Funeral: The Last Rites

Come rot with me
The philosophy
of atrocity

You smite the children to make the mother bleed
Down on her knees
Won't hear her pleas
Merciful fate
Where do I heed
While you splinter your creed
Marked trilogy
You seal their essence in virginity
You spared your seed
Sophistic mimicry
Paled and rest
Arms crossed
Tense chest
You killed yourself to avoid arrest
You left the family with a mess
Redress the tailor, morrow less

In the church, their spirits met
Combine the mourners
Hallow set
Seats row on row
Pine on mesh
Weak in the knees
Their tears are fresh
Secure life's promise
In a cleansing prayer
Centre them darlin', fill the air
With melodic honour
With echo and hum
Never forgetting their presence
Or where they came from

Jealousy,
The hell I see
Unrequited love; lay waste to Autumn's past

We stood around you
as cold as tomb stones,
each epitaph etched on our ribs.
The anger of death rolled
heavy northern clouds,
that hissed hailstones
onto black polished shoes.

I didn't recognise your words,
the service spoke of a child
I had never met,
still I offered them a piece of you
that they had never seen.
Your mother had lipstick on her teeth
I held her warm gloved hand
as she thanked me for coming
and invited me for sandwiches
and tepid tea.

I drove the car home too fast,
annoyed at the weather
at you,
Julie said that she didn't want to die
so I slowed down
and decided not to cry.

A nurse in tears  
our missing years  
the hardest hospital chair  
Funeral suit    
and flood of cards  
the kiss to show I cared  
Whispers stained    
in windows    
beyond the final prayer  
then sunlight    
and a sparrow  
glimpsed through
curtains of despair

O worthy and eternal Judge,
do not let the pains of death
turn us away from you at our last hour.
-Book of Prayer

All was silent and the room smelled of old orchids.
Her lips were pursed as if remembering a kiss.
Her hands lay soft below her breasts, beautiful,
but now so pale. She would have liked the color of her nails.

She wore her mother’s wedding ring, a gift from her childhood.
It held the promise of purity she kept until we met.
My eyes drifted over her remembering,
thankful for broken promises.

(This piece, based on the Elton John song of the same name and best read while listening to the music)  
   
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_detailpage&v=3p_xAToFzck  
   
Solemni Pompa  
   
Under a dark gray sky  
the mourners come  
beckoned by the church bells toll  
and a distant organs lament  
undeterred by the chill Winter wind  
they come to remember  
the life of a friend  
   
Alta Tristitiam  
   
The church doors swing wide  
the mourners enter in  
greeted by the anguished dirge  
of the thunderous organ  
played in a vain attempt    
to quicken the dead  
and banish the demons within  
   
Spera Triumphi  
   
A single white dove  
is released into the gloom  
as if the soul rises triumphant  
from the dearly departed  
and travels upward to paradise  
only to return on Resurrection day  
   
Miseratiónum Monimentum  
   
The pews now filled  
with family and friends  
the tender requiem begins  
what a wonderful father he was  
a devoted husband too  
a poem is read  
his favorite hymn is sung  
projected images are viewed  
   
   
Lamentatione Flebili  
   
The grieving wife loudly weeps  
rushing to the coffin  
crying NO! NO! NO!  
others join in sobbing  
the widow turns to meet their gaze  
the tear stained faces  
of many women she doesn't know  
   
Celebratio  
   
Close friends ascend the pulpit  
to celebrate his life well lived  
funny things he said  
crazy things he did  
the sound of his laughter  
the warmth of his smile  
memories that keep him alive  
   
Laetus Exitus  
    
Fueled by happy thoughts of him  
smiling the pall bearers lift the casket  
on shoulders they carry  
his eternal vessel  
not as a box with a corpse inside  
but as the victorious hero of the game  
   
Pompa Sepulturae  
   
The mourners turned celebrants  
follow their friend’s mortal shell  
outside and into the ancient church yard  
made glorious by the sun’s rays  
penetrating the dark sky  
as if heaven has descended    
to welcome him home  
   
Ultimum Vale  
   
Family and friends encircle  
the newly dug grave  
nestled between ancestors  
long since departed  
the final resting place is blessed  
   
the widow overcome with grief  
christens the coffin lid  
with a handful of soil  
she kisses a single red rose  
her tears, like morning dew  
glisten on its delicate petals  
she places it near his heart  
as he is lowered into the ground

she dreams of you  
in long corridors  
where you'd expect warmth  
but there is none  
where lights are too bright
bringing water to her eyes  
a distant slam of a heavy metal door  
then absolute silence  
she's alone
 
except for the memory of your smile
that left her astounded  
by its mere presence  
how warm you still were  
how peaceful in those  last moments  
first thoughts were
how dare you  
and damn you for looking  
so pleased with yourself  
you had slipped from this realm
 
"Death Be Not Proud"
 
hands shaking uncontrollably
desperate to hold onto your warmth  
slowly leaving us both  
whispers that seemed so far away  
that were her own  
repetitive screaming song  
no no no
 
life became a blur  
his beautiful lingering  
lips curled in abject curiosity
the blessing he gave her
to remember him this way  
forever held  
yet still makes her weep  
longing to see it again and again  
 
people wanting to recount  
to talk  
phone  calls  
messages  
from distant voices
that don't  
bring her comfort  
caught in the "wake"
you are a rising sea  
of stories empty of your presence  
her hands once so full
lay empty  
so foreign they are  
without him
they have become only  
appendages she doesn't know
what to do with  
except reach them  
towards the sky
where you live  
 
before her is a container  
where you now reside
returned to dust  
so small yet so heavy
a shock to every
sense
funeral director  
asking with concern if  
she is okay  
tears just fall
watching them  
from what seems a
great distance  
floating in time  
they drip melting  
down blushing  cheeks
over lips swollen with grief
staining her clothing
droplets hit the jar  
with a resounding ting
clutched protectively  
in her arms
she has no answers  
 
in his honor
she creates an alter  
of their love  
her own personal service  
a collection of Earthly wonders
things he had held  
shells  
ocean glass  
beach sand that has no memory  
of time
dried flowers
angels
candles to light his way  
she feels his presence  
gentle hand on her shoulder
breath brushes her hair
away from her cheek
room filled with his aura  
she sighs  
into it  
her air cascading  
against empty walls  
she gathers his things around her
immersed in his perfume
 
she sits  
for an uncertain amount of time
candles have burned themselves out
their home is drenched in dark
she falls into its depths  
pulled towards a glowing  
outside the front door  
where the Moon is playing  
hide and seek behind the clouds  
 
she sees him dancing  
and racing with the Moon 🌙  
forever her Sky Man
 
"all good things must come to an end"
 
 
 
 
🦋
 
 
 
 
 
 

 
 
I know the line
“O death, where is thy sting”
and every other scripture about
how we really never die, just
our bodies do
and our spirits and souls never cease
to exist.
 
I believe it all
 
And I had every intention  
of going to your wake, with
a smile on my face, because
I knew you weren’t really dead.
 
But I became a blubbering hot mess
anyway
and my makeup ran, and I looked like
a trailer park hooker
who’d gotten caught in a downpour.
 
I saved it, though, until I was driving home—
didn’t want to drip all over your own makeup, since
they did such a nice job on you.
 
(^^I know you laughed at that--they don't call them "fun"erals
for nothing....)
 
Yes God, I know
 
I know he’s still alive
 
I know, I know, I know, but
I was still upset with you, Jesus and the Holy Spirit,
and I had no valid argument to be,  
except for selfishness—
he was “the one”, he loved me
and we had plans for the future  
and I wanted that.

Ah, Michael, eight years later
and I still can’t bring myself  
to want to try and love another.
 
I’m afraid if I do, I won’t see you
in dreams anymore
and your voice will fade
and your sly humor
and your guitar.
 
Yes God, I know
 
I know that he was at his own funeral
standing next to his own coffin,  
head of his own reception line.
 
I know you showed me that, in my sleep
and it drove all those scriptures home
and I still believe them all,  
and you told me why he couldn’t stay here,  
and
and
and….
 
And I’m okay now, but I still tear up,
once in a while.

i don’t want to talk about    
      sickness and death
            and funerals and things
                  for last rites
                        are the first wrongs
                              of those who belong
                                    to adam’s throng.
 
in eden came first wrongs
      and today we perpetuate
            last rites
                  but what of the in-between
                        for from the first wrongs
                              to the last rites
                                    there can be forgiveness
 
or even a bigger mess
      like bigamy
            or the lust of the unjust
                  who eat the crust
                        we thrust
                              into the faces
                                    of the races
                                          through the ages
                                                seeking wages
 
but the wages of sin is death
      don’t hold your breath
            unless you’re already dead
                  for last rites
                        cannot rectify first wrongs
                              or pacify in-between
                                    inconsistencies
 
it is a mournful hymn they sing
      but i shall rise again
            when the last rites
                  shall be washed clean
                        of the first wrongs
                              and a new song
                                    shall belong
                                          to the whole throng
                                    of adam’s fallen race
                              who after this first going
                        will welcome the second coming
                  at the first resurrection
 
redemption story
      when my Jesus
            comes in all His Glory
                  when the last rites
                        and the first wrongs
                              shall be reconciled
                                    forever
 
© Copyright 2023 January 20
by Clyve A. Bowen♫