Strange tales from the other side

I can't say that I really believe in the "spirit world", or that we live on in some way after we die.  Once we're gone, we're gone.  I'm highly suspicious of people, particularly those who make a profession or a religion out of it, who claim to be able to speak to or channel the voices of "the dear departed".  If there is another life beyond the grave, I'm at a loss as to why any of them would want to bother to hang around or come back to talk to us in the living world. I'm sure they'd have better things to do.

This poem is my take on the situation.  I once got into a certain amount of bother about this when I  performed it in a club, to great hilarity, only to discover as I sat down that I was sitting a few places away from someone who claimed to be a medium.  Needless to say, she was "not amused".

Is There Anybody There?

Now I had an old maiden aunt,

Who on her death-bed was lying.

I stroked her cheek, and held her hand,

But inside I knew she was dying.

As her time slipped slowly away,

She rallied briefly and muttered.

I strained to catch what she was saying,

But just couldn’t make out what she’d uttered.

She’d obviously had something to tell,

But the mystery remained unresolved,

And I knew that I wouldn’t rest,

Until the puzzle I’d solved.

So when she’d been laid to rest in the ground,

I went to seek what I lacked.

I contacted a spirit medium,

To see if I could make some contact.

The lady in question was a gloomy old girl,

With a crystal ball and an old ouija board,

But she seemed to know what she was doing,

So my hopes had presently soared.

She first noted the particulars,

In order to narrow the search down.

We didn’t want any old maiden aunt,

But, specifically, my own.

She pulled across the dark curtains,

And then she started the séance.

I wondered what was she was up to,

But then she went into a trance. 

She started moaning & groaning,

And rolling around on her chair.

And then she suddenly shouted:

“Is there anybody there?”

The answer was quite spontaneous,

And the table started to rock.

I felt there was a ghostly presence,

And then was some sort of knock.

“Is there a message for someone here present?”

Asked the lady spiritual guide.

“Do you want to say something,

From across on the other side?”

Now, I have to say that I heard no-one answer,

But the clairvoyant was still swaying.

She seemed to be listening intently,

To what some ghostly voice was saying.

I’ll admit I’m a bit of a sceptic,

And of the occult I’m not really fond.

And I didn’t fancy ectoplasm,

Nor voices from the beyond.

Then suddenly it was all over:

We’d come to the end of the session.

What, I wondered, was the result

Of this bizarre intercession?

My spiritual lady became now composed,

But what on earth could this presage?

She put her ringed hand on my arm,

And then she delivered this message.

“I’m sorry I passed away before I was ready.

But I was in no fit state to shout.

Just don’t forget next Monday -

You need to put the rubbish bins out.”

Copyright Andy Fawthrop 2011