Funeral

Rosemary’s Funeral

Mother’s Day is an emotional time, especially for folk who no longer have their Mums around. My mother is long gone, bless her. She died at this time of year, in 1990. I wrote this last year for Mother’s Day, and the coming of Spring. It’s actually a celebration of her so no need for tears.

*

My mother’s coffin on the bier, up the cobbled steps to St. Mary’s church. My babe folded warm to my breast. Green turf on the hill and the early cry of lambs upon the Plain. Warm breath, warm wind, the knell of an ancient bell, solemn steps up to the sacred temple, dedicated to His mother, The Mother, all mothers, my mother.

For Spring is a dying in itself. My child stirs. She waited for him before her passing. I pressed him to her breast as she lay dying, her window open, bright gifted daffodils a-stirring on the sill. I took a photograph and have it still. My mother, blessed in her helplessness, still fierce in her humility, with a twinkle in her eye, a warm smile and her only grandchild in her arms.

Funeral over and back in the light my son and I await new life.

*

by Gail

Bride’s Mound; for Kathy Hope

Bride's Mount

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Up on Bride’s Mound, where the sky meets the ground

Circle wheels within wheels, on a blue winter day

Child of the trees, of the stars and the breeze

How much we love her and want her to stay

Waft of incense on air, words of ritual prayer

Gentleness, blessing, children at play

They who confessed her, who laid out and dressed her

Scattering acorns, wormwood, and bay

No dark corner spared in the memories shared

Of the pain that she had before finding her way

Rivers of sound, through the harp, through the ground

Diluting the darkness, dissolving dismay

Herein is forgiving; the dead and the living

Made fresh by the scent of a rosemary spray

Such redemption and peace, in her final release

Leave us free to remember and love as we may

We are all of us here; she has nothing to fear

Her spirit has gone from the bier where she lay

As together we stand, on this green hallowed land

Holding dear Kathy Hope as we love her away

*

by Gail

Too Late For Words

IMG_1608-1

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Oh, when they were alive we never said

The things we say about them now they’re dead

Too far away now, too far gone to hear

Gone, never to return or reappear

Too late to say how much they meant to us

Just hollow words, and funerals, and fuss

And sorry tears, and memories, and pain

And wishing we could see their face again

That gaze exchanged by eyes when last we met

That lingered a split second, we forget

That precious image, vague, so hard to find

In cupboard corners of unconscious mind

*

Why didn’t we just tell them they were great

Too late today, too late now, all too late

We had that thought that day, we didn’t call

What if we never called that much at all

Or when we did, droned on and on and on

No chance to listen now they’re dead and gone

And our last words, a blessing or a curse?

A dirty joke or elevating verse?

*

And what if it was bad, so very bad

Unreasonably difficult or sad

Too late to shake hands now, forget, forgive

For they have gone and we have stayed to live

To reconcile our difference alone

With icy wind and cold unyielding stone

With questioning, with anger, fear and prayer

And all the time just wishing they were there

*

They change us most, our dearest kith and kin

Lay waste the landscapes that we dwell within

Leave shattered palaces in ruined wake

Leave with that part of us they chose to take

Make waves rise up on ponds in silent glades

Blast particles of light through sunken shades

Part oceans with their leaving, break the sky

Leave fish upon the shore line high and dry

*

And even those we never thought we knew

The ones we thought were simply passing through

However long the number of their days

Do change us, in small subtle little ways

Make dust prints on the table in the hall

Leave crumbs on plates, and scuff marks on the wall

Blow gentle breezes soft through window crack

That whisper ‘I am never coming back’

*

The more we loved the more we miss, the more

We yearn for some strange loophole in the law

Unwilling to concede the battle lost

To pay for love, and ever count the cost

We search in dream, in lonely mountain walk

For one last touch, for one last quiet talk

And briefly, in the corner of our eye

We see them come, and go, and wave goodbye

*

At every funeral we stand and swear

That next time we will say how much we care

Say that we love them, call them on the phone

To let them know that they are not alone

And every time we fail and forget

That well intentioned heartfelt course we set

I loved you, did you know that, tell me true?

Unanswered echoes coming back at you

Dark holes within the soul and endless night

Bright angels lost in distant blinding light

The empty vase, the upturned empty chair

Deep lesions of the heart and songs in air

*

by Gail

David Osborne’s Funeral; Scrubbing Up Well

We have said farewell to David

How we wish he had been there

To see how much we loved the s*d

And how we did our hair

He would have loved the eulogy

In which he got a mention

For David always loved to be

The centre of attention

He would have liked the humour

Had a hanky for the tears

Been astounded at the love he had

To show for all his years

He would have wept to see us weeping

Would have made a funny joke

Not one much for nonsense

A ‘geezer’ sort of bloke

A man who worked with chemistry

Who painted and played chess

Who liked music and black humour

And admired a pretty dress

Two different lives, three families

So many made the trip

From different worlds, from far away

His blood, his fellowship

He would have loved the readings

Would have looked well to this day

And nodded at Corinthians

In a wise and knowing way

He would have said “Look after Margaret”

And run after Michelle

Then winked at Dick and hugged his son

And others he knew well

I thought I saw him in the corner

Saw him sitting in a chair

Serenity personified

For just a moment there

*

He really loved ‘Jerusalem’

We sang that b*gger loud

My God, we scrubbed up bl**dy well

And did the b*gger proud

*

by Gail