02-25-2018, 11:25 PM
Hey all, thought I would stop beating around the bush and jump straight into the fire. Very glad to be here and hopefully you'll feel the same way too. Johnny
Revision#3
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died I was fifteen she not quite sixty,
that was thirteen years ago come May.
Not sure of the day, if you’d ask ma she’d know.
Guess I couldn’t bear to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person, a woman of great presence until then.
Instead, we played cricket that day, me and my pals
while Ma sat with Da and Granda and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds in tears unspent, Granny’s death
played out to raised voices, ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go.
Auntie didn’t like Ma and blamed her for Granny’s death,
like Ma had some sort of power over the cancer.
While Da fetched cups of tea cold by the time the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused, Granda sat praying. To who?
At this point who cared?
“WHO? GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew colder to the touch,
although she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this has come to mind
thirteen years on come May, but I’d wager
eating pears is what does it.
No longer picked from Granny’s tree
but still ripened in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels and clean sheets.
R[i]evision#2[/i]
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died
I was fifteen she not quite sixty,
so young to go in this day
and age, though that
was thirteen years ago
come May.
Not sure of the day, if you’d ask ma
she’d know. Guess I couldn’t bear
to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person, a
woman of great
presence until then.
Instead,
we played cricket that day,
me and my pals and when we
became too tired we sat and wolfed down
Ham and cheese sandwiches, with cans of
bass shandy, bitter on the tongue.
For afters, pears picked from Granny’s tree
and ripened in her airing cupboard
between bath towels and
clean sheets, while
Ma sat with Da and Granda
and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds
in tears unspent, Granny’s death
played out to raised voices,
ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go.
Auntie didn’t like Ma
and blamed her
for Granny’s death,
like Ma had some sort of power
over the cancer.
While Da fetched cups of tea
cold by the time the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused, Granda
sat praying.
To who?
At this point who cared?
“WHO?
GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME
FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew
colder to the touch, although
she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this
has come to mind
thirteen years on
come May,
but I’d wager eating pears is
what does it.
No longer picked from
Granny’s tree
but still ripened
in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels
and clean sheets.
Revision#1
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died
I was fifteen she not quite sixty,
so young to go in this day
and age, though that
was almost thirteen years ago
come May.
Not sure of the day, if you’d ask ma
she’d know. Guess I couldn’t bear
to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person, a
woman of great
presence until then.
Instead,
we played cricket that day,
me and my pals; and when we
became too tired we sat and wolfed down
Ham and cheese sandwiches, with cans of
bass shandy, bitter on the tongue.
For afters pears picked from Granny’s tree,
and ripened in her airing cupboard
between bath towels and
clean sheets, while
Ma sat with Da
and Granda
and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds
in tears unspent—
Granny’s death played
out to raised voices,
ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go.
Auntie
didn’t like Ma and blamed her
for Granny’s death,
like Ma had some sort of power
over the cancer.
While Da
fetched cups of tea
cold by the time
the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused, Granda
sat praying.
To who?
At this point who cared?
“WHO?
GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME
FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew
colder to the touch, although
she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this
has come to mind almost
thirteen years on come May,
but I’d wager eating pears is
what does it.
No longer
picked from
Granny’s tree
but still ripened
in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels
and clean sheets.
Original
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died
I was fifteen she almost sixty,
so young to go in this day
and age, though that
was almost thirteen years ago
come May. It was a Tuesday or maybe
a Wednesday, if you’d ask my ma
she’d know. I couldn’t bear
to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person takin Last Rites,
or whatever it is Christians
do when they’re just about
to return to God?
Instead,
we played cricket that day,
me and my pals; sweat an excuse
for tears and when we
became too tired we sat down
picnicking on the square
just outside the crease,
whites with grass stains
on the ass cheeks. Lunch consisting of;
ham and cheese sandwiches,
the crusts cut off,
washed down with cans of
bass shandy, bitter on the tongue
and for afters pears
grown on Granny’s own tree,
ripened in her airing cupboard
between bath towels and
clean sheets, while
Ma sat with Da
and Granda
and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds
in tears unspent— they came later,
too soon then, the wounds too fresh.
Instead her death was played
out to raised voices,
or at least that’s what I was told,
ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go. Auntie
didn’t like Ma and blamed her
for Granny’s death,
like she had some sort of power
over the cancer. While Da
fetched cups of tea too sweet
and cold by the time
the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused Granda
sat praying, to who?
At this point who cared?
The Holy Bible had only brought
them this far and having already
reached bargaining, he would have
sacrificed his faith in this instant
because
“WHO?
GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME
FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew
colder to the touch, although
she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this
has come to mind almost
thirteen years on come May,
but Ma only ever brings her
up on birthdays and
after that we forget again,
but I’d wager eating pears is
what does it.
No longer
picked from
Granny’s own tree
but still ripened
in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels
and clean sheets.
Revision#3
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died I was fifteen she not quite sixty,
that was thirteen years ago come May.
Not sure of the day, if you’d ask ma she’d know.
Guess I couldn’t bear to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person, a woman of great presence until then.
Instead, we played cricket that day, me and my pals
while Ma sat with Da and Granda and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds in tears unspent, Granny’s death
played out to raised voices, ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go.
Auntie didn’t like Ma and blamed her for Granny’s death,
like Ma had some sort of power over the cancer.
While Da fetched cups of tea cold by the time the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused, Granda sat praying. To who?
At this point who cared?
“WHO? GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew colder to the touch,
although she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this has come to mind
thirteen years on come May, but I’d wager
eating pears is what does it.
No longer picked from Granny’s tree
but still ripened in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels and clean sheets.
R[i]evision#2[/i]
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died
I was fifteen she not quite sixty,
so young to go in this day
and age, though that
was thirteen years ago
come May.
Not sure of the day, if you’d ask ma
she’d know. Guess I couldn’t bear
to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person, a
woman of great
presence until then.
Instead,
we played cricket that day,
me and my pals and when we
became too tired we sat and wolfed down
Ham and cheese sandwiches, with cans of
bass shandy, bitter on the tongue.
For afters, pears picked from Granny’s tree
and ripened in her airing cupboard
between bath towels and
clean sheets, while
Ma sat with Da and Granda
and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds
in tears unspent, Granny’s death
played out to raised voices,
ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go.
Auntie didn’t like Ma
and blamed her
for Granny’s death,
like Ma had some sort of power
over the cancer.
While Da fetched cups of tea
cold by the time the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused, Granda
sat praying.
To who?
At this point who cared?
“WHO?
GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME
FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew
colder to the touch, although
she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this
has come to mind
thirteen years on
come May,
but I’d wager eating pears is
what does it.
No longer picked from
Granny’s tree
but still ripened
in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels
and clean sheets.
Revision#1
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died
I was fifteen she not quite sixty,
so young to go in this day
and age, though that
was almost thirteen years ago
come May.
Not sure of the day, if you’d ask ma
she’d know. Guess I couldn’t bear
to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person, a
woman of great
presence until then.
Instead,
we played cricket that day,
me and my pals; and when we
became too tired we sat and wolfed down
Ham and cheese sandwiches, with cans of
bass shandy, bitter on the tongue.
For afters pears picked from Granny’s tree,
and ripened in her airing cupboard
between bath towels and
clean sheets, while
Ma sat with Da
and Granda
and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds
in tears unspent—
Granny’s death played
out to raised voices,
ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go.
Auntie
didn’t like Ma and blamed her
for Granny’s death,
like Ma had some sort of power
over the cancer.
While Da
fetched cups of tea
cold by the time
the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused, Granda
sat praying.
To who?
At this point who cared?
“WHO?
GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME
FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew
colder to the touch, although
she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this
has come to mind almost
thirteen years on come May,
but I’d wager eating pears is
what does it.
No longer
picked from
Granny’s tree
but still ripened
in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels
and clean sheets.
Original
Between bath-towels and clean sheets
When granny died
I was fifteen she almost sixty,
so young to go in this day
and age, though that
was almost thirteen years ago
come May. It was a Tuesday or maybe
a Wednesday, if you’d ask my ma
she’d know. I couldn’t bear
to see Granny crumpled up
like a sick person takin Last Rites,
or whatever it is Christians
do when they’re just about
to return to God?
Instead,
we played cricket that day,
me and my pals; sweat an excuse
for tears and when we
became too tired we sat down
picnicking on the square
just outside the crease,
whites with grass stains
on the ass cheeks. Lunch consisting of;
ham and cheese sandwiches,
the crusts cut off,
washed down with cans of
bass shandy, bitter on the tongue
and for afters pears
grown on Granny’s own tree,
ripened in her airing cupboard
between bath towels and
clean sheets, while
Ma sat with Da
and Granda
and her sister, my Aunt.
Counting down the seconds
in tears unspent— they came later,
too soon then, the wounds too fresh.
Instead her death was played
out to raised voices,
or at least that’s what I was told,
ignorant of the fact that the ears
are the last thing to go. Auntie
didn’t like Ma and blamed her
for Granny’s death,
like she had some sort of power
over the cancer. While Da
fetched cups of tea too sweet
and cold by the time
the anger was spent,
and all the while bemused Granda
sat praying, to who?
At this point who cared?
The Holy Bible had only brought
them this far and having already
reached bargaining, he would have
sacrificed his faith in this instant
because
“WHO?
GAVE A FLYING FUCK, WHERE
HER SALVATION CAME
FROM RIGHT NOW?”
as her hand in his grew
colder to the touch, although
she’d always had cold hands,
wishing that’d they could hav...
I can’t say why this
has come to mind almost
thirteen years on come May,
but Ma only ever brings her
up on birthdays and
after that we forget again,
but I’d wager eating pears is
what does it.
No longer
picked from
Granny’s own tree
but still ripened
in the airing cupboard
between bath-towels
and clean sheets.