STATELESS ASHES

stateless

I beg of you never ever spread my ashes in an England at sea

An Albion of dogmatists preaching clownish prejudice over clemency

This sullied land that would smirk as it amputates my tied identity

This island of narcissistic loaded bigots and pliable pauper kin

 

Let the soaring ramparts of Montreuil-sur-Mere be my resting place

The ville fleurie emotive throne of Victor Hugo’s unmarred inspiration

Mise en scene for the night you had us reprise

A blue show for red-faced faraway stars

 

To rooted partisans I say I dare you witness my finality

Gawp at my passionate joy of dusty disposal

Upon soil emancipated in a potent refuge

Soil that has no tainted pastures green

 

Worry not for me my darling girl

For the blinded have no fear of darkness

 

Avalanche – Nick Cave

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52 thoughts on “STATELESS ASHES

    1. I am sorry to have done that, yet so pleased to hear from you. I had been meaning to take time out to read your words for an age. I just did that thing. I see you are still on form.

      1. I spread my parents into the wind in Richmond Park…big error of judgement although it was their most favourite place…yet sadly got covered in them, as did my dear Shirl. We returned to the cafe overlooking the Thames smothered in soot and looking as if we were Zombies. Such is death.

      1. Scotland I rather like, although my visits have been few and far between in recent years. The Scots have a feral pride I rather admire. They walk through walls whereas the English build walls.

    1. Thank you, young Leslie. I simply have to add, your award winning Barefoot not only tastes sublime, it packs one hell of a punch. I confess I am glad not to have had that one extra glass I was tempted to take last evening. I might not have woken up.

      1. I drank way too much wine last night, as well. Not the Barefoot, but a red blend I mentioned to Shirl and cannot recall at the moment. Now I’m having a difficult time getting around this morning and I have a 9:15 am flight!

  1. Dear Mike, this is a very powerful presentation, superbly orchestrated with an eye-full image and fantastic Nick Cave music, yet it’s your words, your words have brought tears to my eyes. ~ Mia

    1. My thanks, Anne. Thankfully things have improved…unless I sneeze or similar, then the accursed eye fills with a blackness of floating things. I’m trying to see that as a plus. My own personal kaleidoscope!

  2. Oh Kind Master Steeden, such language and lines only you could create. “A blue show for red-faced faraway stars”–my favorite. Wet eyes, broad smile, a friend, here, on this side of the world, happy for you, Friend. xxxxxx

    1. It is not often when writing anything that everything written is entirely true. There is always space for fiction to creep in, invited or uninvited, yet with this…the first thing I’d put together for weeks…it’s all true. I’ll confess that the ‘blue show’ took place many, many years back. It was rather fun though.

    1. My thanks. There was an overwhelming truth to these words. I found part of me wished I had’t delved that deep into this miscreant mind. The new layout for the blog was not my word I have to admit. My son said the old one was rubbish, then he made the new one for me. Glad you liked it.

  3. Sometimes dealing with ashes brings tragicomic results. I trust my daughter’s judgment and let her dispose of my ashes in the way she finds appropriate. I have heard the dark rumors that she could be given the ashes of someone else, so I don’t put too much meaning in their disposal 😉 Hope you are well. This year has been very depressing.

    1. When spreading the ashes of both my mother and father, Shirely and I selected a spot we knew my parents adored. Me armed with mother’s ashes; she with dad’s we spread them as planned. Our grave mistake was not checking the wind direction. I can report that ashes spread into the wind tend to cover completely the one who spread them to the extent the spreader has the look of a zombie thereafter. My how the onlookers laughed!

      1. I also got some stick for keeping mother’s ashes in the garden shed for a year knowing full well dad would die not long after her and I believed to spread their ashes together felt better than seperately.

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