More Death Poetry

          We've been on the subject of graveyards and death over the past couple of Fridays so I thought we'd continue along that thematic line.  After all, death is easily linked to mystery, dream-life, and the unknown.  Fiction and poetry often deal with themes of death.  The thought of death more than likely passes through our thoughts on a daily basis.

           I recall staying at a  motel back in the summer of 1976 in Sturgis, Michigan.  At the time I was on tour with the Ken Griffin Magic Show.  We were one of the myriad magic presentations appearing at the Abbott's Magic Get Together, a giant world reknown four day gathering of magicians sponsored each year in Colon, Michigan by Abbott's Magic Company.  If my memory serves me correctly, next to the motel where we were staying was a large cemetery.  My attention was almost immediately drawn by some very realistic life size concrete trees that apparently served as grave markers.  I had never seen concrete tree grave markers like these before and have not seen any since.  Have any of you readers seen markers like these?

         After thinking about cemeteries last week that tree marker memory come back to me and I was further drawn to a forgotten poem I had composed sometime in 1968.  Curious about my old writings, I had been  going through old boxes of notebooks and papers and began digging out many old songs, poems, short stories, and other writings from high school and college.  I may continue to share some of these findings in the future, but today I present to a poem about death.

                                          UNTITLED (1968)                                         

                                   Look at the leaves

                                    Blowing helplessly in the wind.

                                  Somebody help them;

                                    They cannot help themselves.

                                  Look at me;

                                   I blow helplessly through time.

                                  Give me your hand

                                   For I cannot stand

                                   The elements of life alone.

                                    I need to love

                                      And be loved alike

                                     For man cannot live on life alone.

                                     And when I die

                                     Don't let life stop.

                                    Be like the trees

                                     When in the fall

                                   They lose their leaves,

                                   Only to grow anew.

                                      The dead leaves still blow

                                     Away, away.

                                      Watch them go,

                                       They cannot stay.

      I must have been in an interesting state of mind back then-- kind of somber don't you think?  Are you happier as an adult than you were as a teenager?   As you grow older, do you tend to feel happier, more content, less worried about things?   Do you believe in death as part of a process of renewal?