The Living Dead

~ Honouring our poetic ancestors ~

Epitaph
By Vivienne Blake

I will go down fighting
for that which I hold most dear:
for home and family and friends,
but when it’s time for me to go
I hope it’s without fear.

I want to lie in idleness
beneath my favourite tree.
Let my biodegradable body be compost,
ensure nature’s continuity
by adding to fertility:
enrich the soil with me.

I think you will know by now that we lost Viv on July 5th – a wonderful friend in the online poetry community, whom most of us never met in person but still treasured. Her daughter has posted this poem at her blog along with the announcement of her passing, and kindly gave me permission to feature it. It is Viv's own epitaph for herself, which she wrote in May 2014.

I'm sure we all echo her hopes for herself, in this poem which expresses her indomitable spirit.

I don't think I need to go into a lot of detail about Viv's life and interests, as she was so well-known to people here. But if you would like to refresh your knowledge, I refer you to the 'About Viv' page of her blog – and indeed, to the whole blog, which as well as her poetry contains fiction, memoir, and galleries of her quilting. She was multi-talented!

Now she becomes not only a greatly missed friend, but also one of the poets on whose shoulders we so gratefully stand.

Material shared in 'The Living Dead' is presented for study and review. Poems, photos and other writings remain the property of the copyright owners, where applicable (older poems may be out of copyright).

The Thursday Think Tank #63 - Something Stinks

Yes we have visited this prompt once before but it is such a broad and enjoyable topic why not again. As the seasons change so do the smells, odors and aromas around us that are a large part of our lives. Most poets will throw in an occasional reference to a rose, perfume or fresh baked bread, but not much more. We want more.

Mike Patrick one of Poets United’s members brought this to my attention when a mention in a friend’s blog of the smell of fresh-mown hay flashed him back to some wonderful childhood memories. The link between smells and memories is amazingly powerful he said to me and I couldn’t agree more. So this week’s prompt is an unwitting corroboration between Mike Patrick of The Poets Quill and Vivinfrance from Vivinfrance’s Blog. It was a welcome chain reaction of sorts that will now hopefully conclude with your pen meeting paper.

What stinks? What do you smell right now that could inspire your pen? What is your favorite smell? Do you like the aroma of a fresh baked pie or fresh picked flowers? Do you cringe as you pass a sewer plant in a hopeless attempt to hold your breath? I have done that only to run out of time and oxygen and ended up inhaling by mouth and nose a double dose of what I wanted to avoid. Smells mean so much to us and yet at the same time we seem to take them for granted. There are limitless examples, the fresh cool breeze that brings the first signs of autumn, the lilacs and mothballs that were at your grandma’s house.

There are the bad smells too! What about the silent but deadly ones? You know the unmentionable passing of gas, the worst times for this are when you are in a crowded place you cannot get up and leave from. I do not intend this to be sacrilege but an all too common place this occurs for me is church. There I am sitting amongst the throng of believers and the smell hits you. The god awful, I was out all night and now I dragged myself to church to repent fart. Disgusting I know, but many of you know what I am talking about. You can’t just leave the room in the middle of the pastor’s sermon. You can’t groan in disgust or even mutter under your breath an accusation. You have to just sit their politely trying not to breathe while saying seven Hail Mary’s, Prayers or blessings of one sort or another while holding back burning tears. The sad thing about this experience is it comes in waves. Those horrible dreaded periods of waiting for the next one is what gets me.

Perhaps you envy the ability to smell. There are some folks that can pick a scent off the breeze that takes you nearly ten minutes to finally discover? Maybe you have a liking to the more harsh smell like Gasoline. My father used to wash his hands with gas. I enjoyed the aroma when I held his rough calloused hand. My how I so wanted to be my hero.

Today close your eyes and inhale. Take a whiff of the world around you. Close your eyes and think back to your favorite smell or even your dreaded ones. I have offered up an example of just a few of my very own now it’s your turn to share with us.

We are excited to read your work. We can’t wait to close our eyes and smell what you have written about. This time around your nose will do the writing.