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Death, Domesticity and Do Not Expect

3 Poems on Life and Death

By Peter RosePublished 7 years ago 4 min read

To die a glorious death—in awe of William Buttler Yeats

and with a thanks to Chris Rea.

Look beyond that tumult in the sky, look beyond an airman’s death.

Thunder road and Daytona’s dust, take beyond a young girl’s lust.

Might engines roar defiance, screeching tyres stretch mere science.

Look beyond that tumult in the sky, look beyond the bottle of rye.

Real men’s death is not for the faint, stretching life to a limit beyond a saint.

Old men can not die a glorious death, old men can only dream of peace

Life short and fast, as such the young can not last

Once beyond youth’s fearful embrace, go fast but just to win the race.

Old men can die from mistakes, but honestly made to match the fakes.

Life and death are but sides, of the still spinning coin shown to ride.

With this life matched by this death, the airman sees his fate.

Stretching back over years of time, memory and voice leave just a mime.

Over that enemy called time all does fade, while speed and light leave just shade.

We slow and tremble with the fear, that never again will we hear,

That thunder road and Daytona’s dust, taking us beyond a young girl’s lust.


Do not expect

otherwise known as a letter to the young.

Do not expect people of my generation

to view life and death as you do

I was born at a time when

the best of men were all trained to fight and die

The very best were trained to fly and fight

and expected to die within weeks

From both sides in the divide,

from all nations and all religions;

the best were trained to fight and expected to die.

So do not expect my generation

to understand your complaints;

do not expect us to value your concerns.

Never think you know how we judge or what we value.

Your lives seem to us to be blessed with plenty

yet cursed by frustration

while ours was cursed by deprivation

yet blessed by living.

We who were born of death laden times,

We who grew as wars expanded more than mines

global fear prevailed all over

When war was named as cold,

yet heated by nuclear blast

able to melt the earth itself

We who stood in the soaking rain,

Just happy it was not radio active

Those of us who recall living

in good homes

that had no bath

nor electricity

and still were homes worth having.

In times when travel meant a walk,

may be a steam train ride

For the privileged,

We all found joy in simple life.

The richest ones had scarce more

than the poorest in Britain now

Leisure was a half day

spent at church, expected to pray

comfort was being warm

on a winters day

When great sickness ravened all the people

young and old, rich and poor

Even the greatest in the land died so young

Knowledge was reading well

Debate was fierce but only words

We who remember mum and dad

Who had so little

yet showed us pride

We who were taught to learn

never suffer slavery at any cost

How can we understand,

those today who have so much

yet enslave themselves to

chemical addiction.

How can we understand

this slavery to expensive gadgets

How do you expect us to lament

your claim of deprivation,

with only one TV and a phone

when your time is spent on yourself

When you never strive just to live

your complaint is lack of gifts

You expect others to gift to you

the necessities of life

so you may indulge in idle pleasure

do not expect us to understand.

Complaints that you are not in fashion

to those who mended shoes

themselves or went wet footed

Is language of outer space.

when your complaint is

your lack of freedom

But not the freedom to think or write,

You have this in great abundance.

We all are free to live or die

We all are free to face our fears

we all have choices we can make

having made we accept

success and failure

both imposters vile

or so Kipling said

Grow up and make a life

strive to leave your deprivation

You are the same flesh and blood

as those who changed the world.

The gangs and drugs of limited estate

lock you in the sorry state

Learn to think and learn to write

learn to speak to fifth estate

Grow up not wild but free

watch nature, its not meek and mild

Balance is achieved

be brave.


Painting the furniture

or; no wonder my hair is grey

The voice was clear and concise,

I want to paint the furniture

so you can have your vice,

with time to write.

If only truth was in sight

Just take me to the store,

then you can start your writing down

This place no good no choice

so just take me to another town,

then you can start.

Do not frown

help me choose

then home we go

and your time your own.

Before you start

just take handles off,

then you start.

just help me clear the draws

then you start.

Before you sit please,

just sand all down

then you are free.

Just find a brush for me

then you are free.

Just cover the floor

then you are free.

I get my mind to attend

just in time to hear the plea,

I can not bend

help me.

just paint the bottom

This back of mine is rotten,

then wash the brush

don't make a fuss.

Just replace the handles

grease the edge with candle

Then the such pained voice,

can you see to food.

Claims she tired so no choice

I don't know why you’re in a mood

I am the working one

who's done all this painting

you should be proud of me

I have done all the effort

while you just played at writing.

sad poetrysocial commentary

About the Creator

Peter Rose

Collections of "my" vocal essays with additions, are available as printed books ASIN 197680615 and 1980878536 also some fictional works and some e books available at Amazon;-



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