Old Acquaintances

We never say goodbye
Because we never know we’re standing at the change –
For all that time must fly,
That’s somehow always in the future, out of range.

We only see the end
In retrospect, once it has long since been and gone –
A few words with a friend
That don’t mean much, except of course they don’t go on.

We say we’ll see them soon,
Although in truth it’s less a promise, more a hope.
Before we know, it’s June,
And then we notice they’re no longer in our scope.

Not ev’ry friend is ‘best’,
But still the casual ones are needed just the same.
Just twice a year or less
We get to meet, but still we’re always glad they came.

Tomorrow never comes,
Until it does, and then a thousand slip on by.
Don’t fret about the sums –
The world moves on, that’s sometimes just the way things lie.

We never say farewell,
We say we’ll see you later, don’t be strangers, cheers.
And that’s the last we tell,
A moment’s pause to punctuate the crowded years.

Requiems Retold

It’s the orders of service that stick in my memory –
Always the same, just the name and the photo would change.
Funeral dues for my far-distant family,
Seconds and greats twice-removed, from the sticks or the Grange.

The organ would parp but the bells never tolled,
And the bunches of flowers were lilies or roses or daffodils.
The pews were so hard and the stones were so cold,
As, forcibly suited and combed, I was begged to sit still.

The Lord Is My Shepherd, The Old Rugged Cross,
The same old hymns, in the same old badly-sung.
The same “so sorry for your loss”
And same “they had a good life/died too young”.

And even the eulogies followed a formula,
Strangers with unrehearsed mumblings delivered too fast –
The reminiscences couldn’t be warmer,
But too late to tell me now, their moment has passed.

Then it’s the Lord’s Prayer, and into the home straight
With one final blast of All Things Bright & Beautiful –
Which always struck me as having the wrong weight,
Far too happy – though dirged into something more suitable.

But as I grow older, the deaths have grown closer,
And it falls to me for arrangements and guests to be planned –
When I’ve no time for grief, yet I need to bring closure,
I remember those orders of service, and I understand…

Bit of a cheat, but the second line in the penultimate verse scans okay if the emphasis is placed on the ‘Things’.

Ghosting

She surely must notice the calls that she’s missed,
Though why is she never beside her phone ?
I know that she knows it, that I exist,
But thinks, it would seem, that I’m best left alone.
Though when we’re together, I swear, it’s a blast,
But then ages shall pass before the next –
I sometimes wonder if this is the last,
Our drifting apart by unanswered text.

I mean, I’m not a creeper of something,
I call once a month, I’d say,
To let her phone complete it’s ring
And a message that she’ll never play.
Is that too much ?  I don’t want to stalk her,
To be a pest, or a joke.
I know she playfully calls me a ‘talker’,
But it’s so long since last we spoke.

It’s not that she is intention’ly callous,
But lives such a busy, busy life –
There’s a definite absence of malice,
Although the malice of absence is rife.
I wish I had so many more friends
That I don’t mind losing one to the void –
But I must work and must defend
My ev’ry closeness, paranoid.

I know, I know, we all must share,
And we’re kind-of lucky to get her.
She’s like a cat, with her tail in the air
Who sometimes allows us to pet her.
We’re only friends, I say with a shrug,
At her drive-by company –
So I must learn not to let her bug,
To ignore her ignoring me.

One Last Rite

This old place seems so old today –
The morning clear and weakly bright, but there’s an early chill.
Better get it underway.
But who’d’ve thought a wooded walk would take an act of will ?

I try to force a smile,
I tell my over-polished shoes I don’t look good in black.
This is gonna take a while,
We’re walking slow and solemn, with one fewer walking back.

It’s cold on the edge of town,
As what grows-up must all be lowered-down,
And ruby, gold, and emerald will all blur into brown-
And we are done.

There ought to be a lonely bell,
But we have overrun.
Our hollow words are meant so well,
But numbness smothers sorrow.

There’s no warmth from the Sun,
The moment’s gone, the race has run,
And I guess that I’ll be moving-on tomorrow.

The Pessimist’s Camera

My snaps are all insects
On pavements and plants –
I’ve nothing with humans,
But dozens with ants –
A phone-full of photos,
A life at the lens,
Where people are strangers
And beetles are friends.
I’m charting my neighbours
Who live near my pad,
And where six legs are better
And two legs are bad –
A pocket of pixels,
A screen’s-worth of lights,
To magnify midges
And marvel at mites.
Their silence attracts me,
Their beauty astounds me –
I don’t even notice
The people around me.
But people are easy,
Not tiny and shy –
They’re big and they’re messy,
And can’t even fly.

#H – (currency)

The Ether Stream by Rodney Matthews

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        Day 47.

Have you ever stopped to think
How money grows on trees ?
How ev’ryone accepts these leaves with ease ?
So what’s the link ?
It’s only just occurred to me,
That these are not some coins we’ve found –
They’re just a snack we share around
With ev’ryone, for free.
I think that how we pay
Is then with our company and tales –
As trav’lers from the solar sails,
Just passing through this way.
So we’re richer if we’re extroverts,
And beggars if we’re shy.
But let’s take the time to chat before we fly –
Yes, even if it hurts.
For ain’t the point of trav’ling
All the people that we meet ?
I know we never asked to used our feet,
But here we are, old thing.
And if we want to cross the miles,
To head on home to Earth,
Then we have to pay our fare and berth,
Despite how false our smiles.
And anyway, this latest craic,
This evening when we get to boast,
And share a meal, and share a toast,
And briefly rest our pack,
This evening as our voices drone
Could be the last to be enjoyed –
Before we’re heading one-way through the void,
All on our own…

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