BBB Poem 60

Black is the colour of the day
Black is the colour of mourning
Slow is the long walk of the day
Slow is the certainty now dormant

Severe, and serene, and in between
The sounds of walking sticks and shuffled feet
Seek out, whatever it is you must seek out
Among these mild, and meek ways, to torment

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BBB Poem 59

The next lot are due
In this well oiled procession
Of folk who have made enough of life
To be worthy of cremation, or burial

It seems to me, though I am no expert
That a graveside affair offers more opportunity
To unhurried contemplation, also to be able
To think of life in the natural cycle of nature

But it is cold outside, even in September
With frosted words; written, read, and spoken
Whereas the crematorium, as you might expect
Is fairly well heated; but warmer words, no

So there you have it
You take your choice, and you get on with it
Spacious cold comfort farm, or packed tight
On uncomfortable, utilitarian, wooden chairs

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BBB Poem 58

That one man
With top hat and stick
What does he think of
As he walks before the hearse
Up the hill to the graveside
If he, as they
Could think of pipes and bands
Joy, on this sunshine day of celebration
And now
As the coffin is lifted from the hearse
To be borne on six men's shoulders
Before being carried down the hill
Towards the graveside patrons
Before being lowered
Down into the grave
The recordings of this
His last scene
Are absent
No photographs, no video
No sounds recorded for future playback
Only solemn memories
Of grey skies
And solemn occasions
Thank heavens for the flowers
And the gaily coloured youths

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BBB Poem 57

The concrete and the clay
Beneath my feet begin to crumble
As I stumbled upon a few home truths

The blank page is a blank day
What better way to start anew
When the view is solely of your own making

Step out into the flat ounce of fresh inspiration
With a smile, with a way deeper breath
Recognise that death is only for the dying

Fix your ills, shape your mind, and body
Take time to be anybody, in this world
Where your soul may swirl, dip as the swallow

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BBB Poem 56

The real day zero

There is nothing that I haven't written
Nothing that I have left unsaid
In this place of the last lines
Where the departure words are read

Long coats, smart blazers, and medals
Car parks, and overflow car parks
Roads laid out in the geometric style
For the cortège and the heralds

Say goodbye, and drive away, or fly
Off to the new life; beyond, yes beyond
The flags, and the platoons, the leader
Of the band in his striped tie

A military man, an Air Force man
All grey, and crimson, and royal blue
Laughter, and bonhomie, and o what's new
This is the real day zero, and for today we stand

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