“DON’T WAIT UNTIL I’M DEAD TO SEND ME FLOWERS”

man ray

How liquid the truth of recollection

when the inward eye is at play, its

chicanery fanning the fumes of fancy

transmuting the echoes of hoarded depictions

 

A sudden impulse to speak devoured her

“Don’t wait until I’m dead to send me flowers”

Not that ‘deaf ears’ was paying her any attention

more concerned with adjusting his indecent necktie

regardless her snow flake plea evaporated in an instant

 

Times previous when she first happened upon him

destitute under a mad dog North African sun

arrested his access to the shaft of imperious white light

substituted certainty where there had been mirage

reawakened bona fide red hot dunes, replacing the

faltering death’s door devilry of a silver sand island

a burnished sea, bare breasts and ice cold beers

 

Back then his thirst for life’s quests an insatiable compulsion

“You’re safe now. When death has no shadow the vultures stay home.

Lucky I found you when I did”

 

Such was life then for a free spirit now entwined in ho-hum

domesticity with her fatally flawed latter day daydreamer

Home alone, stuck with the drudgery of ‘could do blindfolded’

inexhaustible chores, she wonders just how she ended up so

 

She could slip away while he was stargazing, she could, really could

if only…maybe tomorrow, maybe next week, next month?

 

Renegade Lutheran words run amok, encircle her thought camp

betray her foibles, “How soon ‘not now’ becomes ‘never’”

 

She knows all too well a disengaged mind is by no means in denial

as she grudgingly admits, “And ‘never’ nearly always means forever”

 

 

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38 thoughts on ““DON’T WAIT UNTIL I’M DEAD TO SEND ME FLOWERS”

  1. Nice one, Mike. These lines are powerful:
    “Renegade Lutheran words run amok, encircle her thought camp

    betray her foibles, “How soon ‘not now’ becomes ‘never’”

    She knows all too well a disengaged mind is by no means in denial

    as she grudgingly admits, “And ‘never’ nearly always means forever” “

    1. Cheers – my son gave me the idea for this. He wrote a song entitled Liquid Truth and used those words in the context of Plato’s Allegory of the Cave. Just thought (with his permission I stress) I’d take them elsewhere.

    1. If the truth be told I cannot fathom why I started musing about a gal stuck in a rut…this is really an area for Country and Western songwriters (a genre of music I cannot abide) I think!

      1. The Stones no less…ah those days when they were starting out…performing at the Crawdaddy and Eel Pie Island very close to where I grew up…oh the shame of not knowing/remembering that!

  2. Hi Mike,
    Hope all is well with you…judging by your work your brain at least is doing more excellent than ever. I’ve been meaning to get back to your work for some time now…Tonight I’m going to sit down and enjoy me some;)

    1. Watcha old chap. Good to hear from you as ever. It is a brave man who ventures into WP these days what with all the changes they’ve made etc. Still it is good to know you’re having a read of my old toot. More importantly how is your business going…trust you’re raking in a fortune. For our part we have moved home and Shirl has her big garden at last and is undertaking a bit of project management (at vast expense I might add) getting builders/plumbers/electricians doing things I cannot fathom – a chap even built an entire garden shed and put up a load of fencing in just three hours yesterday which struck me as being a feat up there with JC feeding the 5,000. She seems selective mind…all workman employed seems young and muscular! Cheek of the woman! Let us know how you are getting along – Clive often asks after you

    1. Thank you…coming from (not lip service I stress) the finest poet I have had the good fortune to have read extensively you will understand when I say you’ve rather made my day!

    1. Cheers Trudi…to have managed to get through a post of my old toot is a major feat I reckon! Tried to find my sons YouTube thing on his Liquid Truth album yet it looks like he’s taken it down (he hates networking; has given up performing and just writes to the ether presently which is a waste of talent). Still here’s one he hates yet I like that he has plainly forgotten to remove!

      1. What a gift. Must break your heart as sometimes talent is a treachery to those with it. Unfortunate dichotomy. May the blending process be to the greater good in his soul. Laying own the Isaac is no picnic… ^5

      2. To have but a flake of his talent I would freely give my right…was going to say arm yet perhaps more prudent to say earlobe! Dare not mention the ‘soul’ word though unless as a metaphor for his atheism goes before him and is stronger than my own (hopefully that doesn’t sound like a contradiction within the objective realm).

      1. Sir Steeden …I’m still asearchin’ a verse for setting. Perhaps I shall bang the top of my head, which loosens my tongue and start a song (not); however, this was inspired by your post on stapling the rudder…

      2. Personally I find head butting a wall a real treat but then again I’ve been in the hands of The Spanish Inquisition for several decades now

    1. ‘Don’t wait until I’m dead to send me flowers’ is a phrase Shirl once uttered. Had to do something with it…even though she was mildly telling me off – quite rightly – at the time.

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