A Literal Death

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A Reverie – on linguistic bugbears, slang, cliché, and the vernacular

Have a good day
You guys

You know what I mean
For back in the day
That bad hair day
I have to say
To be honest
At this moment in time
I’m not gonna lie
I found out the hard way
I’d lost the plot

So they told me
Keep it real
It’s the only way
And anytime soon
Do you know what?

Well, like I said
At the end of the day
We’re in uncharted territory
We are where we are
So as they say
just let’s do it

So I ran with it and
To coin a phrase
Let’s be absolutely clear about this
I literally died

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

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A Reflection on False News

 

Yes

It is true

Verisimilitude

Is Death to Truth

 

Life & Death

LIFE
Life Is
Life is defiled
Life is defiled by Death
Death is defined by life
Death is defined
Death is
DEATH

‘Death’ . . . W.B.Yeats

[  # 98 of My Favourite Short Poems  ]

This poem, ‘Death’, by W.B.Yeats (1865 – 1939} is one of his shortest.   It attempts to contrast the death of of animals, who do not possess such a concept, with the centrality, the significance and the certitude of what death means in the experience of all human beings.   Yeats wrote this poem in 1929 and published it in his 1933 collection, ‘The Winding Stair and Other Poems’. 

Death

Nor dread nor hope attend
A dying animal;
A man awaits his end
Dreading and hoping all;
Many times he died,
Many times rose again.
A great man in his pride
Confronting murderous men
Casts derision upon
Supersession of breath;
He knows death to the bone –
Man has created death.

 

Author: William Butler Yeats

A Conundrum

Sycamore helicopter seedlings: Photo – WHB 2018

The ant that scampers from my tread,
Does it feel the fear, the dread, 
The threatened onslaught of my shoe,
Does it fear as I would do?

Does it wonder if the rest – 
His sibling brothers in the nest – 
Would miss him if he did not return
Would they show the least concern?

Or would his absence not be noted; 
Never mentioned, never quoted? 
Just another gap in time,
Neither sordid nor sublime.

I ask God in my ignorance,
What then is the difference
Between this threatened ant and me;
Which of us should cease to be? 

 

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As I Grow Old

As I grow old
So I become bold

No more restrictions 
Disallowed contradictions

Youth brought its gaucheness 
Implacable faultless

Taking for granted 
Entitlement implanted

But age, ah the pleasure, 
Getting the measure 

Of life in its dotage
Foregoing all rampage 

Now felt understanding
All pressure withstanding

Now my time has turned
Rights I have earned

Taken life’s bites
Its end in my sights

I’ve come to a time
When the next world is mine

Forgetting, forgiving,
Poetically living

No longer the dread
Of just wishing I’d said

For in verse yet unsung
I know what I’ve done

Brought to fruition
A lifetime’s ambition

And for ever for me
Life’s summation, its key. 

 

 

 

NEXT

”Quietus’ … WHB (1956)

 

When the Quietus comes
Then is the Night
The end of my Beginning
The start of The NEXT

That infinite Unknown
That never wished for Future
So far safely hidden

Forestalling the Pain
Though shrouding the Bliss
Of what has passed

By drawing Life’s Curtain
Its obscuring Haze
Over its ever-darkening Window

It becomes the Harbinger
Of that Unmapped Ocean
Horizon’s New Dawn

Only so am I granted
That indeterminate Vision
Of the meaning of Destiny
Of what lies NEXT

 

The Detritus Of Time

 [ Wednesday Replay # 5 ] 

Previously Posted on September 6, 2016

 

TIME’S  DETRITUS

Once upon a time,
In a pool and mired in grime,
I found a body, floating high.
A desolate place to die.

A basin for a tomb;
Blue plastic for a shroud.
A watery necropolis
For beauty now anonymous.

Abandoned, left to rot,
That was to be her lot.
Discarded and bereft,
Beauty the sands of time had left.

She’s found a resting place
Without sacrament or grace.
Long ago loved but now
The victim of a broken vow.

This unseemly end
My heart did rend.
‘The detritus of time’
Will end my rhyme.

 

The photograph was taken by me in 2004 on a farm in East Devon, England.

The Borderlands of POETRY – 4

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POETRY AS DREAM

 

Poetry is my life revealed,
For there, in depth of thought,
Lie all my hopes, my dreams expressed
In words intense and tightly wrought.

Exploring what I hardly know,
Seeking as though dreaming,
I struggle to define my life,
Grasping for more meaning.

The confines of experience
I venture to pursue,
Defining life and love and death,
Their meaning to construe.

And when I’ve sifted every thought,
Mined the deepest seams,
I feel I’ve drained my Muse’s well,
Finding only dreams.

‘Tales Once Told’ – A SONNET

‘Contemplation: Rydal Water’ …  Pen&Ink – WHB

Tales Once Told

 

The rain-filled sky is bleak and sad today,
Its loaded clouds weep bitter joyless tears,
While winter winds arouse the foam-topped waves,
Seeking to prove the truth of all my fears.

Tears, as raindrops, fall when I feel sad.
I shed them as I think what might have been.
For fears that life, with time, is running out
Reflect on what my life has come to mean.

The joys of youth now turned to old age cares,
And I must be content that life was long.
So many of the friends who I once knew
Have now departed, lived, and sung their song.

But, I will join them in the realms of gold,
And we can reminisce on tales once told.