Margaret Alice Second

Gold Star - 16,047 Points (24 January 1961 / South Africa)

The Afterlife [rev.] - Poem by Margaret Alice Second

We attract what we concentrate on, good or bad,
with new eyes I read newspapers on what people
do to each other, appreciate my super colleagues,
all wit and grace, kind security guards making the
workplace safe and laughing at my antics

Only the media describe dire aspects of events; of
politicians fighting each other in Cote d’Ivoire; those
in shabby huts stealing power from tax-payers – but
society still works okay - thinking of my Duchess’s
world peopled by dragons, fighting evil sleights

Never listening to me as Alice living in Wonderland,
she lives with goblins hiding cell-phone & keys; dad
Conan the Barbarian lives in blame but as he shares
money with every beggar he’s going to heaven; my
Attilla the Hun-bro lives in sweet contemplation

Playing guitar & staring at the sky; mom Queen of
Hearts seeks spirituality but her choice of afterlife
is unknown, she only does things under pressure
and so leaves death for last - I’m headed for the
Akashic records of all that ever happened

I shall meet Lobsang Rampa - unless he’s too busy
in other dimensions; I shall seek Sir Terry Pratchett
to thank him for rephrasing German philosophers &
providing a place to hide when lost in the allergy –
a blue blanket of the imagination that kept

My soul alive when descending the pit of despair;
Terry Pratchett will live forever as creator of the
Discworld universe even when he discovers
stranger worlds than those he created…


[ORIGINAL: ]

What an amazing idea, we attract only what we want
to see or concentrate on – whether good or bad, with
new eyes I regard newspaper reports on what people
do to each other, thinking of my wonderful colleagues,
all wit and grace and kind security guards providing a
safe workplace and so willing to laugh at my antics; of
my little family led by my beloved in such a way

There are few argument as we follow his rules, respect
each other and stay out of kids’ rooms, though I invade
to find a bed unmade & add new blankets to beds; as
for strangers, a greeting & smile bring out the best, only
newspapers insist on pointing out dire aspects of every
event; politicians fighting each other in Cote d’Ivoire;
those in shabby huts steal power from tax-payers

In spite of everything society is working; thinking of my
Duchess living in a world peopled by dragons & goblins
with slights in every face which seems good to me, she
fights evil as she stomps away and I pick up the pieces,
explain she has stress in her life and it’s true - seeking
out hostility causes her much pain; she never listens to
me as I’m just Alice living in Wonderland and she

Lives in another country where goblins hide her cell-
phone & keys, my dad-Conan the adorable Barbarian,
lives in a desert of recrimination and blame, always
seeking to explain why he listened to others and lost
everything, yet he shares his money with any beggar
who passes him - he’s going straight to heaven; my
Attilla the Hun-bro lives in a land of contemplative

Soothsaying, playing guitar and staring at the sky; the
Queen of Hearts - mom - always reaches for spiritual
accomplishment - headed for heaven also - though
which I don’t know as she only ever finishes things
under pressure she’ll leave death for last also; and
I’m headed for the Akashic records of all that ever
happened to meet my friend Lobsang Rampa

Unless he’s too busy meeting his followers from
other universes - then I’ll just evaluate my own life –
blaming myself for being a fool - never preparing for
emergencies - an idiot to those who knew how to live
rationally, and with Sir Terry Pratchett in the afterlife
I’ll seek his harmonic frequency to thank him as he
made life worth living with his great rephrasing of

German philosophers; his characters with rock-firm
integrity, Granny Weatherwax, Archchancellor Mustrum
Ridcully, The Patrician Havelock Vetinari, Death & his
granddaughter Susan, the young Tiffany Aching, also
“Good Omens”, “Soul Music” and “Thief of Time” with
Lady Time roaming sadly through her glass castle, for
the Sound Monks - for everything giving me a place to

Hide when I lost my mind through the allergy – for the
soft blue blanket of the imagination that kept my heart
alive when destroyed by food intolerance, for helping
me to cherish positive thoughts while descending into
the pit of despair – thank you for being YOU – Terry
Pratchett is dead - long live Sir Terry Pratchett in his
own Discworld universe…

Topic(s) of this poem: feelings


Comments about The Afterlife [rev.] by Margaret Alice Second

  • Kumarmani Mahakul (3/13/2015 6:09:00 AM)


    Amazing ideas always live in mind. Very wonderfully drafted poem really that gives a clear picture of experience. Wonderful really. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Friday, March 13, 2015

Poem Edited: Tuesday, March 24, 2015


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