Tag: death

Storm Brewing

I nestled into my covers on this cloudy afternoon, closed my eyes and drifted

Away to the lull of rolling thunder over the lake, the susurration of rain and wind 

Against the skylight. Into my dreams strode twelve Valkyrie, each with a fallen 

Warrior in her arms, bound for Valhalla at Odin’s behest. I craned my neck, stood on

Tipped toes, but could not see the faces of the dead. Worry not, rumbled a distant 

voice. None of these corpses belong to your time. They will stride the great halls with

All-Father and dine at his table. Chastened, I shrank from my curiosity and shadowed 

Mythic maidens, head bowed, hands extended in supplication. “Grant me entry,”

I implored. “A glimpse would suffice.” An answering reverberation threw me to my

Knees. Paltry human! You beg at great peril to your own welfare. Leave this path and 

Entreat us no more. Standing, I turned my back to the great guarding doors of Valhöl

Only to meet a spirit of such fierce beauty that I sank again in awe and obeisance.

A voice of compassionate strength filled my soul, as Freya lifted my head.

Child, you have shown great courage. Worthy are you to enter the great hall. Prepare yourself mentally to open the gates.

With all my heart I leaned into the task, only to awaken to a bright flash of

Lightning and the immediate clap of gut wrenching thunder. Valhalla must wait

For another day. Oh, but for a glimpse, a taste. “Odin eier dere alle!” 

  
Lately I’ve been re-obsessed with Norse mythology. As a child I read every bit of Greek and Roman mythology I could get my hands on, and that reading led me into the Norse myths. I especially enjoy the creation myths and the stories surrounding the afterlife. 

Studly Doright and I have been binge watching The History Channel series, Vikings, and apparently the episodes are bleeding over into my dreams. I’m not complaining.

Peace, People!

A Pauper’s Death

old brother died
and who would pay
to send him on
his final way?
the cost of life
had been too dear
the cost of death
was dearer still.
oh who will come
to send him home
this man who lived
a life alone?

  

Guns and Thorns

the fetishists have cried,

“leave our guns alone!”

when no one has called

for their removal.

paranoid fools who fail

to see or care, cry time

and time again that any

move breeds futility

while still more innocents

die and we offer up only

thoughts and prayers.

Peace, people.

  

Forgive

Dearest Readers,

Sometimes real life intrudes on my blogging world. Studly Doright becomes David and Nana (Leslie) has to speak her mind:

We had dinner a week ago with a lovely couple at David’s office Christmas party. I’d met them briefly before, but at this dinner we were seated next to them. We had a great time getting to know one another. They were both near our age, raising a blended family, some kids grown, others still at home. 

David called a few minutes ago to tell me the husband had just died. He couldn’t tell me more at the moment. 

So one week ago this man was a vital, living human being with hopes and dreams and a beautiful family. No one could have predicted he’d be gone on this date. 

Whatever petty grudges you’re clinging to. Whatever perceived slights. Get past them. Forgive. Forgive. Forgive. Tomorrow isn’t guaranteed and your pride won’t keep you warm.

Not a one of us is without blame in this life. We’ve wronged others and we’ve been wronged. “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” rings a bell.
Pick up that phone. Call your sister. Call your brother, your mother, your dad, your niece or nephew, your child. You don’t even have to say you’re sorry. Just say, “I love you.” 

Peace, people. 

Praying for Eyebrowz Copyright 2015 by Leslie Noyes.

Easy Times

i read the news this morning of a friend’s mother having a stroke,
and another’s father breaking a hip.

i heard of an adult child who fled
his responsibilites and left his
wife and children for a fling.

i thought about the pain we experienced
as young parents, worrying about our
infants’ developmental stages.

i recalled the nights spent agonizing
over my teenagers’ angst and woes,
their heartaches and heartbreaks.

i wept when reflecting on the loss
of my parents, both gone too soon
from my life; too young from theirs.

i realized there are no easy times,
nothing worthwhile comes without cost.
the joys of loving our only reward.

  
Recently a beloved uncle passed away after a long illness. When I shared the news on Facebook a friend who’d recently experienced a similar loss commented that we are at a tough age. 

I knew what she meant. I’ve lost both of my parents, as have most of my closest friends. Several in my age group have experienced the traumatic loss of a spouse, and some the loss of a child.

We are the sandwich generation, those of us in our mid-to late 50’s. Some still have children at home while simultaneously caring for aging parents. I would almost say it is the most difficult time. But then I started thinking and the poem appeared.

There are no easy times. We might be fooled for a second by a lull in the action, but every stage has its pitfalls. The love is worth it, though. Just keep plugging. 

Peace, people!

Thirsting

Thirsting

By Leslie Noyes

we slept for eons
awakened then by a kiss
thirsting for true love.

  

hungry we scrabbled
tortured by cloistered trappings
tongues seeking life’s blood.

  
submit, our lovelies,
slake our thirst, break these shackles
join in ecstasy.

I’m a long time fan of the vampire tale. Scary, sparkly, ghastly, gory, romantic, rascally, I love them all. Except for the silly ones. They just piss me off. Vampires don’t do vaudeville.

Peace, people!

Ghouls: All Together Now

After tons of requests, alright, only three requests, I decided to merge my Ghouls trilogy from Halloween past into one story. It was either that or write a Turkeys of Thanksgiving piece, and I had trouble wrapping my mind around that one.

Ghoul of Halloween Past

Sam Hollis had driven most of the day and into the night trying to get home. His eyes were gritty from lack of sleep and his head kept nodding and then jerking to an upright position. When a rest stop exit sign appeared in his headlights at 9:30, he decided to pull in and sleep for awhile.

The I-10 rest stop was lit up like noon, so Sam backed into a spot furthest from the lights and reclined his seat. He cracked his windows an inch and settled in for a nap. Just before he fell into sleep an image of his former business partner and friend, Eric Marks, popped into his head. Eric’s funeral was the reason Sam was traveling on this late October night, and Sam couldn’t quite shake the feeling that Eric’s death was his fault. No, he hadn’t pulled the trigger, Eric had done that, but his suicide came hard on the heels of the end of their longtime partnership.

A scratching sound awakened him. Sam sat up, disoriented. Beside him, on the passenger seat, sat a man-sized rat.

“What the hell!” screamed Sam, scrambling for the door handle. The door wouldn’t budge, and Sam felt his heart banging against his chest wall.

“Relax, Sam,” said the rat. “It’s me. Eric.”

Sam screamed again and felt a liquid warmth spread across the front of his suit pants, “Just a dream, just a dream, just a…”

“No Sam. You’re not dreaming. This is Eric, and I’ve got a message for you from the other side.”

“Heaven?” gulped Sam. His heart continued to race and he thought a heart attack imminent. Oddly, the thought that he should have exercised more crossed his mind.

Eric laughed grimly. “Not exactly.”

“Look buddy,” the rat with Eric’s voice continued. “I’ve only been dead for three days and already it feels like eternity. But the big boss downstairs offered to lighten my torture if I could haunt you into following my lead.”

“You mean get me to kill myself?”

“Exactly. I mean, what have you got to live for? Marie’s about to leave you. You’re gonna get audited by the IRS this year. Your old man’s about to cut you out of his will.”

“Wait, you’re making this up. None of this is true.”

“Whatever. I’m out of here for now, but before the night is over you’re gonna have some visitors. Three of them. Once they’re through with you, you’ll be dying to join me.”

With a start Sam awakened. “Holy shit,” he said aloud. He cautiously felt the front of his pants and let out a sigh of relief. Dry. So it had been a nightmare. Shakily, Sam started the car and pulled back onto the interstate, anxious to put some distance between himself and the site of his dream. Glancing at the clock on the dashboard he realized he’d only been asleep for twenty minutes or so.

His mouth felt cottony and Sam decided to stop at the next town on his route to get some caffeine in his system. Already the nightmare had begun to fade. Sam shook his head and smiled at his own foolishness. “That’s what I get for eating greasy fast food after a funeral,” he thought.

At the Live Oak exit Sam located a mini mart and parked. Inside the store he grabbed a donut and poured a steaming cup of hot coffee. For good measure he grabbed a bottle of water and waited in line behind an elderly man at the checkout. The man was buying scratch off tickets and taking his sweet time.

“Give me two of them new ones,” the old man told the clerk. “No, not those, the ones next to them.”

“You want the ‘Devil’s Due’ game, old man?” the clerk asked.

“Might as well,” he cackled.”I’m deserving of it ain’t I?”

Sam cleared his throat and the man looked over his shoulder. “What’s your hurry. We all going to the same place.” he told Sam. “Least ways, you and me is.” Sam took a full step back as the man turned to face him. His white hair was long and stringy, his teeth yellowed from years of smoking. And damn! His breath smelled like rotten onions, slick with slime.

In a blink the old man grabbed Sam’s arm and transported the two of them out of the convenience store. For the second time that night Sam felt as if his heart was about to explode inside his chest. A high pitched scream emanated from his trembling lips as he and the ghoul, for that was what he must be, rose into the October night.

“You kept me waiting, boy,” the man growled. “You’ll pay for that, you will.”

Sam closed his eyes as he felt bile rise in his throat. His stomach fell as he and the old man dropped suddenly, landing with a thud.

“Open them eyes,” rasped the old man. “I said open them, now!”

Hesitantly, Sam dared a glance at his surroundings. “Whe-where are we?” he gasped.

“Where’s it look like boy?”

When Sam realized he and the old man were sitting on the topmost arm of an old elm tree he gulped audibly and steadied himself on the branch. One wrong move could send him plummeting to his death.

The old man growled, “it ain’t where we are, it’s where you used to be. Recognize the building down there?”

Sam looked down at the old three-story brick edifice. Every light in the building was on. At first, Sam couldn’t recall where he’d seen the building, then it came to him. Old Andrews Ward, the elementary school he’d attended in fifth and sixth grades.

Briefly, Sam forgot his fear. “My god! I remember this place. Eric and I met here when we were 10 or 11, but this old school was closed years ago. What’s going on here tonight?

“You’re seeing this place as it looked 47 years ago. Halloween 1967. You remember that boy?”

“I remember the carnival. Stupid kiddie games. Eric and I got kicked out for some reason.”

“That’s why we’re here,” the ghoul said. “I’m the ghoul of Halloween Past and you’re gonna get educated.”

The man wrapped his bony fingers around Sam’s arm and in a heartbeat Sam found himself inside the old school gymnasium. Black and orange crepe paper swags looped around the walls and festooned the booths set up on the edges of the room. Kids of all ages lined up to test their skills in tossing rings around bottles and scooping plastic fish from a tub of water. Kids bobbed for apples and had their fortunes told by a fake gypsy.

In spite of himself, Sam found himself grinning. He’d had fun here. That he remembered.

“See that girlie over there?” the man asked.

“Holy hell! That’s DeeDee Dunn!” gasped Sam. “She was the hottest girl in school. Eric and I both had the hots for her. We called her ‘Double D'”. For a second Sam’s memories made him smile.

“How about that girl?” the old man said, indicating a scrawny girl in the corner. “You ‘member her?”

When Sam saw the girl standing alone next to the far wall of the gym his face lost all color.

“Yeah, you know her all right. Little Scarlet Jackson.” The man’s evil grin turned on Sam. “You boys really taught her a lesson that night.”

Sam made an attempt to leave, but the old man held him firmly. “Yep, you and Eric got yourselves kicked out of the carnival that night. Just watch and remember.”

As Sam looked around the room he saw the 14-year-old versions of himself and Eric heading nervously towards DeeDee Dunn.

“Hey DeeDee,” crooned Eric. “Wanna come hang with me and Sam?”

DeeDee shook her head and gave the boys a polite, but vacant smile.

“Bitch,” whispered Sam. “She never even knew we existed. Thought she was too good for us.”

“Is that why you two turned over the table with the cakes displayed? asked the old man.

“We were just pissed off,” Sam said, watching his younger self help Eric heft the cakewalk table onto its side.

“But why did you two decide to mess with Scarlet?”

Sam watched as he and Eric sidled up to pitiful little Scarlet, smiling like they had something good to tell her. “I don’t know,” Sam replied truthfully. “I guess we just wanted to take our bad moods out on someone.”

When the school principal came charging up to banish the boys from the carnival, Eric grabbed hold of Scarlet’s hand and pulled her out the door with them.

“I don’t need to see this,” said Sam.

“Oh yes you do boy.” The old man cackled. “You need to know one of the reasons why Eric took his worthless life.”

It started out sweet. Both boys lied to Scarlet, telling her how beautiful she was. Eager for any kind of attention, the girl quickly fell under their spell. Eric led the trio to the football field and underneath the bleachers.

“Really,” says Sam. “I remember. Please don’t make me watch this.”

The old man tightened his grip on Sam’s arms, forcing him to watch the attack on Scarlet. The two boys threw the skinny girl on the ground and ripped her clothes off. They taunted her with insults, calling her a skank and a lowlife.

Sam watched as Eric held Scarlet down and then threatened her life if she told on them. Eric stepped aside and gestured for Sam to take a turn. But Sam shook his head, “no.”

“I didn’t do anything!” screamed Sam.

“You sure didn’t,” cackled the old man.”Not a damned thing.” He lunged for Sam, his clawed fingers poised to rip and tear.

Continue reading “Ghouls: All Together Now”

Thunder

She passed away
on a sunny
summer Sunday,
not a single cloud
in the sky.
No time for
regrets, tears,
or laments;
only just enough
time to die.

After all these years
And all those tears
With all her scars
And baseless fears
She always thought
Or hoped I guess that
Death might give some
notice, some alarm
at the last.

Instead she smelled
honeysuckle on the
wind and for some
reason heard
the dull roar of
thunder on this
cloudless day.

  

A Good Talk

My mom wasn’t much for sharing feelings. We knew when she was angry. It was impossible not to know. We knew when she was happy because her smile lit up the room, but she didn’t tell people, even those closest to her, what was really going on inside her heart and mind. Maybe she talked to her sister. I hope so.

I, on the other hand, share way too much. If I’m happy I’ll tell you why. If I’m pissed off, you’ll know the reason, and then some. I even annoy myself sometimes.

When Mom was dying I flew down to stay with her and Dad at their apartment in Sweetwater, Texas. I’d just begun teaching that year in Great Bend, Kansas, and it wasn’t easy for me to get away, but my grandmother needed a break from caring for her dying daughter and it was my turn.

Can you tell it was something I did not want to do? I was in denial. Mom and Dad were, too, so we didn’t talk about death during the daylight hours. But at night, when Dad was asleep Mom and I talked. Now we never directly approached the subject; that just wasn’t going to happen. We danced around it, tiptoed, balanced on the edge, but anytime I came too close Mom’s face tightened up and the subject was changed.

We sat in the bathroom of their claustrophobic apartment and didn’t talk about death. 

I’d bought her a book. It was the children’s book by Robert Munsch, I’ll Love You Forever. I’d hoped it might break down some barriers and allow us to express our feelings before it was too late. She refused to read it.

“I’m afraid it will make me cry,” she said.

“Maybe that’s the point,” I said.

And that was the end of that.

She needed someone to come care for basic health care tasks, but a private nurse was out of their budget range. I suggested we contact hospice care. 

“But that means I’m dying,” said the woman whose bladder cancer had spread throughout her body and into her brain.  

“Maybe you are,” I said.

And that was the end of that.

She had a major seizure the week I was there, and was admitted to the hospital in Abilene. I should have stayed, but again, we were all in denial and I had a plane ticket back to my life in Great Bend. When I left, Mom was her old self, joking with the nursing staff and not talking about death.

She never recovered enough to leave the hospital, and when my Daddy called to say we needed to come we left as soon as we could get some loose ends tied up. 

As is often the case with those near death Mom roused herself the day we arrived at her bedside so she could interact with us, touching our hands and trying to reassure us. She called my daughter stubborn and we all had a good laugh, then she drifted off to sleep.

I sat with her that night and listened to her struggle to breathe. With her captive there in that hospital bed, attached to all the monitors, I finally got to tell her the things I’d wanted to say that she didn’t want to talk about.

“Mommy, I love you and I wish you weren’t dying. If I could I’d hold you in my arms and comfort you as you always comforted me.”

At one point Mom opened her eyes and tried to tell me something. It was important to her, but I couldn’t understand her speech right then. I called in a nurse and she tried to make Mom more comfortable, but she stopped trying to communicate after that. I’ll never know what she was trying to say to me that night because she passed away soon after.

I guess the point of this is, don’t wait to tell people what you feel. We’re all dying. It’s just a matter of time.

Peace, people.

No Immortality

I haven’t responded to a Daily Prompt in over a month, but I thought this one: Finite Creatures: At what age did you realize you weren’t immortal? was thought-provoking.

As a small child, between the ages of three and five, my family and I lived in a series of rental homes. Dad hadn’t yet been elevated to the position of Piggly Wiggly manager, and Mom was a stay-at-home parent, as far as I can recall. At any rate, she was at home the day I came running in the front door crying my eyes out.

“Mommy! I’m going to die!”

“No you aren’t sweetheart!” she said, hugging me.

“Yes, I am  _________________ said I was going to die and Mr. Bugs is going to die and you and Daddy are going to die.” I hiccuped between sobs.

I remember Mom sighing. I know now that sigh meant, “That little brat _______________! Now I have to explain death to my baby.”

My mother was very good at explaining tough things, much better than I ever was. She sat and cradled me in her lap and said that _________________ was right, that everyone dies.

“Even dogs?” I whispered, hoping Mr. Bugs was immune.

“Yes, but Mr. Bugs is a puppy,” she said. “He’s going to live a long time. And you’re just a little girl. You’re going to live a long time, too.”

Of course then I had a bunch of little girl questions:

“Does it hurt to die?”

“What happens when we die?”

“Why do people and dogs die?”

“Will you and Daddy die?”

Mom answered my questions that day as best she could and for many days after. I became obsessed with death. 

I believe this is why I never had that feeling of immortality that most kids and teenagers experience. I never was a daredevil, never a rebel. Caution was my middle name. Death my dread.

We were Christians and the promise of eternal life was always there, but I sure didn’t want to lose this one. I remember vividly _____________________ sitting in his swing, calmly informing me I was going to die. I don’t remember his name, but I’m blaming him for dampening my youthful exuberance.

Stupidhead bunnyfart ___________________!

  
Peace, people!