ARS MORIENDI

arsmoriendi02

At the moment of her death
        she saw the curtain fidget
                around a hint of starlight.

At the moment of his death
        he heard his mother’s voice from another room
                neither scolding nor cajoling.

At the moment of her death she thought she saw herself
       in a fleeting doorway, as if from a passing train.

At the moment of his death
        he heard the wind scouring the sand
            across a vast beach out of childhood dreaming.

At the moment of her death
        she saw two black hares boxing on a heath covered with clover.

At the moment of his death
        he heard the taller doctor say as if deep into his ear,
                “Remind me of this”.

At the moment of her death
        she saw 10,000 children
                their white scarves streaming.

At the moment of his death
        he heard the pages of his open book
               riffling in a stiff breeze.

At the moment of her death
        she saw the Holy Vision in a panelled corridor.
                They passed without a word exchanged.

At the moment of his death
        he heard his name chanted in polyphony
                above the beating of deep engines.

At the moment of her death
        she saw the moon as a hole in the night sky,
                its light from all the light that there is beyond.

At the moment of his death
            he heard the sun ping like a blown filament
                    and then the dark was all there was beyond.

ARS MORIENDI#1

 ::o0o::

About Dick Jones

I'm a post-retirement Drama teacher, currently working part-time. I have a grown-up son and daughter, three grandchildren and three young children from my second marriage. I write - principally poetry but prose too, both fitfully published. My poetry collection Ancient Lights is published by Phoenicia Publishing (www.phoeniciapublishing.com) and my translation of Blaise Cendrars' 'Trans-Siberian Prosody and Little Jeanne from France' (illustrated by my friend, the artist, writer and long-time blogger Natalie d'Arbeloff) is published by Old Stile Press (www.oldstilepress.com). I play bass guitar & bouzouki in the song-based acoustic/electric trio Moorby Jones, playing entirely original material (https://www.facebook.com/moorbyjones?ref=aymt_homepage_panel + http://www.moorbyjones.net/). I have a dormant blog with posts going back to 2004 at Dick Jones' Patteran Pages - http://patteran.typepad.com - and I'm a radio ham. My callsign is G0 EUV.
This entry was posted in font. Bookmark the permalink.

3 Responses to ARS MORIENDI

  1. sackerson says:

    I particularly liked the name chanted “above the beating of deep engines.” For some reason it sounds eerily real.

  2. Dick Jones says:

    Thanks, Dom. A peculiarity, this, that came from nowhere known!

  3. Dave Bonta says:

    So many great lines here, Dick.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

w

Connecting to %s