death

He didn’t die of Corona

A year ago my friend died

He had grown weary of

The human experience

His soul had made too

Much space, was ready

For the Big stuff, the

Light, the Deep the

Dark of Death

My dearest friend

He passed away. Did he?

Surely he is here? Surely we

Will see him, hug him, be 

Hugged by him again?

I believe he has not gone

He has

 just left his body

And is more present, true

Present, real present, as we

Are, more. He is now more

Both deeper and lighter,

So free that he can no

Longer be

Framed in a picture.

So free that there is 

Not a corner of the

Universe he has not 

Reached. He has become

One and is now everywhere

We are sad because 

We cannot see him, but 

We can believe him and 

Love him forever , as we 

Did before, our dear Dumbledore, Harnaik, Arnie.

Passing on

When there’s no answer on Google or
Too many and too frightening and
No knowledge in your body to tell your
Bones how to do what they should

How to pull your feet up and put them
There, on the next step, without thinking
Under the rest of your spine with all its
Grand thoughts of time and catching

A sunset via a riverside path or a quick
Nip across the bridge before the rain Spills over and the supper time hunger Takes hold and what? What were you

Saying? Stretching your mind through
Each tingling finger, gingerly curled bent
To keep the shaking at arms length
Hiding from yourself the quiver that

Delivers curdled messages up the Tracks  into racks of pain dangling wee Teeth in front of a brain squeezed back into a
Blank corner, nothing on the wall now

That the..Now that the…Now that the
Heart is closing up shop and has Packed up all the memories but has left The hooks, thoughtful for the next guest.

Until Death Them Do Part

The silent pledge is the
Best pledge.
Only those that hear it
Know it,
And those that know it
Live it.
Until Death them do part.

Remembrance

Death and life can float up
In a second or less and fill the
Rest of Time. Rest on Time

Therefore, let hate weight
Nothing and noone, drifting off
On a tide of Peace.

How old am I? My age is…

A leap of time
Between Death and
Knowing;  

Curving
Round my soul,
It streaks out to the
Stars, becoming light,

It fuels
Me on or in or
Back or round,  

Depending
On how I look at it or
Listen in.

Mrs Jenkins, Blue Zone, Ward E.

She shakes her hand, no
Visitors to lift her spoon
To wet her wise mouth.

Epitaph for Grandpa Pete

Stanley
Peter Merer,
Architect, sailor, spitfire
Survivor.

Zoom up –
SWERVE, the tropics
And dales, war to peace:
Air to sea.

He ruled
New colours and     
Shapes that could tame breezing light
Like the best
Sails and wings.          

Grandparents, Reunited.

She had bright
Red papier mâché,
He, a thick oak.  

Between funerals,
The years, brittle,
Wan, now mingled
With the best ones –  

Dusty joy,
Shared; striding, touching,
Swimming through the wind.

Untitled

There is no way out, the
Present is everywhere I go;
In every state I stop or start
The only EXIT is sleep;
Unless death is a dream.