Ted Sheridan


When God Calls Upon Deaf Ears-Part In A Series Of Poems Leading To My Death - Poem by Ted Sheridan

Thank God for he did provide me with some peace the last year or so
At least my feet and legs were numbed to the chronic pain in my ass
And my left hand which I seldom ever used during masturbation
At least worked when I asked it to instead of taking time off for good behavior
All in all I would say it hasn’t been that horribly bad
Preparing oneself for the inevitable
If you had asked me three years ago when all the rats died if I thought
I would have lived through the experience of inhaling poisonous gases
And still remain above ground to do my late night reading
The answer would have been a resounding “No”
Who knew back then that I was actually Algernon and life was but a giant maze
With nothing but some molded and quite bitter tasting cheese as my reward
Besides Brie is no excuse for hating the French
There are plenty of others reasons more deserving
Slow death seems such an unjust dessert for my never having left the compound
And for always being predictably faithful as both a husband and a father
Who could have foreseen such a fate as this?
Coughing up phlegm in each poem shabbily written during fortnights of sobriety
Fortnights of sobriety and unquestioned obedience by order of the high command
Having been sloppy and drunk in most of my previous efforts to self examine
The truths of my youthful mortality and my older and fragile existence
Between the parallel bars of downtown Seattle and the slums of Boston
Where near do wells who once tattooed their names on someone else’s arms
Now leave me dancing to the distant drums of some Apache peyote dream
Left in the head of my great grandmother at the time of her demise
Funny how someone else’s life passes before our eyes
Coming back to haunt us as we prepare our spirit for transformation...

2007 © T Sheridan


Comments about When God Calls Upon Deaf Ears-Part In A Series Of Poems Leading To My Death by Ted Sheridan

  • (9/30/2007 1:51:00 AM)

    Funny how someone else’s life passes before our eyes
    Coming back to haunt us as we prepare our soul for transformation

    marvellous tour into the sul of man..his pain and his painlessness
    (Report)Reply

    0 person liked.
    0 person did not like.
Read all 1 comments »

Pablo Neruda

If You Forget Me



Read this poem in other languages

This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.

I would like to translate this poem »

word flags

What do you think this poem is about?



Poem Submitted: Sunday, September 30, 2007

Poem Edited: Tuesday, April 12, 2011


[Report Error]