7.84 in the Sky
The mountains are howling
The seas and rivers bleeding
Nobody will enter the wine dark waters now
No souls are floating on the shores
of wild Polyventhis
The land of Ithaca cracked and dry
Red earth screaming without your feet on its
Terracotta floor
Ancient Olive trees
Battered by the Northern wind
Shedding dry leaves and
“The moon that belongs to everyone”
Has fallen from the sky
And the sun has disappeared behind the
Low Hara of Exhogi
Dancers have stopped dancing
Buziki players have stopped playing
Children are silent
And even the dogs have stopped barking
Your death, an earthquake to our world
And then,
You being you
Will begin again
Making theatre for the community of souls in the heavens
You
Will not play to the Gods
No, not you
You
Will play to,
The Miners who died of emphysema
To the Dockers without pay
To the steelworkers with broken hearts
And the seafarers on the bay
And the women who broke their backs on factory floors
And lost their marbles trying to be everything to everyone and keep the fires burning
And their men and children fed
You will entertain
The trade unionists
Jews
And communists
Who you were always there for
And who are there with you –
Sisters
Brothers
Radicals who died in jail
Protesting for freedom
Tell me how is Mandela
I bet he is enjoying your company
You will finally have that dinner party you always wanted
Inviting them all:
Mandela,
Whitman,
Neruda,
Lorca,
Einstein,
Rosa,
Marylyn
Your mother
Brother
Father
Friends and comrades
And of cause your love and soulmate,
John.
And we still down here below
For our job is not quite done
Those of us that can hear
Will listen to your laughter
As you drink the finest Prosecco
No payment now, it doesn’t matter
It’s always free and flowing
So cheers to you Elizabeth
Down in one.
One day, who knows when
I and many more will come to join you
Just as soon as we are able
For I am sure you will invite us all
To your theatre in the sky.
So keep the chatter and Kefi going
As I know you surely will
And when they ask me
Why, Why did you have to die
I’ll tell them; It is for certain
She’s gone to a groovy party
She is having a right old knees up
She is having a bloody Ball
Right up in the heavens
Everything fair and equal
there is no 7.84.
you and John renamed it
100.100 in the sky.