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In Times of Man's Innocency

In the time of man's innocency as we lay dead there in our beds rigor mortis sets in with it's stiff coldness -
And there from the parlour low lit, suit loosely hanging, collar starched, stiff, out the window near remnants of the day,
Birds on a branch sing in their loftier laments, and, the faraway field owl cries it's lamentations,
And the cold, gray day outside issues forth it's newest order, allowing for we, the deceased, to enter into the new garden.

( Rigor mortis is the stage of stiffness meant to allow our bodies and holy souls - the time to free up and release. Once exhaled, these entities, the body loosens up again and we are finally free to rest. )

Thom Douglas Carlisle ( Irish Tommy Moran ) - Ireland

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From The Desk of The Author:

Death and our holy rest remain our only real friends. We await death's coming as we grow older. And we welcome it in as comforting.

I only ask that ye see this conglomerate of loosely fixed wordplay, dark as it may seem, as just another experiment in the depth of my soul and the real meanings of birth, life and death.

Finally, let this be seen as just another exercise in poetic expression on my part. Nothing more, nothing less.

Be well, ( Rest well, )

tommy boy moran / Ireland

I was out early on the lake the other day when I heard an owl cry. Most long and scary sound I must say. I checked for my heartbeat to make sure I was still with the living.

Nice read Tommy boy.

tulip2633

Thank ye, tulip2633. Yes, the ol' owl cry. Certain american indian tribes, and I think mainly the Sioux view that if ye hear an owl crying out on a branch outside your window, that soon a loved one will die in your house. As for your poet, I was driving along a freeway in northern California one morning and spotted a very large dead owl on the roadside. It looked fresh and so I pulled over and got out and walked over and picked it up by a wing. This owl was again, very large. I found it heavy as I raised it up to one side - over my head to look at it in it's pure beauty. This was nature's pure offspring and it delighted me. So, I thought for a moment and decided to open my trunk and set it inside. I drove back to my small cottage there and took it out of the trunk and into a small shed I had. I cut off it's wings and tied them both up by thin plastic lines with a fish hook on the end. I then hung them up inside the shed to dry and age. Kept them for several years. Felt safe. Figured no owls would be crying outside my windows at night.

A postscript to this is simply that no owls did ever cry outside my windows during the period I stayed in that cottage rental. But, hey Tul, I did soon thereafter end up making friends with a Sioux family nearby there. The male was at least 7 foot tall. He was lame in one leg. I named him, " Big Bear" which he liked. He, in turn, and based on my north american indigenous peoples poetry - which he had occasion to read during visits with me, nicknamed me, " Tommy Crying Owl ". He gave me an indian name. I keep this and memories of our friendship always near and in heart. "Tommy Crying Owl ". What a moniker, eh?

Anyway, Tul, again, You're so very pure and kind.

tommy boy moran / Ireland

That is an interesting experience. I didn't know about the owl cry exactly. But when you hear it....wow, especially a loud one. I like the Indian name you were given..Tommy crying owl the unwismadic and charming ominous deathknell. Pretty wicked cool I think. Some one long ago said my Indian name was Wild Dove. I hope I have golden wings that glisten. I really like it. I am part Native American which I cherish; even if a small degree.

Anyhow, thanks for sharing that experience. It made me think of my dad too, the time he pulled off the road and just talked to this big bear forever. I actually think the bear was talking back. Lol.

Tul

Tul,

Very interesting history about you as a wild dove. I can see it, Tul. I can see it. And very interesting history of your da pulling over and talking to a bear. I'd have loved to be there for that one. What balls he must've had, eh? I like how he looks in your profile photos. Again and exact duplicate of your poet nowadays. If he and I stood next to one another in front of a captive crowd they'd laugh at the resemblance. Uncanny it is.

Listen, Wild Dove, thank ye for being so enriching and so very kind. If ye wish I am at;

tommyboymoran.home@outlook.com

Please feel free to message.

tommy boy moran / Ireland