy

I take the garden path

Then hang on do or die

I hope for honesty

And ply to be that guy

I see the me in him

Then let the fondness fly

I pray for probity

And try to be that guy!

There once were dustups left and right

Both sides in a make-believe fight

Masterminding the scheme

Owners in a wet dream

Costarring Old Glory the kite

Faster than a speeding sonnet,

more powerful than a limerick

able to leap the tallest quatrain

in a single bound ode's refrain!

I stood upon the sprawling lawns

Where tombstones tarry still

A fort named after William Starke

Gramps' boneyard on the hill

The rifle shots rang out three times

Jets thundered overhead

A folded flag and sonic booms

To eulogize the dead

Grandpappy Herman laid to rest

One fireman's life extolled

His place among the Rosecrans graves

Where boyhood tears once rolled

I've turned into Grandpa Herman

from the famous Munster's show

I now resemble the gag character

much more than I'd care to know

Do not go gently is for gulls

Winging at the speed of light

Proud peacocks spreading jauntily

Their feathers of divine birthright

For that good night is for the birds

Held captive by audacity

Vain fettered fowl behind blear bars

Imprisoned by rapacity

I'm going quietly

grateful, graceful

I pass tranquility 

at peace with me   

I'll goodby gently

merrily, cordially

I receive slumber

as finally I'm free