Tag Archives: gravestone

Johnny Longfellow, ‘Epitaph’

If you’re dead, an’ ya’ ain’t on a mantle,
Then ya’ go in a hole in the groun’.
From a slab to a coffin, ya’ don’t move very often.
When you’re dead you’re jus’ lyin’ aroun’. 

If you’re dead, an’ you’re hauled to a graveyard,
A few fam’ly ‘n’ friends might arrive,
An’ the buzzards ‘ll buzz up above ya’ because
When you’re dead you’re no longer alive.

If you’re dead, there’ll be those who hol’ Judgment—
Say your Soul is in Heaven or Hell;
But Whatever is True (an’ regardless o’ you)
When you’re dead, that’s their story to tell.

If you’re dead . . . well, ain’t none o’ that matters.
It’s the livin’ who toss in the dirt.
What remains goes to rot. An’ though like it or not
When you’re dead ya’ don’t feel any hurt.

*****

Johnny writes: “Inspired—in part, at least—by my interest in gravestones of the Colonial era, ‘Epitaph’ utilizes a second person voice. A tip of the hat, if you will, to the ‘As I am now, so you must be’ subgenre of epitaph, wherein the dead address the living to forewarn of Death’s inevitability. Seven stanzas too long at one point, I chopped it down to four. Reason being, the three stanzas I rather begrudgingly removed were written in a confessional mode that conflicted not just with the second person voice, but also with the Everyman vibe that I began sensing the Muse actually desired from me, along with greater brevity. Having made such cuts, I shelved the piece, thinking I’d revisit it in the future with a fresh(er) set of eyes. But then, a recent, troubling news event and its subsequent media fallout brought ‘Epitaph’ to the forefront of my mind. So, on a whim, I posted the abridged version on Facebook. To my pleasant surprise, that led to Robin querying me about its availability, and ultimately, its appearance here at Form in Formless Times.”

Johnny Longfellow is a poet from Massachusetts. His work has appeared in The Five-Two, The Literary Hatchet, Misery Tourism, Punk Noir, and other fine literary venues. You can learn more about both him and his work at Heeeeeeere’s Johnny . . . Longfellow, that is.

Photo: “Susanna Jayne” by In Memoriam: Mr. Ducke is licensed under CC BY-NC 2.0.

https://newenglandfolklore.blogspot.com/2022/03/the-grave-of-susanna-jayne-bats-angels.html

Melissa Balmain, ‘Shopper’s Life List’

Nine thousand quarts of orange juice
Five thousand loaves of bread
Eight hundred fifty bars of soap
Three hundred lipsticks (red)
A gross of bras
A score of scarves
A dozen wallets (black)
Ten cars
Eight dogs
Six cats
Three homes
Two canes
One granite plaque

*****

From Walking in on People © Melissa Balmain, 2014. Used by permission of Able Muse Press.

Editor’s note: If this poem doesn’t look like formal verse to you, and the only structure you see is the declining number of the items listed, then read it aloud to pick up the swing!

Melissa Balmain writes: “As you might guess, this one came about when I’d been doing some birdwatching. I considered starting one of those ‘life lists’ that birders have—then thought: what if there were other kinds of life lists? I never did get around to listing birds.”

Speaking of shopping, Melissa Balmain’s third poetry collection, Satan Talks to His Therapist, can be preordered from Paul Dry Books (and from all the usual retail empires). Balmain is the editor-in-chief of Light, America’s longest-running journal of comic verse. Her poems and prose have appeared in such places as The American Bystander, McSweeney’s Internet Tendency, The New Yorker, The New York Times, Lighten Up Online,The Hopkins Review, Poetry Daily, Rattle, and The Washington Post. Her other poetry collections are Walking in on People (chosen by X.J. Kennedy for the Able Muse Book Award) and The Witch Demands a Retraction: Fairy Tale Reboots for Adults.A member of the University of Rochester’s English Department since 2010, she lives nearby with her husband and (for now) one of their two children. She is a recovering mime.

Missing Plaque” by QuesterMark is licensed under CC BY-SA 2.0.

Epigram: “Obituary”

“Regarded”, “distinguished”?
Regardless, extinguished.

This is one of two short poems that I have in this month’s Snakeskin.