Everyone I saw Before They Died
(John T. Windle/Vaudeville John ©2015~ until death)
Everyone I ever saw,
or heard or touched before they died.
Wanting for some karaoke
for an alcoholic vent.
Separation home backstory
and his glory had been spent.
"So you're the quiet one?"
introduction as he took the mic to sing
a eulogy to his lost love;
the one that left him dangling.
She whispered, focused, in my ear:
Just: "We'd love you closer to home..."
which later on I interpreted:
cushion for "You're not alone".
Doting girlfriend peppered phones,
monitoRING him while away
Peturbed in absence
fret without him, worry, weeping every day.
Fraternal foot-friend shaved his
honest face , a bromance, just on tour.
A clean day broke, a final embrace,
forever on the seventh floor.
A book was published in his honour
enjoyed by all, yet bitterment
persues the later selfish partner;
bitch-study of abandonment.
Imaciated widower rose
gentlemanly from the bedclothes,
pastel smiles that went for miles
cheeks pink with gratitude, no guile.
Indoors: her dust beneath a stone
had left so suddenly, so rude.
He entered sleep, forever hopeful,
for the third beatitude.
Only twice I saw my uncle,
merchant navy was his past.
The hook and anchor, solo rancour,
second time became my last.
He played the bass, narcotics chased,
insisted on private despair.
CorOner said: "'least three months dead"
he sat alone in his armchair.
Our samurai, he caught my eye,
exhibited flesh shoulder lumps
from carrying shinto shrines o'er life
through good times, bad times, grooves and grunts.
Said nothing of the big 'C' to us,
teammates knew not of his tumours.
Final summer on the blue tarp.
Lest we ever forget his humour.
Our slim, pale noble took the stage
invited us to have some fun.
We rocked, we grinned, we wept, we gazed.
In terms of influence; the ONE.
So do some souls on legends fly
while others fester in the mould,
forever etched in great recordings,
remainder, stories rarely told.
Everyone I've ever seen,
I watched or heard before they died...
now here you sit, stand, lie before me
and I see you're still alive.
©2015 John T. Windle/Vaudeville John