Poets & Poems Part XV: Are the Dead, Dead? Two Poems and a Sonnet

Sonnet for Old Age

I will be deep, buried below the ground

Asleep, a ghoul in a shadowy grave

Like you, beside your table turning gray!

Oh mother, your eyes never did regret;

Ah, yes, me, me! We may be happy yet,

Travel afar, but not yet, to-day.

When you grew old, you’d often say:

“You’ll get old like me, some far-off day!”

(I feel like this, this very evening).

When I was young, to my son I’d say,

“Cody: with your busy mind, keep forefront,

Now listen to me…” he called “…dad!”

He’ll be held long in remembering.

#1527 21/10/2006

The Bird-gods

Before the making of man

The Bird-gods rule the lands:

Ere, love and war took place then!

The Hawks and the Eagles raced:

Clawful, fluttered, muttered:

They cast (somehow) to each other:

An evil magical spell, then–

Embracing they fell.

Then man appeared and found fire,

But somehow, it was wiped clean:

The memory of the Bird-gods,

From mans brain.

#1528 21/10/2006

Are the Dead, Dead?

Are not the dead, dead?

It is not strange to reach me

I am at present, reaching out of the dark

To see you (or out of the light)

To see you–

Look around–

Fear not

I am dead.

But I wrote this for you

T’is true–the world

Is mad–

Go on–

You will join me soon.

Note: This  poem  was found after ten years, sitting in the back of one of my old books, thought I’d bring it to life. 8/1996 (#1529); at this time, the time I wrote this, I was very ill, not knowing if my system (body) was ever going to recover from a number of atrophies. But it did somewhat.

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