Monday Poem #3b (Scroll down for 3a)

Two Wood Boxes

 

Two wood boxes:

Aboard a long flatbed

Clamped-to with a metal fist,

To dangle overhead.

 

Two wood boxes:

Carrying their freight;

Burdens borne together,

Yet each a different weight.

 

Two wood boxes:

Lifted one by one;

Owners settled in the ground,

When all is said and done.

 

Two wood boxes:

Loved ones side by side;

Sleeping sound forever,

Forever—groom and bride.

 

Kat Mortensen©2010 
Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

Advertisements

Another burial outside my window.

Photo by Kat

Dead and Buried

Another place, another time;
Someone’s just picked up their last dime
Or pricked their finger on a rose
Found the last ladder in their hose.

No more to smell the coffee bean,
Or witness television scene,
Stroke the fur of dog or cat–
It’s all done now, and that is that!

No snow to fall, no sun to glow,
And certainly, no fashion show,
Or grimy boots to kick, hard off–
No smile to smile, no hat to doff.

No kiss of love, no smack of hate;
Adoring eyes, came all too late;
Never again to hear the sound
Of his smooth voice, or her heart pound.

Another place,another time;
The spell is over; hear the chime
Of the night-bell, for Evensong;
Those called to mourn, will come ere long.

Kathleen Mortensen©2009

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

The Final Stage

I wrote this very early in this year – January or February. It seems fitting to post it again, on this day when it is snowing and I will be burying my own, dear Father.

Kat

Snow Upon Snow

There’s a body that’s going into the cold ground
A hooded man hovers beside the new-found
Hole in the earth where the dead one will go,
And silently falls the fresh snow upon snow.

There’s a someone on satin, who won’t really mind
If her dress is in fashion, her hair’s all entwin’d
His mortgage is paid—he’s got enough dough,
And silently falls the fresh snow upon snow.

There’s a corpus delecti descending today
I dream that the Angels are holding at bay
The demons who prey on the newly laid low,
And silently falls the fresh snow upon snow.

Now the hooded one raises his shovel again
To finish the job of the burial of men
Then home to his family, he leaves the barrow,
As silently falls the fresh snow upon snow.

©2008-Kathleen Mortensen

Page copy protected against web site content infringement by Copyscape

Sudden Death


Bird in the Hand

A sparrow, my window,
With velocity hit.
Sunlight was so bright,
That it saw not a whit.

It failed to divert,
From pane, it did bank.
The bang made me jump;
My heart slowly sank.

So hopeful, I bounded,
With alacrity, raced,
To find it lay broken,
On my patio, placed.

I saw at a glance,
To one side, its head loll;
And knew that the impact
Had taken its toll,

Then, carefully picking
It up in my palm,
I softly caressed its
Warm breast to becalm,

As if it were living,
Though eyes were shut tight;
No breath was expiring—
He’d flown his last flight.

I wrapped it in paper,
Lay it down on the floor,
Of my shed to await,
A swift burial, poor.

We laid it in earth,
Near Francis, in stone,
Trusting its soul,
To the heavens has flown.

Kathleen Mortensen©2008