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It's my Funeral; I can joke if I want too

“He was the best . . . .”
My waning spirit hears
but can’t see
except the glow of a lamp
through closed eyelids.
Requested funeral dirge;
Beethoven’s Eroica
. . . tum tum—ta dee . . .
no “Amazing Grace
Be still my Soul, Rock of Ages.”
I try probing my confine
with rigid limbs,
attempt to imitate
dissonant trumpets
(great music, Ludwig).
No breath I make no sound . . .
except for internal movement—
darn this inevitable corruption!
audible farting--
Always wanted to compose great music—
now I decompose.
Ponder how I dreaded
this time--now
I remain calm
Motionless . . . no panic.
Sense faces peering
into mine.

“Farewell.” Again— again—
Coffin lid falls shut,
my body awaits
the gnawing of the worm
that surely cometh.

********THE END*******

Style / type: 
Free verse
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Jk good bye! I will miss your madness.

Oh the worms though, that's horrid.
Title good but I just want to sing the song! The party is sertainly over...

Thank you...Teddy

the family will hold a big memorial fiesta in remembrance of sweet, kind, and gentle Me. Everybody will be sooo glad I'm gone--but mostly ME, lol. Please come as you are. RSVP (seating will be very limited.) Thank you mucho, dear Signora.

author comment

Oh my dear Jerry, what a dirge! Don't leave us yet, please... No nits, just that I don't think you need "heroic Eroica".
The title, contents and word usage are all fine. No other nits. I would prefer to be buried directly in the ground, wrapped in a white cloth or a plywood coffin, so that the worms and other bugs can do their work easily. In Britain there are private fields where that's allowed, with permits, etc. No funeral pomp, just a quiet ceremony around the simple grave.
Good one, Gracy

"My soul is painted like the wings of butterflies; fairy tales of yesterday will grow but never die, I can fly, my friends.” – Freddie Mercury

thanks for the suggestions. You might be surprised to hear me talk of trivialities such as "death," but my projected day (or night of departure) is set for April Fools Day--I forget what year, but that will keep my family on their toes. I want to be buried in a tin coffin. Why? so I can hear the pitter-patter of the rain as it hits the metal. Yeah, one should make it easy for bugs and worms--but not too easy; make 'em work for their grub. Naw, I'll find my next home in a cookie jar or an urn. A simple funeral would be to my liking---you know, with just a few of my Viking pals stoking the fire while I await my ride with Brynhilde, lol. Maybe Lynda will simply plant me in her little veggie garden where I will be put to good use: fertilizing her cauliflower and tomatoes. Thanks for reading, Gracy dear. Lynda is sewing my funeral shroud by sewing 2 of my linen hankies together. She's going "cheap" all the way. She said, "Hi." Thanks again, and again--

author comment

I find myself having to tell about the groundsman who buried Motzart. He buried him on the same day he took on an apprentice. All went well for a couple of days until said apprentice was trimming grass around Mo's grave and he heard something.....and it sounded strange....and it was coming from Mo's grave. So he leaned closely so he could hear it better. Eventually he realized he was hearing Mo's 4th symphony..being played backward. So he got up and ran to the nearest church to tell the priest about this miracle. Of course the priest had to see this for himself so he and the boy hastened to Mo's grave and both leaned in closely.....And there it was: music being played backward...Mo's 3rd symphony. The priest ran to a phone and called the nearest Cardinal with the news and soon the Cardinal was there listening to the very beginning of Mo's 3rd symphony.. being played backward.The cardinal next called the Pope with the news and soon a limo pulled up with the Pope and a renowned scientist. They hurried over and both bent over and sure enough there was Mo's 2nd symphony being played backward. Well by now the news had heard what was going on and quite a crowd had gathered around and they were all arguing about the cause and effect of this miracle.
Finally the old groundkeeper came to see what the heck was going on in HIS graveyard. So they all told him to lean over and listen. So he did then declared he heard it : another great composer decomposing...................Quick! where's me a wall to shelter behind?

funny, good friend. My wife had to tell me to stop my clucking and lay my egg and get it over. Funny Story!! on a similar note: The great composer Johann Sebastian Bach lies buried at St. Thomas' Cemetery in Leipzig. One day some scientist decided to exhume Bach's remains and had the ground keeper dig up the coffin. All had gathered around waiting for the opening of the coffin. To everyone's surprise, as the lid opened, up popped old Johann with music paper and an eraser in his hands, furiously erasing music notes till the sheet was blank.
"What are you doing, Herr Bach??
"Can't you tell, you numbskulls? I'm DECOMPOSING!"

Enjoyed reading your story, Scribbler. Thank you. Jerry

author comment

that I meet you two guys, wherever jokesters go. I'll bet that Dr. Death has a special place for us. Probably a place where everyone comes out and makes bad jokes about dying. "Ha, ha, ha! The joke's on you now!" You get to listen to all the bad jokes I've had to listen to for the last million years or so." Great fun guys; gotta get off my dead ass and write my own now.
~ Geez.

Come to chat every Thursday - 3:30 to 4:30 pm. EST.
With: c Lynn Brooks and Geezer

might as well make fun about that state of non-existence, as none of us will return from it alive. Yeah, I'm afraid there has to be a special place in hell for tellers of warmed over old jokes--and mine is at least 60 years old--but I figured it's so old that the living generation has forgotten about it. Now go and regale us with one of your own ancient jokes--or not, lol. Thanks for chiming in. Jerry

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