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Wednesday, June 26, 2024

The Harrowing Of Heaven

      Canto I 

   Last 
Friday night, late, I slipp'd 
right off the plate, kick'd the 
bucket. gave up the 
ghost, 
   came to 
ultimate harm, bought (and 
paid for) the farm. I (and 
let me speak frankly) was 
toast.
   Drank I 
deep from Doom's cup, beds of 
daisies push'd up, had my 
ticket punch'd, caught the last 
ride; 
     met the 
Reaper (he's grim), bit the 
Big Galbijjimwith the 
fishes slept. (Bluntly: 
died.)
   To in-
visible choirs I ap-
pended my lyres; kick'd the 
can (sadly, not down the 
road); 
     met my 
end, popp'd my clogs; went whole-
hog! to the dogs, crossing 
o'er to no mortal a-
bode.
   Call my 
trip what you will: the Big 
Sleep, the Big Chill, that I 
pass'd to some vast other 
side, 
     cash'd in 
chips, bit the dust -- R.I.-
P.'d if you must. But, while 
nixing to shout it or 
flout it or tout it, there's 
nowt doubt about it: 
died. 

      Canto II 

     Dapper 
Dante of yore...? He faced 
gauntlets galore. Me...? 
can't declare I did as 
well:
     I was 
neither urn-buried nor 
quite Aligh'eri'd; 'tis 
clear I veer'd nowhere near 
Hell.
    Virgil...? 
Never turn'd up. Were I 
on my own...? Yup! (Them three
hell-creatures never show'd, 
neether. 
     BF-
(Bonne Femme Bea)...? She, too, 
made no appea-. Lo, to 
tell you the truth (though it 
smells less than couth), their A-
WOLism 'queath'd me a 
breather. 

     Canto III
 

     (to be continued)

Christmas Day: A Mare Egg...

     "A Mare Egg, Her Wrist, "Miss Two 'U'"