Aunty Becks
(An Illustrious Journalist
Gone to Rest in 2009)
On and on,
Long little lonely streams
meandered our rue-covered cheeks.
Knuckles, wet with constant
moisture damaged
Our corneas with frequency―
souls wrecked.
On and on,
The quiet deck;
On and on
Went Aunty Becks.
Streaming nostrils betrayed
our incessant sobbing;
For her pretty nose lay still
in the silent earth;
And the raft of eternity here
did anchor― souls wrecked.
On and on,
The quiet deck;
On and on
Went Aunty Becks.
Like Telemachus, yearning for
Odysseus, like Penelope,
Melting in tears, we sobbed.
Like wraiths from the yolk of
the inferno we craned
With ghostly faces at the
parting raft of eternity― souls wrecked
On and on,
The quiet deck;
On and on
Went Aunty Becks.
“The Debate,”
Where the world nodded at your
skill alone, was all fevered:
Loved ones, all onion-eyed,
crouched like weather-beaten owls –
The index finger of time,
Wrote sorrow in the palms of
eternity ― souls wrecked
On and on,
The quiet deck;
On and on
Went Aunty Becks.
Leaves sprout, leaves fall.
Days sneak by unnoticed.
Seasons come. Seasons go. Fast
dragonflies fizzle in the sky
But who can forget Aunty Becks?
On and on, the quiet deck;
On and on
Went Aunty Becks.
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