point sword coins skeleton trap pearls

What is it about death that bothers me?


Woody Allen’s response, for him, “the hours”.


And if spirit leaves the body, could be


clothes loose fitting; and what about showers.




I add, that can’t get a breath of fresh air,


and no key to those rigor mortis locks.


However, there’s no reason to despair.


Unfeeling, even in those dreadful socks.




In an after-life, won’t be in fit state.


It might be one of those all night parties,


where the drugs don’t work, and there’s no escape.


Dead in the morning; not hale and hearty.




Rottenness, even of jokes, imposing.


Like Mozart, Beethoven; decomposing.

Sonnets :4

shape Square

“The Hours”.

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I emote therefore I think.

To Die.

Consider “I emote therefore I think.”


Descartes “I think therefore I am” too late.


How I feel about what contact, starts link.


Beginning of the consciousness that’s great.




Patterns and routines set up in the brain


to recognize and tame new sensations.


Reinterpret them. Understand again.


Rational, and other, explanations.




The emotion absorbed internally.


Thought perceived as being of dominance


on what affects, int’rests, confuses me.


How I feel, barely given eminence;




unless allowed, or escapes uncontrolled.


But influence is felt when all is told.

I suppose it will be alright to die.


Just lose consciousness, and the hurt will go.


All that pondering what it is, and why.


Soon be in a new place - nowhere – I know.




Just end with the process of shutting down.


Awareness only of its persistence.


To Life, I’ll be lost. Too late to be found.


Well on the road toward non-existence.




No more, this magic world I comprehend.


Old saying “what is not known is not missed”.


No more, my place here I need to defend.


Pointless, equality of the abyss.




Whilst here, hard to understand the meaning.


And still don’t know if death is demeaning.

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Musical Bones.  (Macabre Song.)

Where does the flesh go? Where does the skin go?


Have they worked that out? What’s been determined?


All the scientists! By now we should know.


By now I’d have thought it been examined.




Aware of the phrase “the way of all flesh”.


Exactly what is the way of all flesh.


Are we talking here of its rottingness.


Disintegration. A ‘peeling off’ mess.




It dissolved by air, or bacteria.


Feasted on by worms. Eaten by insects.


What’s the tastiest? What’s inferior?


Burnt to a cinder. Just ash, if inspects.




Goes invisible. Quickly disappears.


Pinch me. Lost it all. Stripped. Skinned. End in tears.

Skeletons get their instruments ready.


Tune up. Co-ordinate their mobile phones.


Each, its own sound. After ready, steady.


Go, musical bones. Play, musical bones.




Has to be a body suit they’re wearing


Can’t be the real thing because death disowns.


Pause for breath. No way that they’re despairing.


Play, musical bones. Swing, musical bones.




The tibia blues or fibula rag.


Skeletal purpose. The rhythm  atones.


To emphasise it’s their last gig, this gag.


Rock, musical bones. Roll, musical bones.




No encore. Out of charge those mobile phones.


End, musical bones.  Gone, musical bones.

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Palestinian Woman.

Inner Head Kiss.

How appropriate the jaggedness is.


Those cutting lips with serrated edges.


Pouting dang’rously. An inner head kiss.


Disregarding promises and pledges.




It’s a wheel or a wonky rectangle.


Mouths opening wide and oscillating.


No tongue in sight to get in a tangle.


But could be speaking; intimidating.




Like barbed wire with razor blades along it.


If come into contact, lacerated.


Ready for mouthing a passing sonnet?


Jarring focus not exaggerated.




Continuous headache with a migraine.


Oppression in my life goes on again.

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Abrupt Ending.

Panic Attack.

In the reign of Suppiluluima.


The third one in the Hittite dynasty.


Suddenly in a disastrous drama,


it ceased to exist  as an entity.




The empire just collapsed for some reason.


Too fast for the stone scribers to record.


An avalanche in the killing season.


Rubble and ruins, remains of the sword.




The weapon, from the oily heat, metal.


Gave advantage lasting 500 years.


Rivaling Egypt and with states vassal.


Dissolved abruptly. The rock disappeared.




Not known; why, who, fate of the Royal Court.


History undrawn. Losing battle fought.

Suddenly, state of deep anxiety.


Barely muffled, the street panic attack.


Being distraught in its entirety.


Cause: the awful demise and no way back.




Return of fear of death and being dead


takes over my mind like a huge torrent.


It becomes more than just a source of dread.


Annihilation for life, I warrant.




A sign that at the end of my tether.


That still under pressure beyond measure.


Enter then the realm of basic terror.


But have need to stifle its displeasure.




The scream just a gasp “No”, left in the air.


But no escape as I have to be there.



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You don’t know the half of it, my good friend.


How I have been belittled and besmirched.


It seems to be a process without end.


If believed in witchcraft, feel sure that cursed.




You don’t know a third of it, my good man.


Psychological torture and torment.


An aspect of it is the long timespan


to try to make me weary of dissent.




You don’t know a quarter of it, fellow.


Hounding and harassment, and threats of worse.


They’re hoping I will crack, weep and bellow.


Or that I get driven off in a hearse.




But I’m still resisting, ‘though mad as hell.


Try to stand up to the next witches spell.





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Amy, Margaret and The Westland Affair.

After the Recession.

Amy researches the Westland Affair


to give presentation for her Masters.


It will be thorough as though she was there.


Secrets all disclosed. No sticking plasters.




Amy exposes the power struggle


at the heart of UK authority.


How played out, strong wills, but as much muddle,


With lot at stake, not always honesty.




Amy takes flight on ‘copter takeover.


Rivalries, foreign int’rests brought out clear.


Propelling facts about the split, over.


About who’s too powerful or not, fear.




Broken on  ‘US first’; a storming out.


A break, but for her a rival to rout.

When this recession is done and dusted


we’ll grow together in the light and warmth.


Love through hard times; not get ourselves busted.


Takes away our money but not our oompth.




When the Shocks have been accommodated,


still pleasant surprises for each other.


We’ll make up for this lost time belated.


Investment, being each other’s Lover.




When the chill and crisis are memory,


we’ll re-emerge to bask in the sunshine.


Hardship will be a defeated en’my.


Both of our fortunes very much aligned.




We can last it out. We’ll get through stronger.


Dispel the doubt. Our Love will last longer.

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I dont think so


The Palestinian song which was played


has the brave woman climb to a high point


next to the prison. At which place she stayed,


to see her lover, whom she would anoint.




There in the distance, his strolling figure.


Her delight at, even, far away glimpse.


Feelings of joy, the sight of him trigger


hopes of sharing a life, free, with her prince.




She releases the pigeon she took up.


It carries her ring of deep affection.


Swoops, beyond the jail’s walls. It is not stuck.


Ring passed to her man for his inspection.




Symbol of love’s effort to overcome


Dreams in the song kept beating like a drum.

shivering man helicopter