The Death of Mortal Fear...or Mortal Fear of Death

for a contest... Hey....I'm tryin' to coax some ink out of this pen !

 

         No way out …

        Gave up…

        Traded my shovel for

        Some rock-n-rye

       and

       the words

       To my dirge…

 

I buried my yester-life somewhere

Between The roar of traffic and the filth that permeates

My present

The bustle of yellow cabs and prostitutes…More a ballet of distraction

And fact

Yet it Remains forever …more a backdrop than environment

 

 

The act of breathing becomes more a science

To be one with surviving…than lost in the freedom from it

Or outside the taste of social illusion

 

here men live within cardboard sanctuaries

.. fear death in a box

yet…stay smokin’ rock…

Which holds an odd promise

fading perfectly against the fading graffiti

of the project walls

 

I practice being dead daily

Fancying it might be like

An oil painting

Of a rose

In a cheap vase with no water

A matter of time

Somehow becoming priceless in my own demise

 

       No way out…

       Cuz… I sold my shovel

       …for some rock-n-rye

       and the words…

      to a dirge never heard

      Gave up…

 

 

©2008 J. Hampton

 

 

 

 

Author's Note

inspired in part by ~ Rain ~ and a piece he wrote about the beauty left behind in death
all with those 10 little words in there somewhere... ( note to self...I think I like boundries)

Reviews

[spence]

I love this hermetic piece of poetry. It's got such fantastic tempo to it and some classic one liners- especially 'I left my yester-life somewhere between the roar of traffic and the filth that permeates my present'. It's is so accurate a grim reflection of living the gauntlet of life that I embraced its sardonic perception immediately. People ar their/our own worst enemies- we have the capacity to develop infinite possibilities yet we aspire to death, destruction, deciet and depravity above all else- often through necessity or sheer escapism from the predetermined hand that life dealt out. All in all it amounts to a s**t load of self-denial and self depreciation, but most of us are guilty of it, (to varying degrees of course).
Thanks for your review of my work too- glad to share, amd more than happy in this case, excellent writing, take care, spence

[B-poet]

This is very profound, powerful, and wickedly emphatic. An interesting and gripping piece of writing that's as sweet as a rock-n-rye if your thirsty enough for a poem like this. Great write. An enjoyable read. I'm adding it to my library. :)

[J. Hampton]

I soooo... Thank you for finding kind words for
This piece ... Not my fav I am grateful for your
Time

[roy mccarthy]

great write :)

[Arthur Crow]

This is facinating and vibrant in the way it ebbs across the screen. Very creative and well crafted.
Thanks for the journey!

[Helen Woodward]

You practice death? I must try that...You have made excellent points, as always. People do fear death and keep the habits that will kill them alive and then there are those who welcome death, hence the high suicide rate..it's all overpowering Jen. I see it everyday, such sadness in the world and too many attempting to create happiness by drinking and taking drugs etc; instead of embracing the natural ability we all have to be happy. I love the title, very clever.
Nicely done xx

[J.P. Bristow]

this is gritty and good.......really well crafted!

[Marie Starr]

Ooooo ... I like this! I'm so glad to be back on here & coming back, you should know, you were my first stop ... I just had to see what you'd been writing & I was not disappointed!

I especially like these lines:
Between The roar of traffic and the filth that permeates
My present

a ballet of distraction
And fact

The act of breathing becomes more a science
To be one with surviving
&
Somehow becoming priceless in my own demise

[Emily B]

Your reluctant ink tells some amazing stories. I've seen that coaxing way too many times to doubt it. I'm a little stunned at the reality of your words. I don't quite know what to do with

An oil painting
Of a rose In a cheap vase
with no water

Maybe I should remember to practice being dead daily. Might make me live a little louder the rest of the day. :-)

[Tovli]

the poem floats well beyond its boundaries--nicely done! tovli