Memorable Service (edit 2.1 thanks all)

[tectak]

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties.
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as  their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .  
How they grumble genuflecting, manus clamped to worn oak rails;
how they moan  as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked.

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom.
Organ music  seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom,
when it's shot to death but does not  realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, some fall to floor.
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held shaking high, then low, the coffin starts  to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impugn,
but once you’re gone then there’s an end to it.
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as  pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord  be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and  loosed  a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered  worth a try
as the lifetime warranty  was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in  wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said, as he was laid in his last bed,
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them  round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012

[billy]

needs more than a quick read and this is as good as any forum for it

[penguin]

Terrific. If the reason you doubt it's in the right forum is to do with the humour I'd think again.There's some brilliant lines and the rhythm is great apart from one or two places.
Isn't it "genuflect"? It is certainly "impugn"?
when it's shot to death?

Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door. - cracking lines.

These too:
On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.

The rhythm is not as smooth here:
See them smile, see them snigger (but to laugh out loud none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.

"though to laugh out loud" would be better, I think.


He was buried without incident, an ignominious end, - except that the last of the poem belies this. You really need "further incident" but it doesn't fit.

Loved it.

[tectak]

Terrific. If the reason you doubt it's in the right forum is to do with the humour I'd think again.There's some brilliant lines and the rhythm is great apart from one or two places.
Isn't it "genuflect"? It is certainly "impugn"?
when it's shot to death?

Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door. - cracking lines.

These too:
On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.

The rhythm is not as smooth here:
See them smile, see them snigger (but to laugh out loud none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.

"though to laugh out loud" would be better, I think.


He was buried without incident, an ignominious end, - except that the last of the poem belies this. You really need "further incident" but it doesn't fit.

Loved it.

Thanks for this. Certainly some good tweeks. Note though:
Main Entry: impune
Part of Speech: verb
Definition: fight
Synonyms: assail, challenge, contradict, deny, gainsay, resist
Roget's 21st Century Thesaurus, Third Edition
Copyright © 2012 by the Philip Lief Group.
Cite This Source
Now genuflect. Well, I got away with this one before ( on this very site) but never checked my instinct. I have now....genuflex is certainly acceptable, even by derivation, and I now wonder if I have ever seen "genuflect" used. I am buggered if I can remember if I was right when I said I was wrong or wrong when I said I was right. Anyway, genuflex googles out OK.
Re the last stanza. "without incident" is tongue in cheek and plays down the obvious seriousness if it were true!
The rest I shall ponder. I noted that when I read it through I stumbled but managed to correct the rhythm by trochee switching....it WILL read correctly but you do need to modify the emphasies.
Best,
tectak

[billy]

Edit 0.0001 thanks penguin.

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties.
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .
How they grumble as they genuflex, mauls clamped to worn oak rails; i think it's genuflect
how they moan as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked.

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom. strong line.
Organ music seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom,
when it's shot to death but does not realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, then fall to floor.
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it. this line and the poem in general feels very Kipling
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012

the last verse is stupendously pubish, and as i stated, the whole thing has the touch of Kipling...with a bit of east end or Manchester humour thrown in. i enjoyed all of it and never even had the urge to check meter or grammar. though i seem to remember this from somewhere else. that said if some of the grammar is wrong then it's wrong. penguin pointed out impugn which i missed completely as well as the it's,
genuflect is definitely the word in the other instance though i do like genuflex

i think this is one of your best poems and one i'd pay to read in a book of like poetry. a stormer of a read and funny as hell to boot.

thanks for the read.

[tectak]

Edit 0.0001 thanks penguin.

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties.
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .
How they grumble as they genuflex, mauls clamped to worn oak rails; i think it's genuflect
how they moan as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked.

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom. strong line.
Organ music seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom,
when it's shot to death but does not realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, then fall to floor.
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it. this line and the poem in general feels very Kipling
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012

the last verse is stupendously pubish, and as i stated, the whole thing has the touch of Kipling...with a bit of east end or Manchester humour thrown in. i enjoyed all of it and never even had the urge to check meter or grammar. though i seem to remember this from somewhere else. that said if some of the grammar is wrong then it's wrong. penguin pointed out impugn which i missed completely as well as the it's,
genuflect is definitely the word in the other instance though i do like genuflex

i think this is one of your best poems and one i'd pay to read in a book of like poetry. a stormer of a read and funny as hell to boot.

thanks for the read.

Hi billy,
thanks for ploughing through this one
I have had a plethora of funerals recently, but my disappearing old pals are all humorists so we have had damn good wakes. The last was a couple of weeks ago and my wife and I both noticed the patent shoe and school tie brigade. Seemed to trigger a poem. See my reply to penguin re genuflex and impune. I like genuflex.
Glad you liked it. I am a Kipling fan. More so since a visit to the Bayeux museum (tapestry Fame) when I walked round the war poets exhibition. Very moving. What meanest "pubish"?
Best,
tectak

[billy]

pubbish to do with pubs, ie drinkers.

[tectak]

pubbish to do with pubs, ie drinkers.

Never pre-judge. I thought you meant "pube-ish" to do with pubic hairs, ie perverts

[billy]

every time i visit the uk i have a funeral to sit through. i find it amazing that they all pass away in the 4 week window i use for my holiday there. is god telling me something i wonder? i think kipling was a down to earth blokish sort of man and that's the essence of the poem, it feels down to earth working class. it's an honest piece of poetry.

[Philatone]

hey tec
had to stop mid-crit, but will come back

Edit 0.0001 thanks penguin.

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties. ...like the 'ooo' sounds of the opening
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .
How they grumble as they genuflex, mauls clamped to worn oak rails;...genuflect
how they moan as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked. ...strikes me as a bit direct, especially considering the tone of the earlier lines. I think it's the passive "are gathered"

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom. ..."dimly" did little for me; entirely personal, but I have a hard time with "gloom" and "doom", especially when used together. maybe it's justified considering the topic
Organ music seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom, ...again, probably personal taste, but the "pheasant" caught me off-guard. does it fit
when it's shot to death but does not realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, then fall to floor....again, the passive does few favors i think. could drop the semi-colon, use a comma, and "spectacles lost, fallen to the floor
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it.
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012

[tectak]

hey tec
had to stop mid-crit, but will come back

Edit 0.0001 thanks penguin.

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties. ...like the 'ooo' sounds of the opening
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .
How they grumble as they genuflex, mauls clamped to worn oak rails;...genuflect
how they moan as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked. ...strikes me as a bit direct, especially considering the tone of the earlier lines. I think it's the passive "are gathered"

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom. ..."dimly" did little for me; entirely personal, but I have a hard time with "gloom" and "doom", especially when used together. maybe it's justified considering the topic
Organ music seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom, ...again, probably personal taste, but the "pheasant" caught me off-guard. does it fit
when it's shot to death but does not realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, then fall to floor....again, the passive does few favors i think. could drop the semi-colon, use a comma, and "spectacles lost, fallen to the floor
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it.
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed.
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012

[Thanks for so far Phil. Off on holiday to la belle furnace which is France. I only need one more crit to tell me it is genuflect and I swear to god.....I will change jt
Best,
tectak

[penguin]

It really is genuflect.And impugn.

[billy]

it's genuflect you journeyman

[Philatone]

sorry for the interruption!

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea....enjoy the scene you paint
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;...again, the adverb--i get the intention, but i feel like there are other ways to express it
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.....in a way, this can contradict the line before (i can see arguments for both sides). regardless, it struck me as a bit extra
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise....nice line, as well as the next

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it....the line feels a bit clumsy with the "that" and the "then there's an"
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs. ...i like. a part of me, though, says comparing a coffin to "logs" may be a bit too close, what with them both being made of wood

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then. ...again, a great scene

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear....i feel like this description can be difficult to pull off, but you've done it

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed....need the period?
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one. ....works even better with the first mention of ties in the first stanza. a good close i think

hope a thing or two will be helpful!

[tectak]

hey tec
had to stop mid-crit, but will come back

Edit 0.0001 thanks penguin.

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties. ...like the 'ooo' sounds of the opening
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .
How they grumble as they genuflex, mauls clamped to worn oak rails;...genuflect
how they moan as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked. ...strikes me as a bit direct, especially considering the tone of the earlier lines. I think it's the passive "are gathered"

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom. ..."dimly" did little for me; entirely personal, but I have a hard time with "gloom" and "doom", especially when used together. maybe it's justified considering the topic
Organ music seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom, ...again, probably personal taste, but the "pheasant" caught me off-guard. does it fit
when it's shot to death but does not realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, then fall to floor....again, the passive does few favors i think. could drop the semi-colon, use a comma, and "spectacles lost, fallen to the floor
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it.
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012

Thanks phil and all. OK You all bloody well win! GENUFLECT it is BUT I am sticking with IMPUNE!!

---

Edit 1.0001 thanks penguin and the rest. Bugger-genuflect it is!

Here they come a’squeaking, in their shiny Sunday shoes,
press-ganged pinstripe suits and old school ties.
Sad-eyed and near sightless, they cast myopic views,
as their grey heads bow and spot unbuttoned flies .
How they grumble as they genuflect, mauls clamped to worn oak rails;
how they moan as knees are bent and backs are cricked.
Replete with Christian spirit and all that that entails,
they are gathered here to have their conscience pricked.

In the vaulted depths, fat candles dimly flicker in the gloom.
Organ music seeks a compromise;
faltering and squawking, like a pheasant meeting doom,
when it's shot to death but does not realise.
Hear them shuffle as they stand, hymn sheets shaking in their hands;
spectacles are lost, then fall to floor.
Draught sets them all a’hacking, but the good Lord understands
that when colons jolt, they need an open door.

On the ocean of pink islands, moves a shadow in the light;
through the doorway here at last, comes he.
Bearers of the coffin struggle round the font and fight
to establish rights of passage in this sea.
No one hears the organ play, all look stoically away;
one or two glance back but drop their eyes.
Held high, then low, the coffin starts alarmingly to sway,
as the hand of God attempts to stabilise.

There is gravity around us and the dead are not immune.
The force that draws us down into the pit
cannot be resisted, though believers may impune
that once you’re gone then there’s an end to it.
It seems it was the man in front, who stopped to wipe his eyes,
as pain or passion caught him unawares.
The casket veered to left then right, then took a final dive
with the sound of logs a’falling down the stairs.

See them smile, see them snigger (though to laugh out loud, none dared);
with hands on mouths and eyebrows heaven raised.
Turning like the Trouping of the Colours, mourners stared,
‘til the organist decided, Lord be Praised,
that this would be her destiny, so unknown stops she pulled,
and loosed a mighty wailing, roaring din.
Such was the Vox Humana that the Forte all but culled
those that still could hear unaided…until then.

Those skilled in DIY re-assembled splintered ply
whilst professional grievers called it a disgrace.
A claim against The Maker was considered worth a try
as the lifetime warranty was still in place.
By good luck and by providence the cadaver stayed in wraps
and arguably was none the worse for wear;
but with bits of unknown body parts sticking through the gaps
to continue would have been too hard to bear.

He was buried without incident, an ignominious end,
in a casket held together with much love.
Nothing much was said as he was laid in his last bed
by the mourners grimly peering from above.
The shoes they wore still squeaked as they drifted off to pray,
with their pin-stripes creased but ties no longer worn;
In memory of the day that their pal had passed away
they had tied them round his coffin, every one.

Tectak
2012