Some Sort of Shining

I can still see the bright-crimson glow.
This wasn’t any ordinary fire,
It was some sort of shining.
I’d never seen anything like it in the movies.
That evening everyone spilled out
onto their balconies
and those who didn’t have them
went to friends’ houses.
We were on the ninth floor,
we had a great view.
People brought their kids out,
picked them up, said, “Look! Remember!”
They stood in the black dust,
talking, breathing, wondering at it.
People came from all around in their cars
and their bikes to have a look.
We didn’t know that death could be so beautiful.



From Voices from Chernobyl by Svetlana Alexievich, translated by Keith Gess (Dalkey Archive Press, 2005), p. 155. Submitted by Howie Good.

When love goes cold

She was going out with him,
she was supposed to love him,
but she left him in the fridge
and let the council deal with the body.



Overheard in the street in a small city in southern England, 7 October 2015. Submitted by Mark Totterdell.

Not given to imagination

Mummy, I’m not afraid to die.
Why do you talk of dying
and you so young
do you want a lollipop?

No, but I shall be with Peter and June.

Mummy, let me tell you about my dream last night.
Darling, I’ve no time now. Tell me again later.

No, Mummy, you must listen.
I dreamt I went to school
and there was no school there.
Something black had come down all over it.
You mustn’t have chips for supper for a bit.

The next day off to school went her daughter
as happy as ever.
In the communal grave she was buried
with Peter on one side
and June on the other.



Dialogue from an account of 10-year-old Eryl Mai's premonition of the 1966 Aberfan avalanche disaster, via Futility Closet. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

The Lady is a Tramp

It happened incrementally
I needed the dough
I was in a lot of trouble
I went to the library
I needed to come up with 40 bucks
to get my kitty’s, Doris’s, tests back.

I took a couple of Fanny Brice letters
slipped them in my sneakers
sold them to a place called Argosy.
They would pay more for better content.
A big white space at the bottom of a letter
after, 'yours truly, Fanny Brice’
I got an old typewriter
I wrote a couple of hot sentences
improved the letter and elevated the price.

“I have a hangover out of Gounod’s Faust”
“canny old Kraut remains one of my most cherished friends”
“a bright, talented actress,
quite attractive since she dealt
with her monstrous English overbite.’’

larky and fun and totally cool

Is it absolution she’s seeking, or admiration?

On and off welfare,
a horror beyond my talent to describe
My most enduring memory
is the odour in the elevators:
eau de desperation!



From Lee Israel, literary forger - obituary, The Telegraph, 24 February 2015. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi.

Death in the afternoon

My body is falling apart, he said
He shaved meticulously
He forgot about his eyes and ears
He smelled good

Bloody certificates
another barrier to impetuous action
in case of lovelorn despair, for example
ten minutes before noon

A sparkling, sunny day in late spring
We ate more cherries
Even he tasted one or two
and the angels looked quite grateful

No one talked about the next act
No one talked very much at all
The angels went for a walk around the garden
We stayed where we were, savouring the lovely day

Do you know what this is?
Do you know what will happen if you drink it?
Do you want me to give it to you?
Yes, I do. I will die.

His eyes shut, quietly
It’s over now
Goodbye then
I returned to the garden.



From 'I held his hand as he drank the fatal dose': the day my husband chose to die by Liesl Graz, The Guardian 7 February 2015. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi.

What They Don't Tell You

My mum doesn’t know who I am.
Sometimes I’m her sister.
Sometimes I’m her dead mother.
Once I was Shirley Bassey,
which made for an interesting evening.

I’d assumed we’d have lots of time
to get to know each other properly.
I was wrong. Instead of visiting coffee shops,
we ended up visiting the memory clinic.
It’s like going home with a newborn baby,
but with less support and no balloons.

They don’t tell you that she’ll hit you
as you coax her into the bath.
Neither do they tell you what nappies to buy
when she becomes incontinent,
how to persuade her to wear one
or stop her taking it off
and stashing it in a pillow case.

They don’t tell you what to do
when she thinks that the small boy
you pass on your walk is her grandson,
and tries to talk to him. Nobody tells you
how to placate the angry parents.

They don’t tell you that she’s never
going to phone you again, see you get married,
be a grandmother to your kids.
Nobody tells you how to channel the anger
you feel that your fellow thirtysomethings’ lives
now involve marriage, mortgages and children,
and yours revolves around a confused old lady
who doesn’t know who you are.
They’ve chosen their responsibilities;
you’d give anything not to have yours.

They don’t tell you that you’ll spend hours
trying to feed her a spoonful of hospital jelly
even though she’s pretty much given up on eating,
because you can’t just watch her starve.

It doesn’t matter how distraught you are
that she’s wasting away before your eyes,
or how much it upsets you to agree
to the doctor’s request for a DNR order;
this disease is relentless .

I’m still not sure how to feel about it
when there’s nothing tangible to mourn.
“Waking grief” someone called it.
When the person you knew is gone, but not gone.
But it’s not. It’s a waking, sleeping,
cloud of despair. But then nobody tells you
how to grieve either, do they?

Especially when there’s no funeral to go to.



From What they don't tell you about dementia by Dawn Vance, The Guardian 28 January 2015. Submitted by Angi Holden.

Trinity Tanka

I am become Death
We made a terrible thing
Destroyer of Worlds
What are you moping about?
We’re all sons of bitches now.



A collection of quotations from Manhattan Project physicists on the occasion of the first ever atomic explosion, the Trinity Test in Los Alamos in 1945. Lines attributed to Richard Feynman, Bob Wilson and J. Robert Oppenheimer. Submitted by Daniel Galef.

The Shores of Tripoli

1
Never sell the bones
of your father and mother.
Every damn fool thing you do
in this life you pay for.
The bastards tried to come
over me last night.
I guess they didn't know
I was a Marine.

2
Is it not meningitis?
All right then, I'll say it:
Dante makes me sick.
Damn it! How will I ever
get out of this labyrinth?
Useless … useless …
My vocabulary did this to me.

3
Don't ask me how I am!
I've got the bows up … I'm going!
I understand nothing more.
The bastards got me,
but they won't get everybody.
This is the fish of my dreams.




Last words from Wikiquotes. Submitted by Howie Good.

Floral Tributes

The alternative is to
Pick tributes from your garden.
Seasonal wreathes, using ivy,
Berries and autumn colours
Look beautiful.
Foliage is always available
Even if there are no blooms.
Some families
Simply supply all the mourners
With a single seasonal bloom
To place upon the coffin.
Others choose a sprig of rosemary
That can be dropped into the grave.
The possibilities are endless.




From The Natural Death Handbook, 5th edition. Submitted by Karen JK Hart.

Those Things Omitted in Masses for the Dead

the Altar is not incensed at the Introit
and the Subdeacon does not kiss
the hand of the Celebrant
nor is the Subdeacon blessed

the Deacon does not request the Blessing
nor does he kiss the hand of the Celebrant
nor are the lights held at the Gospel
nor is the incense carried

the book is not incensed
nor the Celebrant at the end
nor is the book brought to be kissed
the Subdeacon does not hold the Paten

the ministers
when handing something to the Celebrant
do not kiss his hand
nor do they kiss that which they hand to him

the breast is not struck



From the Rubrics of the Missale Romanum 1962, section XIII. Submitted by Dale Wisely.

One of the things about working on capital cases all your life is that you keep things in proportion.

Unless
you've got
an execution date,
it can damn well wait
until Wilf
has had
his bedtime story.

If there is
an execution date,
Wilf
will understand.



Taken from an interview with Clive Stafford Smith, ‘My Family Values,’ Guardian Weekend, 16 November 2013. Submitted by Ailsa Holland.

Most unusual

It was the most unusual inquest
since the Tory MP met his maker
trussed up like a boil-in-a-bag duck à l’orange –
with a noose round his neck
a bin-liner over his head
and a satsuma
stuffed in his mouth.




From So that’s why they’re called the Funny People, Mail Online, 3 May 2012. Submitted by Tim Benjamin.

May the punishment fit the crime

Man
who

altered
our

TV
habits

forever
dies.



A Yahoo! news headline. Submitted by JR Solonche.

Let's do it

Brian Roberson

Since I have already said
all I need to say
to all my loved ones,
I'm not going to say anything to y'all at this time ...
So this is my statement.

To all of the racist white folks in America
that hate black folks
and to all of the black folks in America
that hate themselves:
the infamous words
of my famous legendary brother, Matt Turner:
"Y'all kiss my black ass."

Let's do it.


David Long

Ah, just ah sorry ya'll.
I think I’ve tried everything I could
to get in touch with ya'll
to express how sorry I am.
I never was right after that incident happened ...

I was raised by the California Youth Authority,
I can't really pinpoint where it started,
what happened,
but really believe that's just the bottom line,
what happened to me was in California.
I was in their reformatory schools and penitentiary,
but ah they create monsters in there.
That's it, I have nothing else to say.

Thanks for coming, Jack.


Dennis Dowthitt

I am so sorry
for what y'all had to go through ...
if I was y'all, I would have killed me.
You know?
I am really so sorry about it,
I really am.
I got to go sister, I love you.
Y'all take care and God bless you.

Gracie was beautiful
and Tiffany was beautiful.
You had some lovely girls and I am sorry.
I don't know what to say.

All right, Warden, let's do it.


Charlie Livingston

You all brought me here to be executed,
not to make a speech.

That's it.



From Last words of prisoners on death row, The Guardian, 2 July 2013. Submitted by Ailsa Holland.

Fundamentally Curious

It’s an act so
immense, so apparently monstrous and yet
deeply personal that it’s
almost
impossible to judge.
He erased himself, and all
those 8,000 souls, for

one woman.

Because he loved her.

There’s something
terrifying
in that kind of love, something that asks
for so much
it can’t possibly be returned,

or ignored.



Taken from an AV Club review of the Star Trek: Deep Space Nine episode "Children of Time". "Possible" has been corrected to "possibly" in line 14. Submitted by Wesley Brown.

The Shape of a Dead Man

I have the shape of a dead man
on the wall of my cell.
It was left behind by the last occupant.
He stood against the wall
and traced around himself with a pencil,
then shaded it in.

It looks like a very faint shadow,
it’s barely noticeable until you see it.
It took me nearly a week to notice it for the first time,
But once you see it you can’t un-see it.

I find myself lying on my bunk
and looking at it several times a day.
It just seems to draw the eyes like a magnet.
God only know what possessed him to do such a thing
but I can’t bring myself to wash it off.

Since they executed him,
it’s the only trace of him left.
He’s been in his grave almost five years now,
yet his shadow still lingers.

He was no-one and nothing.
All that remains of him is a handful of old rape charges
and a man-shaped pencil sketch.



From the diary of Damien Echols - an inmate on death row for 18 years. Via How to Survive Death Row in The Observer magazine, 26th May. 'And' omitted from the eighth line. Submitted by Lisa Oliver.

Before the end came

Death is so intimate –
more intimate than first love.

I could hold his hand, 

gaze into his eyes, 

stare 

unhindered 

at his tender face, 

stroke 

his frosty hair.

He was very thin,
skin the colour 

of a dried corn husk. 


His mouth 

a dark tunnel. 

The jagged mountain ranges 

of his ruined teeth.


The petrified forests
of his hair.

The failing locomotive of his breath.
The sadness of the black bobbled socks on his calves.

Yet he was
irreducibly
who he had always been. 




Taken from Tim Lott's Guardian article, My father's final moments, 23 February 2013. Submitted by Ailsa Holland.

N wen u get ur kids took away

N wen u get ur kids took away from u
u have no mates no bloke family hate u n
keep u from urban kids so u take drugs I
rant allowed my toddlers till I've had two yrs of
therapy c.b.t. no point comin off drugs yet
is there n now social services problem
my mamy two and my dad have even stopped
contact I've seen them twice in six week
once was Xmas day the other
was for a photo shoot I got done with the
picture for my Xmas present so I had to
c them for the photo I'm not allowed normally
all I ever wanted was to be a mamy ex fucked it
n now I'm just in too Much pain everyday
I c the photo I cry I'm a mess everyone
hates me anyway the public would
Deffo be glad meby ten people would
go to my funeral the rest of the town
would be glad coz I have done
lots of bad stuff but I'm 29 now
Give me a chance for god's sake



Comment from an online suicide blog. Submitted by Grace Andreacchi.

The Shooter

"We do this every night.
We go to a house,
we fuck with some people,
and we leave."

He’s got a gun within reach.
He’s a threat ... in that second
I shot him, two times in the forehead.

Bap! Bap!

The second time as he’s going down.
He crumpled to the floor in front of his bed
and I hit him again.

Bap!

Same place ... he was dead. Not moving.
His tongue was out. I watched him take
his last breaths, just a reflex.

And I remember as I watched him
breathe out the last part of air, I thought:
is this the best thing I’ve ever done, or the worst?



From 'I killed him': US Navy Seal who fired the shot that killed Osama bin Laden breaks his silence, The Independent, 11 February 2013. The words come from the former Navy Seal, with 'on' (line 6) and 'breath' (11) removed. Submitted by Gabriel Smy.

Sorry to hear about Bubbles

Charlotte commented on your photo
hope you’re ok?
r u not by a computer?
I know you must be feeling bloody sad
u r doin the rite thing 4 her
not to let her suffer
I will try and cheer u up
when i next pass that way
you gave her a lovely life
huggs will comfort u thru the night
her body will slip away quietly
plz stay warm in your water bourne nest
happens to us all
goodnight x x x
Reply with your comment or “like”.



Taken from the last 22 messages in my phone's inbox. Original spelling, case and punctuation preserved. Submitted by Winston Plowes.