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“Seven at the Golden Shovel” or My Father Died and the World Passed Away

January 11, 2005

8/12/1986


Seven at the Golden Shovel,
Digging all the day,
Hoping with a Heavenly Hit,
To break their chains of clay.


Six at the Endless Table.
Feeding on “swich licour.”
Endless dining and reclining,
Heaven loses its lusty allure.


Five in the Incense Inferno,
Burned with sweet-smelling soot,
Chained to the Wall of Agony,
Bound, both by hand and by foot.


Four of the Angelic Altos,
Singing of “Gloria Deus.”
Ranting and chanting their praises
All to the Almighty Zeus


Three on the Plain of Nirvana,
Experiencing Passionless Peace.
Seeing their Buddha by Bodhi,
Knowing the wonders won’t cease.


Two hide in the fields of Elysia,
One is named Adam, one Eve.
Knowing too much about clothing
Now for Gehenna they leave.


One on each throne of Eternity
Are they that far apart?
He and She both fear each other,
Both of Them act as a part of . . .


Zero, the infinite in us.
Who controls all that we feel?
Defining what’s good and what’s evil
We extol _____ at the keel.




Another of the poems written after my father’s death.  An attempt at an understanding of the various forms the afterlife could take, and a real questioning of who is in charge. The title comes from Gwendolyn Brooks poem “We Real Cool”.

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2 comments

  1. This comment moved from the old blog site — original date lost.

    An interesting exposition of the possibilites that Death leaves. I especially like everything from “Two” on–the bits about Adam and Eve, sitting apart, fearing each other.

    The extolation of blankness makes me uncomfortable, but that is what it is designed to do, I’ll warrant.

    Have you come to any conclusions since, curiously?


  2. i got love 4 u shovel ur poems talk to my lost soul bringing it together



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