I’m not scared of dying
and I don’t really care,
if it’ s peace you find in dying,
well then let the time be near.
If it’s peace you find in dying,
well then dying time is near
just bundle up my coffin
'cause it’s
cold way down there,
I hear that it’s
cold way down there, yeah
crazy cold, way down there.
Will O’Ban
Please don’t bury me
Down in that cold cold ground
No, I’d druther have “em” cut me up
And pass me all around
Throw my brain in a hurricane
And the blind can have my eyes
And the deaf can take both of my ears
If they don’t mind the size
To die.
To expire.
To pass away.
To check out.
To go to the happy hunting ground.
To stare into the face of God.
To buy the farm.
To push up daisies.
To take a dirt nap.
To shake hands with Saint Peter.
To enter the pearly gates.
To shuffle off this mortal coil.
To discard your carcass.
To cash in your chips.
To bite the big one.
To croak.
To love, to laugh, nevermore.
Will O’Ban
My kids would miss me, as well as the other Weekender. But I’m cool with the eventuality. I fear injury and pain way more than final release.
All my life’s a circle;
Sunrise and sundown;
Moon rolls thru the nighttime;
Till the daybreak comes around.
All my life’s a circle;
But I can’t tell you why;
Season’s spinning round again;
The years keep rollin’ by.
It seems like I’ve been here before;
I can’t remember when;
But I have this funny feeling;
That we’ll all be together again.
No straight lines make up my life;
And all my roads have bends;
There’s no clear-cut beginnings;
And so far no dead-ends.
Will O’Ban
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think’st thou dost overthrow,
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul’s delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell;
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell’st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally,
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
John Donne, 1572-1631
To go to a better place.
To kick the bucket.
To go gently into that good night.
To give up the ghost.
To goose the devil.
To slip on the cosmic bannanna peel.
To go belly up.
To hang up your spurs.
To become one with the universe.
Will O’Ban
When I die don’t bother me
just dig me a six foot hole
with a candle at my head and feet
and a jar of alcohol
Upon the Death of Sir Albert Morton’s Wife
HE first deceased; she for a little tried
To live without him, liked it not, and died
Sir Henry Wotton (1568–1639)
If I should die before I wake
All my bone and sinew take
Put me in the compost pile
To decompose me for a while
Worms, water, sun will have their way
Returning me to common clay
All that I am will feed the trees
And little fishies in the seas
When radishes and corn you munch
You may be having me for lunch
And then excrete me with a grin
Chortling, “There goes Lee again!”
– Lee Hays
I originally had a Lee Hays poem in this space, but jsluder beat me to the buzzer, so since I need a poem about death and since I still can’t stand Thanatopsis, I’ll go with this, another classic –
Now come on, mothers, throughout the land
Pack your sons off to Viet Nam.
Come on, fathers, don’t hesitate.
Send your boys off before it’s too late.
Be the first one on your block
To have your boy come home in a box.
For it’s 1, 2, 3 – What are we fightin’ for?
Don’t ask me; I don’t give a damn.
Next stop is Viet Nam
And it’s 5, 6, 7 – Open up the pearly gates.
Well, there ain’t no time to wonder why.
Whoopee, we all gonna die.
So good it’s worth saying twice! 
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light.
Dylan Thomas
Tom
Do not stand at my grave and weep,
I am not there, I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glint on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you wake in the morning hush,
I am the swift, uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circling flight.
I am the soft starlight at night.
When you see the sunset fair,
I am the scented evening air.
I am the joy of a task well done.
I am the glow of the setting sun.
Do not stand at my grave and weep.
I am not there, I do not sleep.
Do not stand at my grave and cry.
I am not there, I did not die!
Hey Father Death, I’m flying home
Hey poor man, you’re all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I’m going
Father Death, Don’t cry any more
Mama’s there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store
Old Aunty Death Don’t hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans
O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts’ll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest
Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body’s gone
Father Death I’m coming home
Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues
Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we’ll work it through
Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn
Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.
A. Ginsberg
Will O’Ban
Blood Sweat 'n Tears!!
Love 'em. Great song too.
From an acrostic headstone in a Montreal cemetery:
John
Free Your Body and Soul
Unfold Your Powerful Wings
Climb Up the Highest of Mountains
Kick Your Feet Up In the Air
You May Now Live Forever
Or Return To This Earth
Unless You Feel Good Where You AreMissed By Your Friends…
(If you don’t see the humor in this, just look up the meaning of the term “acrostic”.)
O, Death
O, Death
Won’t you spare me over til another year
Well what is this that I can’t see
With ice cold hands takin’ hold of me
Well I am death, none can excel
I’ll open the door to heaven or hell
Whoa, death someone would pray
Could you wait to call me another day
The children prayed, the preacher preached
Time and mercy is out of your reach
I’ll fix your feet til you cant walk
I’ll lock your jaw til you cant talk
I’ll close your eyes so you can’t see
This very air, come and go with me
I’m death I come to take the soul
Leave the body and leave it cold
To draw up the flesh off of the frame
Dirt and worm both have a claim
O, Death
O, Death
Won’t you spare me over til another year
My mother came to my bed
Placed a cold towel upon my head
My head is warm my feet are cold
Death is a-movin upon my soul
Oh, death how you’re treatin’ me
You’ve close my eyes so I can’t see
Well you’re hurtin’ my body
You make me cold
You run my life right outta my soul
Oh death please consider my age
Please don’t take me at this stage
My wealth is all at your command
If you will move your icy hand
Oh the young, the rich or poor
Hunger like me you know
No wealth, no ruin, no silver no gold
Nothing satisfies me but your soul
O, death
O, death
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
Wont you spare me over til another year
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan’s poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
– William Butler Yeats