Phoenix Fights

Fighting the FEAR, depression and BDP on a daily basis AND making my own bread. Bring it on 2016….



Poem inspired by recent deaths, both in and out of the public eye, and the nature of modern ‘friendship’.


Oh everybody loves you when you’re dead

Those accolades they go straight to your head

Well they would if it were there

Half mine’s splattered on the stair

Oh yes, everybody loves you when you’re dead


Everybody loves you when you’re gone

It helps that you don’t need them to lean on

You don’t lean on anything

When from a ceiling you do swing

In those darkest hours just before the dawn


Oh yes, you are adored when you’re no more

And not a living, frightened, needy bore

‘Oh I wish I’d known the score’

Well you would have, silly whore

If you’d gotten up and answered your front door


Everyone loves a funeral doncha know

It means you get to put on such a show

Of how much love you had

For this person oh so sad

That you hadn’t seen for, oh, 2 years or so?


And you always give good quote

And you’ll don black shades and coat

And you get to show off that new Prada tote….


And naturally the wake you will attend

And meet your buddy’s other lovely friends

And stories you will share

About the times so free from care

Or so it seems to suit you to pretend


So the next time you are needed, my dear friend

Perhaps you’ll help and be there till the end

As believe me, it is true

That one day it might be you

Who seeks that ole Grim Reaper to befriend


Everybody loves you when you’re dead

The eulogies they’d go straight to my head

If I could hear their song

But alas I’m dead and gone

As your words die, like your roses, so blood red




  1. This is beautiful

  2. Tee hee! True, and wonderfully expressed! 😀

  3. Bleak. Mordant. Sorrowful. And too, too spot-on. Lovely, Madame.

    The piece put me in mind of Jacques Brel’s “Funeral Tango”. If you are unfamiliar with this work, it may be of interest. (As my mother listened incessantly to the album when I was ages 3-7, the songs—and that one in particular, for some reason—have been my personal ear worm since circa 1971. Evidently, from the vaguely morbid child comes the melancholy adult.)

  4. Interesting—completely unfamiliar with that.
    How about Lou Reed’s MAGIC AND LOSS? Or, if one is feeling emotionally stolid and fortified, Reed’s BERLIN?
    (Incidentally, a couple of your older posts got my Bowie-jones thrumming and I’ve been spending more than a little time with YOUNG AMERICANS. So, thank you for that, dear woman. You’re still the best, Madame. Still the best. And THAT’S why I adore you. ;-D)

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