The Poet's Death

The Poet's Death

I died Yesterday.

They buried me
In a shallow grave.
I lay in lily white
Peace.
I didn't
Snort or swear or fart.

I lay peaceful,
In my clasped hands red roses.
my lips were red and my nails, too,
'though my face was white,
Very white, and my blonde hair
Parted in the middle,
Simple, clean.

I lay, a blonde Frieda Kahlo,
Red lips and center parted hair,
And flowers in my hand
Like Frieda,
Only blonde and wordless.
Peaceful.
The way they like it.

Holding flowers in my hand,
I didn't snort or swear or fart.
I was silent at last.

They thought I was
Silenced at last.
Silenced in a shallow grave.
No words.
A speechless woman,
Silent in the casket,
Lowered into the ground,
With white skin,
Blonde hair, red lips,
And flowers in her hand.

They thought they had silenced
The silver-plumed poet's voice,
The turn over- the- rock voice,
The chortle at the joke voice.
They thought they had silenced the voice.
In life, they couldn't silence me.
In death they cannot silence me.

In life, they couldn't silence me.
In death, they couldn't silence me.

Each buttercup that raises itself to the sun
Has been carressed by my breath.
Each child whose chin reflects
The yellow buttercup's light
Has received my hugs.
Each daffodil bursting through
The moist earth in March
Has sung my spring song.

Each Child of mine, my children,
The world's children,
& my own stalwart sons,
Have heard my words of praise -
Praise for the self to raise the self,
The precious self,
Nor lie nor cheat nor steal.
Just be, let be, and be, let be,
Dancing to your heart's rhythm,
Dancing to the rhythm of your soul.

Silenced? I am not silenced
By my own death.
The world is not silenced
By my death.
Years after my death,
With white face and pale hands
Holding red roses,
After I've been lain
In the shallow grave,
I will stand and say to you,
"Hear! Hear! I am not silenced!
In my grave, I write yet
Another poem.