Posts Tagged ‘afterlife’

Swinging Mom

 By David Allen
I walked toward the bright light
And as it dimmed I saw my mother
Sitting on a swing.
She smiled and asked,
How I liked the trip.
“The trip?” I asked
“Yes, the life you just left.
How’d you like it?”
I was stunned.
“What did you learn this time?” she asked.
I struggled to understand what was happening.
My Mom died years ago and moments ago
I had slipped on the stairs
While taking out the garbage.
“Oh, hon, I can see you’re confused.
That wasn’t a smooth transition.”
She rose from the swing and took my hand.
“Life is all about learning,” she said.
“It’s a series of trips towards enlightenment.
How’d you like this last one?”
It was then I realized I had died
And was newly alive.
Impressions from my latest life
Flooded my mind and, overwhelmed,
I sank to the ground.
My mother sat next to me.
“It was alright,” I finally stammered.
“I found my muse.
I traveled the world
And had children and grandkids.
And I wrote poetry.
I was happy.”
“And what did you learn?”
My mother asked.
Her smile warmed me.
“I learned not to hate,” I said.
“I helped others when I could.
I laughed more.”
“Good,” she said. “You’re progressing.”
She squeezed my folded hands.
“Now, do you want to go back?
Or would you like to rest before
Your next lesson?
Some of your family and friends
Are waiting to see you.”
“I’d like to see them, too,” I said.
“But only for a while.
There’s still a lot more to see and do.
Maybe I can make a difference.”
“You already have,” my Mom said.
“Now let’s party for a bit.
We’ve been waiting for you.”
Sometime later, she pressed my upper lip
So I’d not remember where I’d been.
And I slowly disappeared.
And a beautiful girl baby was born
To an immigrant couple
Inside the domed city
On Mars.


Posted: September 28, 2014 in Poetry
Tags: , , , , , , ,

bird nest 3

By David Allen

I gave my love a
bird’s nest that I
found while mowing
the yard and she
marveled and cooed,
“It must have been built
by a mourning dove.”
She examined it carefully,
noting a toothpick
was embedded in the
twigs and short grass.

Later, I read her a new poem.
She listened patiently and frowned.
“But you don’t believe in God.
How can you write about the Pearly Gates?”
I tried to explain, but it’s difficult when
I don’t even know where the words come from.
And, anyway, I never said I didn’t
believe in a god or some afterlife.
I just believe it doesn’t matter.
What will happen will happen.
We shouldn’t live good lives just
In case there is some kind of super
Being on the other side judging us.
Living morally is the just way the way to be.
You don’t do good so you’ll get a reward.
You do it because it’s right.

I should have quit
with the bird nest.
She understood that.


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