There is no death poem

per se, you know,

the one they dig up as eulogy.

Perhaps out of a fear

not realized or admitted to,

no death poem.


Wrote that mock bard

‘Funeral’ rhyme –

apocalyptic imagery,

announcing the insignificance

of it all,

was young

and reading sonnets.


The piece that documents

Dad’s ‘Passing’ –

still among us,

the same sense of humor,

doorbell ringing

during visits at Mom’s,

never anyone there.


Of course there’s

the suggestion to

‘Look for me at Night’

and let the full moon

lead you to my ashes.


But with youthful exuberance

porous at best,

no suicide implied stuff,

in fact at 65,

we’ll just live forever,


like a small pair in poker,

thimble and high hat

on the monopoly board,

wanting to hold hands

at wakes,

interrupt all

the dreaded words

with drink orders.




  1. Craig,

    I just read a piece on a friend’s blog about thinking outside of the box.
    It occurs to me, you always do. That’s what makes your work so uniquely you.

    “…announcing the insignificance

    of it all,

    was young

    and reading sonnets.”

    I think you will never be labelled a romantic. (not that I like the limitations of labels…
    I’m just saying)

    Rapier sharp with irony and wit. Suddenly I’m feeling like 65 was so long ago.
    Always your poems are surface light and deep as the ocean. Again you give us
    comedy and tragedy, product of a pen held by a maestro.

    Did I say like this poem? I lied. I love it!



  2. Sarah –

    Thanks for the comment. I’m glad that this site is doing well and looks so cool. I know you must be happy with it and you are deserving of any and all of that that comes your way. Stay well my friend.



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