Dead and Aware of It

 

 

I have tried to imagine

What it feels like to be dead

And the closest I have come to it

Is being asleep in bed.

 

I have experienced at times

Though not in the recent past,

The consciousness of being dead

Which left me quite aghast.

 

I had not retired as yet

And was really pushing work

Such that at times when I was resting,

I would suddenly come alert.

 

It is not easy to relate

The strange phenomenon then

But my medical doctor explained

It was definitely a problem.

 

Having awaken from sleep

I would lie transfixed,

I could not even move a finger:

Even to scratch an itch.

 

It would seem a long time

But it was just mere seconds,

And though I needed urgent help,

I couldn’t even beckon.

 

Alert and very aware

But couldn’t utter a sound,

It was like being buried alive

Under a molded mound.

 

My eyes, although open

Could not even be blinked,

I was dead and very aware of it

Whatever you may think.

 

It is a horrible feeling

To actually feel you are dead

Only to know you are still alive

And very much so instead.

 

I had really needed rest:

A total shut down, in fact,

So that while I slept every night

It was deep sleep I lacked.

 

Those seconds of paralysis

Were a warning to me,

My system in responding to the lack

Prompted me to see.

 

 

 

 

Emergency shut down!

It was not all systems go,

Something was about to go wrong

And I needed to know.

 

I was repeatedly warned

And had I repeatedly ignored

This could have ended with me

Not being around anymore.

 

 

A word to workaholics:

Heed the body’s warning!

Don’t be dead and be aware of it

And yet go on ignoring.

 

Else, you may drop dead

And definitely not be aware,

Of being interred in yonder cemetery

Amidst many a tear.

 

Stewart Russell © March 26, 2025

 

A Problem Mentality

 

 

I thought I had a problem

For which I sought a solution

Only to create a situation

That caused a real problem.

 

Has this happened to you

Or, was it only me?

If it has, please don’t deny it,

Tell me, honestly.

 

I once heard of a man

Whose leg was amputated

Only to be told by the surgeon

The wrong leg was extricated.

 

And as if this were not enough

Nothing was wrong with the other,

A misdiagnosis by the surgeon

Had now become his bother.

No real problem at the first

But a solution had been sought,

The patient, now an amputee,

Was especially distraught.

 

If a problem cannot be found

This in itself becomes one,

Problems attend us when we come

Up until when we are gone.

 

No such thing as no problem,

Not in this present life!

So, if you believe you have none,

That in itself spells strife.

 

Women are especially good

At this strange phenomenon,

They go out of their way, it seems,

To ensure there is a problem.

 

Then they are trouble makers

Who go in search of problems,

Not to mention the problem prone:

They will always find them.

 

 

Call it creating problems:

People with an unusual skill

And like a glutton and his food,

These must have their fill.

 

I have a problem mentality,

I need to go out and find one

So, if you suddenly miss me,

That’s because I am gone.

 

Gone to find my problem,

My addiction urgently needs one

So here is just where I will stop

Because I must be gone.

 

Stewart Russell © June 27, 2023

 

Partial Pothole Patching

 

I know we complain a lot

And often with just reason

But for a long time now

We’ve endured pothole season.

We know that they are many

There are all over the place,

I have seen no favouritism

No not even a political trace.

There are close to big-up places

On the ABC highway as well,

Even VIP’s are suffering

As I have heard a few of them tell.

But perhaps someone is saying

“Tell us something new,

Enough of the pothole problem

Enough of the pothole blues.”

 

At least they’re trying to patch them

Let’s give them a chance

And if you can’t handle it

Take a trip to France.

Perhaps then you’ll appreciate

What we have ‘bout here,

Barbados is not the worst

Of that you should have no fear.

Some are too critical

And they never see the gains,

They complain when it’s sunny

And they fret up about the rain.

There is no pleasing them

Because they are too fretful,

Regardless of how good it gets

They will still be miserable.”

Please, please, give me a break,

Potholes is not my issue,

Just stop passing judgment

And with you I’ll share my view.

  

I have noticed here of lately

An interesting phenomenon,

It is how the road works people

Treat to the pothole problem.

 

I can see some effort

For that I give them praise

But there is a peculiar matter

That I cannot help but raise.

You are driving along a road

And it’s relatively smooth

Then all of a sudden

The car drops into a groove.

    

You notice the holes are patched

Except for one or two,

Do not tell me it’s an oversight

Its size must bring it into view.

This is a regular occurrence

Like there’s a special purpose,

The only one I can see, however

Is that we like to hear a fuss.

This partial pothole patching

Is certainly something new,

I have never seen it like this before

And I know you know that too.

Next time you drop in a hole

Stop and check around you

And if you see the road is patched

You’ll see what I said is true.

Stewart Russell © March 2018