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death

The Bee Prepares For Death

bumblebee

An anxious companion called to me,
As I was sitting out in the yard,
That a bee had
Settled on my leg.
 
So be it.
 
Bees will usually,
Quickly fly,
When they realise they
Are not on a flower.
 
This one did not.
 
So, I assumed that there
Was something wrong
With the bee.
 
It was not just languid from the heat
‘Cause it wasn’t that hot.
 
The longer the bee stayed,
The more concerned I became.
 
Not really knowing
The ins and outs of bees
Heading for their demise.
 
Except, that they usually fall
In Service
While heading toward,
Or away,
From their hive.
 
I thought a languid/dying bee
Might take some sort of affront,
Or take one last stand
At life,
And make a defensive move
Of stinging whatever
Was nearest it.
 
So I kicked out
My leg.
 
The bee moved through
A gentle arc,
Caused by my propulsion,
And its own feeble
Attempt at flight.
 
It landed in the taller grass
On the verge of the lawn,
And,
I suspect,
It did not
Move again.
 
D.E. BA U.E.

When The Ghosts Escape

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When ghosts escape
Where
(quite frankly)
Do they go?
 
A question that is
(quite frankly)
Only slightly more
Problematic
Than
Where do they
Come from?
 
It’s a grave question
Worthy to be
Unearthed.
 
And how,
When the ghosts
Escape,
Do we
Find them?
 
Where do we look?
 
How will we see
What we can’t see?
 
For ghosts,
Once they escape,
Like to sneak up
Behind you
&
Look over your shoulder.
 
They want to see
What you are doing.
 
They want to
Make comments.
 
They want to go
“BOO!”
And scare
The living shit
Outta you.
 
Because
(let’s face it)
That’s just
The way
Ghosts
Are.

The Ghosts In The Fog

robbie-george-sea-smoke-rises-up-around-maine-s-portland-head-light-on-a-cold-winter-s-day
I can see my hand
In the fog,
And
The building,
Across the street.
 
That is about all.
 
So, I know
The ghosts,
Are not
As close
As they sound.
 
The Ghosts sound like Fog Horns
 
And that’s what folk
Up
And down
The coast
Say
That they are.
 
Fog Horns.
 
But – they aren’t.
 
They are ghosts that moan,
And wail,
And cough,
And even
Sputter,
On the wind,
In the fog,
Where they can hide
Out in the open.
 
It is true that they do moan
For ships.
That they do give warnings
In the fog,
Where they can not
Be seen,
Because they look
Like fog.
 
They give warnings
Because
They have all come
From ships,
Where once they lived.
 
But now they don’t.
 
They went down with ships
At sea
And
Along the coast
To their
Cold and wet
Death.
 
Days ago
Years ago
Centuries ago.
 
To be buried at sea
Is not
To be buried
At all.
~ D.E. BA U.E.
(image) imgc.allpostersimages.com/images/P-473-488-90/89/8955/8SOR300Z/posters/robbie-george-sea-smoke-rises-up-around-maine-s-portland-head-light-on-a-cold-winter-s-day.jpg

The Ghost Hunts The Living For Revenge

woman's ghost
The Ghost came calling

(As ghosts are wont to do)

When they go to wander,

In those places,

They used to play.

The Ghost wanted

(As ghosts are wont to do)

When all full of revenge,
To pull the living

To the Other side.

The Ghost hated

(As ghosts are wont to do)

Those who had been mean,

And hateful, and cruel,

And so so selfish.

The Ghost tugged

(As ghosts are wont to do)

With bony hands and fingers,

Hooked into both

Memory and conscience.

The Ghost succeeded

(As ghosts are wont to do)

Tenfold times ten again,

Turning troubled dream

Into shrieking nightmare.

The Ghost retreated

(As ghosts are wont to do)

At the blush of dawn.

Slipped behind the drape,

Waiting ever patiently.

 

{image} https://media4.s-nbcnews.com/i/newscms/2016_43/1169631/ghost-woman-tease-today-161026_a0e92f89834bf99d7763b514b91aa60d.jpg

Trump & COVID19 Walk Into A Bar In Tulsa, Oklahoma

5999878_031020-wpvi-coronavirus-generic-from-broadcast-open-img
~ Oh – my God – Mr. President. Thank You!

~ I take credit for everything.

~ Thank you. Thank You!

~ You’re welcome.

~ Let me shake your hand.

~ Of course.

~ I suppose a hug is too much?

~ Not at all.

~ Oh. Oh. You are Death’s dream.

~ Any chance you can take out Biden?

~ Oh, I am but a foot soldier. Anyway – he wears a mask.

~ Coward.

~ I love it when you talk like that.

~ He’s keeping his distance.

~ But you don’t.

~ I got guards. No one will get closer than six feet.

~ Of course.

~ I like that – six feet.

~ Why?

~ That’s how deep they bury you. Ground Zero.

~ But aren’t you worried about your followers?

~ Why?

~ Well – you’ll lose their votes.

~ Nah – that doesn’t matter.

~ But you’ll need every vote.

~ Oh, we just get them from the graveyard, too.

Does Hope In Life Cloud The Reality Of Death?

quote-plenty-of-hope-an-infinite-amount-of-hope-but-not-for-us-franz-kafka-242320

An Excerpt from my Kafka In The Castle, where I fill in all of his missing diary entries. Perhaps because the summer heat is getting to him, his patience is thin with those whose hope outstrip the realities of life and – particularly – death.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

17 June 1917

I am told that you can’t lose people, that “…they will always be with you in memory.” Max is heavy with this type of comment – as if the hand of sentimentality brushed off his coat before he set out on each day.

Both the intelligent and the slow of wit seem to be struck dumb by this nonsense. Emotion, I suppose  – hope, I suppose – has no place for reason among its folds. But, if you can not touch, or have expectation of being touched, then the people and places are as gone as yesterday.

There is no way to travel back, and the future beckons with only an empty gesture and a hollow laugh. Bowing low at the open doorway to usher you in, but the room is empty. And will remain ever so.

When they are no longer there to hold their hand out to you – well, then they are no longer there.

 

(image) https://izquotes.com/quotes-pictures/quote-plenty-of-hope-an-infinite-amount-of-hope-but-not-for-us-franz-kafka-242320.jpg

To Die As Kafka Did Is Not Easy

Franz Kafka inches toward being dead for 100 years.He died on this day, 03 June, in 1924. he did not go gently into that good night, though he probably was just as happy to be gone. It was difficult to satisfy Kafka,

I wonder what Kafka would think about the worldwide communication and information of today. He was a rigid fixture of the staid (he hated using the telephone). He also was a keen observer of the world around him (he wrote the first newspaper report about aeroplanes, and he invented the safety helmet). It was more this deep divide in his personality which caused him his problems, about which he so famously wrote.

He did not fit into his personal world, yet he fit into the real world perfectly. He was adored by his friends and by many ladies. He was respected at his work and rose to a position of power. His stories were published to acclaim in his lifetime. 

Kafka lived a Kafkaesque life. He died a Kafkaesque death (he caught tuberculosis because he drank “pure” unpasteurised cow’s milk). He was rigid in his personal beliefs (until proved wrong), yet he was a beacon of compassion to others.

Kafka was always on a tightrope. He looked at things with such accuracy that his comments can seem bizarre. Supposedly his last words were:  “Kill me, or you are a murderer.” They were to  his doctor, as Kafka beseeches for an overdose of morphine.

I have written much about Kafka. I will share but two.

This is the diary entry I had him write in my fictional novel “Kafka In The Castle”:

03 July 1917

The anniversary of my birth. In honour of the day, I do not make it my last.

And this is a short story.

      The old Rabbi moved slightly on his bed, and the young man raced over.

     “Yes, Rebbe?”

     The old Rabbi opened his eyes, showing the cast of death which had almost consumed him. “Ka … ” he groaned.

    The young man had been told the dying Rabbi would never regain his senses, and he did not know what to do. He was scared, almost horrified, but he leaned closer.

     “What is it? What do you want?”

     The old Rabbi struggled for breath. “Ka … Kaf …”

     The young man gazed at the face, saw its pallid features and the clouded eyes. He touched a shrunken cheek, raised his voice to a shout. “What is it? What can I do?” He could hear wheezing, the struggle for air. He put his ear directly over the gaping mouth.

    “Ka … Ka …” One last ragged breath, a low hollow whisper. “Kafka died for your sins.”

(image) https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Mj5aC-_baiQ/VU8ja5psBxI/AAAAAAAAWqY/y6gyF6mst2g/s1600/Kafka%2BGrave%2C%2BPrague%2BCU%2BDetail.jpg

Witch Hunt

rebecca_nurse_salem_witch_trials_by-freeland-a-carter-artist-public-domain-via-wikimedia-commons_promo

 

The witch hunt is on:
 
Not for
 
But by
 
The witches.
 
I know of what I speak
Being
A descendant
Of a witch
– Mary Eastey –
(also spelled Esty, Easty, Estey)
 
Executed
(hanged, not burned)
By the good
& pious folk
(Christians all)
Of
Salem, Mass.
 
[I put in “Mass” so
those life-hating Puritan folk
Gnash their teeth
And burn,
A little brighter
In Hell.]
 
{And I add
… ’cause it tickles my
Fancy…
That 19 years later
Mary’s husband
received £20
of compensation.}
 
Praise The Lord
 
The witches
(ready, aye, ready)
Now seek their
justified
retribution
against those with
the stench
of self-serving
Morality
upon
their breath.
 
BEWARE!
[Image} https//:www.biography.com/.image/t_share/MTUwMTQyNDY2ODExNTA0MTg4/rebecca_nurse_salem_witch_trials_by-freeland-a-carter-artist-public-domain-via-wikimedia-commons_promo.jpg

 

To Wear A Jolly Hat

colorful-fedora-hat-more-colors-10

 

Oh, to wear a jolly hat,
 
An impressive chapeau,
 
A trendy  topper.
 
And be:
 
The host of the neighbourhood,
 
The toast of the town,
 
The Crème de la crème.
 
The bee in the bonnet,
 
The bee’s knees,
 
The cat’s meow,
 
The font of celebration
And good cheer
 
To direct,
 
Like a traffic cop
 
In the midst of
COVID constraint
and
Rambunctious chaos.
 
All those
 
In their honking cars,
 
With balloons
 
Tied to door handles
 
Or streaming
 
From
 
Open windows
 
 
Fiddling
(figuratively)
Whilst Rome burns.
 
 
Bringing cheer to those,
 
Trapped upon their balconies,
 
 
Daring not to go down
To the parking lots of life.
 
 
Except
 
(of course)
 
For those few
 
– well, not so few –
 
Who leap over constraints;.
 
Social order;
 
Good health
 
&
 
Metal fencing.
 
To grab at
 
Proffered gifts,
 
And bestow upon
 
Friend and family alike
 
The hugs
 
And
 
Kiss
 
Of Death.

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