Archives for death

Look Within!


My Dad had a bad day and died. He believed

in God, so I prayed because he obeyed his

faith that he’d find his reward in heaven, if

there was such a place.


He got no compensation nor answers for his

prayers or good deeds since birth, while serving

his time on Earth.


Showered with evil tribulations in the image of his

wife and kids who treated him like an indentured

servant sent from above to take care of them.


Looking down, he must have squirmed when my Mom

chose his successor to ease her pain. An Indian Man

from Canada who slurred when he spoke because he

drank too much.


“Better than shit on a stick,” she’d say when asked

why she made such a choice. I never tried to see

beyond his exterior to see what made him a man.


He too died and left my mother alone. I helped remove

his belongings and found his manuscripts written in

script that any calligrapher would aspire to.


Not knowing that death waited at his door, he wrote

the language of his tribe that had never been put on

paper before in explanatory language so clear even

I understood it.


Was this a gift from above in the name of love, showing

me what I see and perceive isn’t what’s really there, and

to never simply rely on what I see and to look inside

for the capsule of the mind that I always left behind?


On new year’s day I wondered why we all have to die and was inspired to write a poem.

Life without Death


Out of breath, I decide nobody knows where we’ll go after our keeper, the grim reaper knocks and doesn’t give you time to put on your socks.


We all fear that unknown place that may be in outer space, because there are those who say heaven waits, but if they really believed that, wouldn’t they be in a hurry to arrive?


Some of us endeavor to live forever and pay for cryonics to freeze our remains, hoping to gain the upper hand over death, so when it’s defeated we can be resurrected to live again.


A greater fear for me is the everlasting life promised for acting like Jesus while waiting for some distant heaven to open its gates after living a short life here on Earth.


I suspend my breath while worrying about death, and imagine how it would be on an unrestricted world where there’s no speed limits or safety measures.


People run over or exploded cannot die. They continue to exist in bits and pieces, and there’s pain to be endured.


I may be premature, but I don’t want to endure seeing my children aging and becoming more wrinkled than me


We’re damned to pain and disabilities old age always brings.


Heaven is to be enjoyed while alive and pain free.


Not able to sleep, walk or do simple things is hell, so a timely visit from the Grim Reaper is a great design if you ask me.


Joe DIBuduo

To Survive or to Starve

To Survive or to Starve

As I drove by a crummy restaurant in a little old town in Arizona on old Route 66, I saw the sign, Free coffee for those over 55.  Free was all I could afford. I dumped plenty of cream and sugar into my cup for energy. As I sat at the counter sipping my fourth cup a woman sat next to me. She set her purse on the counter and asked me to save her seat while she went to the bathroom.

As soon as she turned her back I opened her purse, reached in and grabbed a roll of bills. As I yanked my hand out a plastic bottle of pills fell to the counter. I stuffed them in my pocket and hurried out the door, jumped in my car and prayed I wouldn’t run out of gas before I found a working pump.

Feeling bad about stealing the woman’s money my conscience that I always pictured as my do good angel sitting on my right shoulder berated me for doing what I did. I argued with it that to survive, stealing money like that wasn’t really bad. It wouldn’t listen and rattled on about treating others as I wanted to be treated gave me a headache.

I found a gas station at the edge of town. When I dug into my pocket to pay, I pulled out the woman’s pills and swallowed two hoping they’d make my headache go away. They didn’t do anything to help my headache but they caused my heart to race so fast I couldn’t breathe. I fell to the oil stained cement and barely able to move I waved for help.

Next thing I knew, I woke up in a hospital bed. “See what happens when you break the law,” my conscience nagged.

I slapped my right shoulder to shut it up. Then I felt it. Death was creeping up on me. I didn’t want to go-not yet. Where would I go if the grim reaper came and took me today?  How many patients have risen from this bed as spirits in search of a place to go? I closed my eyes, and in the dark I saw spirits of those who laid in this bed and departed this world, but still clung to the bed. All were begging to have their lives returned, so they could say a curse or other last words.

Suddenly the walls and ceiling disappeared and the grim reaper came through the door. I saw heaven far above and I fell in love.

“That’s not for you,” the reaper said and pointed down below.

I felt roaring flames exploring my flesh from down there. “Wait, I want more years,” I told the reaper, “but if it’s my time, heaven is where I want to go.”

“Go on then.” The reaper pointed to a stairway that went to heaven. I lost an arm and two legs on the way up, but I made it to the top only to find  a padlock on the pearly gates. I rang the bell, angels sang and gave me thoughts of spring. A man with bloodshot eyes and wearing a dirty robe approached.

He held out a jug and through rotten teeth said, “Have a drink to brace yourself, because you’re full of guilt that not even God can forgive, so you’re going down below. He pulled a lever and the stairs transformed into a glistening water slide that delivered rejected souls directly to the flames that angrily hissed as water from the slide poured onto them.

“I’ve been good,” I screamed as my speed increased and I approached the hissing, steaming place that must be hell. The slide went right by my hospital bed. As I was  about to pass it, I grabbed hold and hung there with the other souls and I asked, “How long can we hang on?”

They inhaled in despair and then told a lively tale, “For eternity, and

after that we don’t know.”

I felt the heat on my feet. Eternity was too long, so I’d fight to stay alive. Hand over hand, I pulled myself into the bed and laid on my back, closed my eyes and prayed, not for me, but for Saint Peter at the gate. I told God that he’s cruel to compel a saint like him to pull the switch sending so many to burn in flames.

“That’s why I turn my blood to wine, so he can numb his brain from the pain.”

My eyes opened. I saw the ceiling and walls had reappeared. I yanked I.V. tubes from my arms and jumped from the bed that was nothing but a gateway to hell. I ran out the door and saw imps wearing white and acting like doctors with scalpels in their paws.

They swarmed around me and began to operate without washing their mitts or putting on a mask. I fought back and used their blades to decapitate them all. Looking for more heads to take off, I heard a far away voice ask if I was awake.

I opened my other set of eyes and saw a human face looking down at me.

“You’re in the recovery room. How do you feel?” a nurse dressed in white asked.

Thank God, it was nothing but a dream I thought until the nurse bound my hands and feet. She called in the headless imps who had new blades in their hands. Screaming for help that didn’t come, I watched those headless things, cut open my stomach and stuff my entrails down their throats.

I awoke again and knew I’d never have seen the monstrous world that divides our reality and abuses our mortality if I hadn’t stolen the money and taken those pills. Dreams, so it seems, opens the door to other worlds that shut down any logical or comforting thoughts I may have. While I’m awake, I tell that little devil who lives on my left shoulder that I’d rather be dead, than to steal again and have to lie down in that hospital bed.


Pediatric Ward

                         Pediatric ward


While in orientation today, across the hall

from the bedpan station, a whisper said,

“Poor girl, she’ll never wed.”


In the room her guardian angel cried before she

died. Looking for the voice, I saw a baby that

lived for sixteen weeks in her mother’s womb


Before her parent’s could see their baby, I dressed

and photographed the tiny corpse. Then delivered

her to the morgue. I haven’t eaten anything today.


The End of the Road

The End of the Road.


I’m trudging down that long,

long road I have to follow

before I appear at the place

where death waits for me.


I’m gonna miss being alive

after I die. When I arrive at

the location marked for my

demise, I promise not to cry.


I’ll look at the bright side and

see that when I leave this world,

I’ll have angel wings and be able

to fly, sing, and be happy all day.


I begin to practice for what’s to

come. I build a set of wings and

jump off a cliff. With a broken leg

I sit with a rented harp on my lap.


A hymn leaves my lips, my neighbors

call the police and I’m arrested for

disturbing the peace, but that doesn’t

wipe the smile from my lips.


I’m practicing being happy here so I’ll

know how to act after I die, I tell the

angel from hell who wears a white coat

and asks me why I wear a happy mask.


I can’t tell a lie, so I say, “When I leave

this world and go on to the next, I’ll

be able to play my harp while I happily

fly around singing all the time.”


“You’re insane,” he says and takes me

downstairs to a padded cell where I can

sing and yell until I come to the end of

that road I have to travel before the end.