Category Archives: loss

Not much help, being a blubber-mouth when a strong voice is required. Words can fail me sometimes, but my family never does.

In My Eye.

I sat misty eyed all through the eulogy,
Fine words heard makes it hard to see,
When my daughter rose I went to her side,
To stand strong, some comfort to provide.

If she faltered with her words I’d said
I’d take on the recitation in her stead,
But when I stood forth, as if to speak
Well, damn my eyes, they began to leak.

I had said I would speak up without a quaver
But on looking down the words began to waver,
So I stood by, mournfully manfully staunching my eye,
Ah, but my daughter spoke far more eloquently than I.

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Sometimes, life is not fair. Sometimes, life is sad. Sometimes there’s nothing you can do.

Starry Night.

In the middle of the night, when you get that call
You know, the blackness can get darker, after all,
There’s nothing left to do
But step outside to think it through,
You find your mind and time stand terribly still
As you follow your feet on the climb up Calton Hill.

Look to the sky and see, in the unfathomable black
A myriad of stars, a galaxy blinking- and winking back,
And there’s nothing you can do
But gaze up to see the night through,
To wait and watch till in the east, black turns to grey
As slowly, ever slowly, the light dawns on a new day.

(For T)

A little rework of the Lizzie (Bloody Berserk) Borden axeident-waiting-to-happen story. Not a family friendly story, Lizzie.

Whack Job.

Lizzie Borden took an axe to her dear old Dad,
His constant cutting her down drove her mad,
Yet even as he fell victim to foul patricide
He felt for his wild child a slice of paternal pride;
She’d proved she came from hard-working Irish stock,
With a chip on her shoulder, a real chip off the old block.

Maw was not best pleased with what she saw,
She stood, in bits and pieces, looking over Paw,
Stepmum looked appealingly at step-daughter
Hoping Lizzie would settle for manslaughter,
She hoped to survive and to head off any scandal
‘Cause Liz and the axe had both flown off the handle.

But Lizzie produced from under her pinafore a hatchet-
Lizzie had her plan and she planned to despatch it,
She did not hear her stepmums pleas of ‘Stop! Stop!’
Lizzie was keen to get stuck in, chop chop.
What a pity dear old Dad, so recently laid to rest
Didn’t see Liz working away like a woman possessed.

But since the trial our Lizzie is doing well,
No longer constrained in her padded cell
She’s free to glumly walk the guarded grounds,
She dourly nods at the Doc doing his rounds,
That tragic face rarely bears an authentic smile,
But sometimes, as she lingers by the wood pile…

I love to watch the Premier League football, I follow Crystal Palace… Yes, I know, I must be deluded… Today, I am beyond it though. (A cry of anger and frustration.)

Thor Point.

I’ve been sorely tried to hold Palace in high regard,
And yes, it’s been a tough week for the Palace guard,
This week Spurs stole the sole goal, given half a yard;
If only our half-hearted offense would try half as hard.

For another week we hear old Roy’s comments-
Yet more talk of tough luck, bad calls, sad laments,
Good old Roy has a lifetime of wisdom to dispense
But this eternal optimist is running out of patience.

Today saw Wilfred Zaha appear amongst the suits,
He’d put his feet up , but not put on the boots,
Wiv Wilf out of the game it’s down to Roy’s recruits-
From the back of the class up Sorloths hand shoots.

Yes, today would be Alexanders lucky day,
Good old Roy reluctantly let ‘Lex out to play,
And as luck would have it the ball came his way
But alas, lead-foot ‘Lex also has feet of clay.

Glory beckoned for Scandinavia’s best,
For with an eagle eye our Norseman’s been blessed,
He shot unerringly- straight at the ‘keepers chest!
I near had conniptions, Roy near a cardiac arrest.

Whey-faced Roy feels in his chest the knife slowly twist,
Roy, your choice is is cut ‘Lex loose, or cut your wrist;
Now Sloth’s hot off the bench, and on to the transfer list,
His missed shot at Spurs guarantees he’ll not be missed.

At the eleventh hour we stop and remember, we stand in silence for a minute. Then life (and death) goes on.

Rolling Fields Of Red.

Today is the day the Great War ended,
It’s been one hundred years to the day,
On the bloody fields a peace descended,
Under those fields thousands molder away.

The world was back at war twenty years later,
More fathers and sons gone to eternal rest
One world war’s toll was bad, Two was greater,
One losing leader could not accept second best.

The most evolved on Gods earth are still learning,
Brave soldiers still march into fading memory,  
In fields the whole world over are old soldiers turning
At the thought of honour, glory and empty victory?

Another enlightening and frightening week in ‘Merica. Pipe bombs sent to Democrats? Well, that’s just ‘bomb stuff.’ But then comes something for Don to get all Righteous about.

Siege Mentality.

Wake up USA, to today’s latest shoot-em-up,
In Pittsburgh another racist nut goes to town,
Donald looks up from his mornings bitter cup
And prepares to man up and double down.

It’s time for the President to assuage the pain,
What pearls will fall from the GreaT mans lip?
Let’s recycle them ol’ ‘thoughts’n’prayers again?
Now he can spit ’em out emptily at quite a clip.

Yes, today Don knows where to place the blame,
No saying ‘good people on both sides’ this time,
Now (though some Alt Rights won’t feel the same)
Shooting up a synagogue is a horrible hate crime.

Attraction, emotions, romance, true love, love proven… a period of waiting… marriage, then happy ever after. Ain’t love grand?

Post Nuptial.

I’m special, not the sort of person
Who’d marry any old sort of person
Pregnant or not to him.

We could never become that sort of people,
The kind who find they resort to other people;
Tied by the trusty knot, me and him.

But I became another person
When he came in another person.
This widow’s well shot of him.