Penelope Alecknavage

 

Penelope Alecknavage nee perskin whose death aye assay

to comprehend, this son of the late Harriet Harris - 

   November thirteenth 2016 marked her eighty first birthday

if she still lived these last eleven years - instead met crossway

where grim reaper awaited - though my mum sought to delay

futility to accept Pyrrhic outcome - homage pep rally

   thru poetry n essay

writing, and finding cadence of words 

   helps me (with powder milk biscuits) 

   gather courageous foray

   and means to grapple with demise 

   of a loved one, and hence my gray

matter sifts thru childhoods' end, 

   where remembrance of hooray

amidst claque of chattering aunts, cousins, and uncles

   the fuzzy interplay

of Penny racing at dog speed across lawn of family home

   cordoned off via a jackstay

looms in forefront of my mind, 

   vulnerable to grief most people sad - me, oh kay,

reckons cessation of life = equalizer of sorts

   when significant person without breath doth lay

Tom foolery deft hands of motley crue prestidigitation 

   playing game versus sobbing as corpse 

   driven to graveside viz motorway,

where belief at such stark catastrophe - nay

numbness pervades next of kin survivors

   especially when passing occurs pre-holiday,

yet no matter whence one departs 

   bobbing along River Styx to unreachable quay

mourning iz broken with nary sunny and Cher full ray

to warm earth, wind and fire - seeking soul asylum, 

   trying to blink away ill logic cheap trick re: acceptance, 

   but inxs of tears for fears begs scene 2b screenplay

   not hard rocking coldplay accursed reality

   terminal illness ushers helplessness cuz part of ourselves 

   agonizingly rent asunder, which psychic tearaway 

far exceeds any physical pain, and will underlay

the immediate future, which bodes hollow 

   with the sounds of silence

   despite informing musicians or veejay

to lighten moody blue - 

   boot invariably bono fide, green day, 

   Lady gaga emitting beat,

   per the human league (plus the culture club 

   of heart felt village people affiliated with goo goo doll    

   traversing into nirvana) 

   creates clangorous discordant ringing 

   increasing nostalgia for loved one lost before yesterday!

 

 

This poem is about: 
My family
My community

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