Deathly Musings: Four Poems

Dear George, 

Love and death.  My teacher said these are poets’ two favorite topics.  I’ve tried writing about love, but it’s too sticky and I’ve been more enthusiastic about death.   Now with the pandemic raging, my obsession seems even more pertinent.  I actually don’t expect to fall prey to the coronavirus, but I will probably expire from something or other in the not-distant-enough future.  Some think that death is an unnerving matter, but, looking these poems over, I find it’s not as bad as they say.    

Love,

Dave 

Death on the Front Lawn 

I happened upon death when I was just four

Lying flat on our lawn, a dead crow

My sitter informed me I too would be dead

Much more than a small kid should know

Then I was eight and in the third grade

Mr. Elmquist, our crossing guard, died

We stared at his corpse at the funeral home

Couldn’t wake him as hard as we tried

I asked my dad, “What happens when we die?”

He explained that they don’t know for sure

Skipper told me I’d get eaten by worms

And then I’d turn into manure

Frankie said no, you’ll float up to Heaven

Dead ancestors will wait there to greet you

That could be exciting, it could be bad

I did have this aunt who’d mistreat you

I never believed in an afterlife

We’re like bugs, we just die and that’s that

Though my mother imagined us all together

Four kids, her husband, her cat

Death, in my mind, is not like a party

Nor is it a trip to Cancun

It’s probably more like an empty black hole

Or an unending Philip Glass tune

My demise gets more ominous the older I get

Some days it seems right around the corner

The funeral is actually what bothers me most

Embarrassing when I don’t have a mourner

And it’s not even death by itself that’s so bad

It’s the dying that’s the real bummer

Sometimes it’s quick and sometimes it’s slow

My advice, don’t take the whole summer

In truth, you get perks for being dead

You are done with the shots and the pills

No chance you’ll get stuck in a traffic jam

And Visa stops sending their bills

A whole lot more could be said about death

Like pandemics and nuclear war

But I think I will look on the bright side

Make a list of life’s pleasures galore

* * *

Touring the Hereafter 

Our Triple-A branch, I was pleased to learn,

Offers tours of Heaven and Hell

Since one day soon I’ll be ashes in an urn

I thought I’d see which rings my bell

Heaven throughout is a pristine place

Cozy cottages with white picket fences

Adults wear gowns that are trimmed in fine lace

Best of all, there’s no charge for expenses

The first day in Heaven one is given their harp

Lawrence Welk composed all of the tunes

Cous-cous and kale at six p.m. sharp

For breakfast, poached eggs and dried prunes 

All the radios in Heaven play NPR

People meditate and then do Tai Chi

Ambrosial melodies float from afar

Tiny toddlers take naps on your knee  

I wrapped up my tour, Hell was soon my next stop  

The dwellings, less comfy, I’d say

Residents eat Big Macs, drink sugary pop

Then torture newcomers all day

Most inmates of Hell play poker at night

And do other stuff we’d call risky

Write poems that usually are boring or trite

While besot with too much Irish whiskey

           

All the TVs in Hell are set to play porn

Strangers dance the Charleston while nude 

I didn’t see a demon who looked forlorn

It’s hard to be glum when you’re lewd

Now I’m having trouble making up my mind

Of course Heaven can be seamlessly nice 

But Hell, I found out, is unfairly maligned

It’s hard to pass by such fine vice 


* * *

The Pearly Gates

I dreamt I was standing at the Pearly Gates

So many in line, the longest wait

Tens of thousands arrive every hour

Such a chore to decide each one’s fate

I wasn’t quite sure of procedures

But from everything I could tell

St. Peter inspects you and he decides

If you’re headed for Heaven or Hell

When I got to the gate I pressed the buzzer  

Beaming angels welcomed me in

They gave me a ten-page form on which 

To list all my good deeds and sin

I ran into trouble with the Good Deeds part

Even though I scanned all of my life

I take out the garbage on Monday nights

But the big stuff I leave to my wife

I had more success when I got to Part Two

A list of my sins filled twelve pages

I teased and tortured my brother for years

And told naughty lies at all ages

St. Peter arrived as I finished page twelve 

I would say that he stands six feet two

With a long white beard, a halo, a robe

And a frilly bedraggled hairdo

I watched St. Peter as he scoured my list

Each page led to more of a frown

He looked toward the sky and he shook his head

My heart stopped as he pointed straight down

Your score, said St. Peter, is a minus ten

But for Heaven you need a plus six

He led me to an elevator next to the door

Pressed the button for the River Styx

As the elevator dropped, I woke from my dream

Relieved that I still have some time

I’ll start my good deeds in a week or two

And be sure to record each in rhyme

* * *

Crossing the Styx

The moment my funeral came to its end

I awoke on the bank of the underground river

Bleary-eyed, disoriented, I knew immediately

the River Styx, the notorious river of hate

The passageway from Earth to the Underworld

A journey I always knew I would pursue one day

Charon, the ancient boatman, stretched out his gnarled hand

Yellowed skin, brown-stained teeth, an unkempt beard

An emaciated man, filthy, with blazing dark eyes

The very image of Death himself

Repelled though I was, I handed the boatman the silver coin

that my spouse had carefully tucked in my vest

Charon nodded, beckoned me to join my fellow travelers

Three old men, a young mother, a newborn babe

Strangers all but comrades on our final journey

The Styx was black as coal, bitterly cold

Putrid odors seeped from its surface

A toxic mix that singed my nostrils

My eyes were drawn to the river’s flotsam

Bloated corpses of vengeful sinners

bobbing along, limbs akimbo

grotesque grins etched into their faces

Along the riverbank we spotted hundreds of Wraiths

wretched spirits who couldn’t afford Charon’s fee

destined to wander for a hundred years

I felt sympathy for the lost souls but also relief

We heard Cerberus before we could see him

Thunderous roars echoing throughout the valley 

His form slowly emerged from the mist

and a shudder ran down my spine

A gigantic three-headed dog

snakes bristling around his neck

eels bulging from his torso

Razor-like claws, matted fur, the tail of a dragon

Snarling, prowling, circling, growling

Guarding the river’s edge, barring the dead

from any hope of return to Earth

Charon’s boat bumped against the shore

The fog so thick, my eyes were squinting

Small fires flickered here and there, a bitter smoke smell

Undulating screams and cries from all directions

Naked adults roamed aimlessly

Children curled into fetal positions

sobbing and wailing for lost mothers

Milling about in the meadow

the Gorgons, the Centaurs, the Harpies

No scene in my past life on earth had been this compelling

I stepped ashore from the boat, my curiosity peaking

A tinge of excitement in anticipation of this new world