Paul Squires, RIP

Paul Squires, RIP

A Poem by Alessander

He's dead.

No deep metaphors
No sly allusions
No masking imagery

He's dead.

No theological conjecture
No philosophical consolations
No poetic catharsis

He's dead.

Platitudes are necessary lies.

It's science
It's math

Life ≤ Death

Even Pi lingers in more uncertainty
Even it tails off forever
Dwelling in a realm
Of some grand infinity...

He doesn't.

While some may counter

'His dreams live on'

I don't.

His dreams parish with him
His unique blend of passions
Spiking in the sudden curves
Of his frequency, arching
In his climatic feeling

Gone.

No other way to put it.

No euphemisms to deceive:

"passed away"
"moved on"
"rests in peace"
"crossed over"
"deceased"
"returned home"
"dwells in the bosom of God"

He's dead.
He's fucken dead

Paul is dead.

Now we only have left overs
A tribute album, but not his music

Relics from Troy, not its original grandeur

No, the person Paul is dead.

His beauty dispersed
Like shrapnel lodged
Inside the minds he exploded on

His essence diluted
Like a once vast ocean forking, forking
Into manifold rivers, creeks, brooks

Rushing, flowing, trickling
Through our trembling body

Then


II.

He fell from a great height, literally
Dreaming to his death

In his dream, he flew high
Above his beloved Australia
Crossing the vast plains, and dusky hills
Until finally he whisked over
An aqua-blue radiance undulating
Seemingly gliding beneath him
He graciously moved, a torrent
Brushing his rigid face
Towards that bronze haze
Of a setting sun
He closed-in on its illumination
Not some artificially constructed
Light at the end of the tunnel
Nor the synapses snapping
And neurons convulsing desperately
But that soft sky he was falling through
That sun in the imminent distance

The jagged rocks cracked his skull
Merely awakening him to a new reality

Where the body no longer writhes in interminable pain
Longing for release

Where the Light and Warmth far-flung
Across the dark empty universe

Coalesces

III.

There's a stoic in me stirring:

Do not weep, for death is inevitable
The cessation of sensation, thus, suffering
It should be endured magnanimously
As if it were just another autumn day

There's a monk in me murmuring:

Death and Life are one, it is a cycle
Perpetual as the four seasons
Weep not, for you do not weep when winter
Numbs your limbs or frosts your lips

But I am not wise enough to remain unmoved
I am not a stone or a grain of sand in a zen garden
I will sob in spite of protestations
No one rebukes the clouds for raining
Nor the rose for wilting when it snows
I will grieve selfishly and dramatically
I will pound my chest and yank my roots
I will wail like a madman in a padded cell
I will be inconsolable and pitiful
I will be the lowliest creature on earth, forlorn
I will wear black, smoke and swig all night
I will brawl for the slightest of provocations
I will stay aloof from those closest to me
I will be judged and scorned by martians
Poking and prodding, but never understanding
Truly, they will retort it's not the first death
And I will either nod silently or spit in their faces
I will make no apologies for my tears
I will store them in a glass jar and exhibit them
Like an urn on the mantle, there, next to the tv
For everyone to see while they're laughing at game shows.

IV.

It adds another layer
Of meaning to facts
An extra wave
That resonates
Through the body
Like a bell
It is like discovering
A new interpretation
Of an artwork
That deepens understanding
That some how amplifies
Our humanity
And one wonders
How can I have gone
So long in ignorance
How can I have staggered
Like a cripple
Feeling only the echoes
Of songs, the texture
Of dry brittle leaves
Hearing only the howling
Of the whipping wind
Seeing only the shadows
Of passing birds
Touching words
Like an illiterate fumbling
His fingers over braille
The fullness of life
Ripens only with death
Death is the space
That frames a statue
Without it, life is
Simply 2-dimensional
An object perceived, half-felt
Not a subject, wholly
Encompassing our being
For this gift bestowed
I thank you, Death. Death.


V.

Here lies Paul Squires
Child of desires

Drinking with the crew
Writing for the few

Like the three-legged dog on the streets
Whimpering by the drunk in retreat

Back to his rain-soiled urinated alley
Not some green blossomed valley

Not some mansion up hill
Nor some beach house to kill

But in the throat of a dying man
He sings, giving all he can

Here lies forever forever Paul Squires
Sailor of fires.


© 2014 Alessander



Author's Note

Alessander
Paul Squires, AKA, Paul Gingatao, AKA Ghost of Pauls, has recently died, and this is my tribute to him. He was an awesome person and poet, and probably deserves a better eulogy, but here it is anyways.

I know such personal pieces are hard to critique objectively because the reader doesn't want to seem callous, but please, don't worry about that. Paul would prefer honest critique over polite condolences, and I do too.

In case you want to know more about him, I strongly recommend you click on this link: paulgingatoa Or you can just hear the podcast on my profile to listen to his talent. Also, if you have your own tribute to him, feel free to post it in the review...

Here are two reflections on him here that I know of:

Narnie

GFranklin


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Featured Review

i visited the link, wow, wish i knew this man before hand.

critique: "Pie" mathmatically is "Pi" that is all for editing
content: a bittersweet eulogy, an honest one, and i love the dig on those obligatory euphamisms on death. so many times, and well meant, these idiots clammer to wish you well and sometimes make you feel worse. i don't care if "god called them home" or if "they're in a better place" or any of that bullshit. dead is dead. a finality for the living. sure they may go on somewhere else, but they're not here and that's what matters most to the survivors.

honestly an excellent write, my new friend, i felt the tears, heard the teeth gritting, and felt the warmth you felt for him.

Posted 7 Years Ago


3 of 3 people found this review constructive.




Reviews

Sorry for your loss. The poem is a great tribute...

Posted 1 Year Ago


odd things bring our friends back to us, an old joke, a toast, to be loved means we are not lost

Alessander and Paul and Ed . . . and maybe even Emily will all live on through the words that they leave behind. They exist because we remember how they made us feel when they were alive. It's the only monument I will ever need. And like me, it will moulder, the minds will forget, the persons who carry my legacy will pass into dust. As it should be. As it should be.

Posted 2 Years Ago


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Thats sad and really good. It was well written and i could feel what you were sayong good job. And im really sorry he died.

Posted 2 Years Ago


a moving tribute to someone that touched you deeply. the eulogiam (when read aloud)
was a mathematicians formula that approximates the value of the factorial of a very large
life. And you did it very well.

tremendously written.
dana

Posted 3 Years Ago


well you summed it all up that's for sure ... this is a fabulous piece of writing and I can really feel your emotions ... all of them ... thank you x


Posted 3 Years Ago


It's a great tribute.. Straightforward and poignant ..
You are a very skillful writer..

Posted 3 Years Ago


This a very moving tribute and eulogy Alessander.
I can't imagine changing a darned thing.
Death is tough thing to swallow and you expressed yourself beautifully and done right by your friend.

Posted 3 Years Ago


This was not an easy one, however only an artist like you can do justice to such an amazing tribute. Well done my friend!

Posted 3 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Alessander

3 Years Ago

Thanks, Amos. I realize this was a bit longer than usual, but glad you stuck through it.
A. Amos

3 Years Ago

It was well written buddy and your most welcome!
"Weep not, for you do not weep when winter
Numbs your limbs, and frosts your lips"Really liked this part

Also the part about Pi, loved it.


Posted 3 Years Ago


1 of 1 people found this review constructive.

Alessander

3 Years Ago

Thanks, Frontier! Happy you liked the PI part.
Certain parts of this poem I think I can improv.. read more

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Added on July 30, 2010
Last Updated on July 30, 2014
Tags: Death.

Author

Alessander
Alessander

Los Angeles, CA



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We're here to connect on a deeper level So, feel free to hmu. I don't bite. I slap, choke and spank... but don't bite ;) Hopefully my scribblings can move you in some way. Instead .. more..

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