Bland On Bland – Dead

The theme for this week’s JVG Radio Method poem is “Dead“.

So with Jon’s Usual perversity seeing as how the Radiothon theme was “It’s alive”, naturally Jon chose dead as this weeks theme. The truth be told though he could have just been describing how we all felt now that the Radiothon is finished. Either way, I get to have a chat about one of my pet hates…

Ed Bates provided the guitar backing, have a listen to how it went below…

To play this poem directly in your browser – just click the “play” button below:

Dead

There’s been a silent revolution; we’ve been emancipated
Try reading the obituaries; death has been eradicated

It seems verbal evasion can win you a reprieve
Language can accomplish what science can’t achieve

Dying is out of vogue; we’ve conquered it at last
You wouldn’t be caught ‘dead’ these days; everybody’s ‘passed’

Exactly what they’ve passed they never seem to state
Though one thing is apparent; they’ve passed their used by date

Some have ‘crossed the Jordan’; I trust they used a bridge
While others have ‘expired’ like the contents of my fridge

Some ‘awakened to eternal life’; while some have ‘gone to sleep’
Some are merely ‘resting’; they should try counting sheep

Some are ‘living with the angels’ which proves they haven’t died
Probably riding round near Broadford on a Harley Electra Glide

Some are in Abraham’s Bosom; that sounds a little intense
Some have just ‘crossed over’; does that mean they’ve jumped the fence?

Some ‘join the choir invisible’ which seems a bit absurd
Not only can’t we see them, the choir can’t be heard

Some have ‘left this world’; perhaps they’re on the moon
Some ‘caught the train to glory’; one way ticket I presume

Some are ‘in a better place’; hope they have a view
Others ‘gone the way of all flesh’; sounds like a BBQ

Cashed their chips, sold the farm, cleared out the garden shed
Call it anything you like but please don’t mention ‘dead’

Checked out, popped off, paid their tab, took a holiday in lime
Drew the curtain, closed their account, the umpire’s blown full time

Departed, deleted, discontinued, downsized, called it a day
Ran out of road, returned to sender, re-located, slipped away

Bit the dust, gave up the ghost, retrenched, ran out of breath
Fell off the perch, summoned home; no references to death

No need to sugar coat it or mask it for safe keeping
Call it what it is; it’s dead, dead not sleeping

Yet we’re all going to die; there’s nowhere you can hide
You won’t be saved by euphemisms, sit back, enjoy the ride

One day, I know, my time will come and I’ll ahhh, ‘take my last bow’
And I’ll d—I’ll d — I’ll d — I’ll d — I’ll ‘drop off the bough’

© Copyright 2017 Ian Bland

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Also have a listen to “Everything or Nothing”