2645. Landon enters Paradise

Landon was ninety-four years old. “I’ve had a good innings,” he said. “My life has been satisfying. I believe in the afterlife and am looking forward to it.”

He had a little time to go on the final leg of the race. “I’m eager to meet up again with everyone I knew in life; family, friends, and acquaintances. What a reunion it will be! It’ll be great to catch up with my wife Eliza and I’m especially keen to see my daughter and the two grandchildren and the great grandson who have all predeceased me.”

It took about a year, but eventually he did pass away. His excitement was palpable. “At last! At last I’m almost there!” were his final words.

When he got there, everyone was preoccupied with their cell phones.

2603. A dog’s life

Geraldine, over a period of six decades, had been the proud mistress of five dogs. She had only one at a time. Each had their own personality. Each was a distinct breed with their own needs. Of course, Rusco was the only one that wasn’t a purebred. Geraldine didn’t have much of a clue what breed of dog had been crossed with what breed of dog to get Rusco. Everyone was her favourite. She had adored them all.

Of course Geraldine hadn’t lived a perfect life. When she was shopping she often had “sticky fingers”- as the saying goes. There were quite a few other improprieties but they’re not necessary to mention. The reader can use his or her imagination.

Eventually Geraldine died. Imagine her surprise – and joy – when she was met at the gates of eternal life by her five dogs. Suddenly an Angel appeared just as Geraldine was about to enter through the gates.

“Stop!” said the Angel. “Only one dog is permitted to enter with you. You must choose.”

“Choose between my five dogs?” declared Geraldine in amazement. “I’d rather be in Hell.”

“You are,” said the Angel.

2507. Good Heavens!

After considerable pressure from animal lovers God relented and began to allow pets in heaven – provided of course that people cleaned up any mess.

“Let this be a lesson to all,” declared God, “that I am open to hearing prayerful petitions from good people.”

What excitement ensued! Lillian McPherson got her eleven dogs in a flash, to say nothing of Christopher Flannery’s seven cats, and Josephine Williamson’s seventeen rabbits.

The pets increased the delight of heaven even more than previously. Many an angel bent to pat a cat, and many a cherub gave dog-owners a break by taking the dog for a walk. All was wonderful for several years; all faithfully cleaned up after their pets.

Then suddenly Eleanor Whiddleworthy died and entered heaven through the pearly gates. While on Earth Eleanor Whiddleworthy had been a note-worthy person. She had spear-headed the fight to rid the world of plastic, she had spearheaded the fight to save planet Earth’s forest. Upon entering heaven she gathered like-minded people about her.

God was petitioned: rid heaven of plastic and stop the cutting down of forests. After considerable pressure God relented and banned plastic bags and the felling of trees to make paper bags and other wood-based commodities.

Poor pet owners! Oh the smell with no bags to gather poo!

2464. Crossing the Styx

Over the course of a lengthy life Carmel had five cats. She had only one at a time, and each lived for a reasonable number of years, except for Tallulah who had died young from cancer.

 Now it was Carmel’s turn to pass away. The specialists had given their prognosis. It gave Carmel a little time to prepare. “I do hope,” said Carmel, “that they allow cats in Heaven and I shall have the joy of once again seeing my sweet five.”

They were almost her last words on earth. They were certainly her first words after death. She told the man rowing the boat across the River Styx, “I do hope that they allow cats in Heaven and I shall have the joy of once again seeing my sweet five.”

“You’ll be lucky,” said the man rowing the boat.

Carmel wasn’t sure how to interpret the man’s statement. Did it mean a yes or a no? That is why she repeated to the nice man at the Pearly Gates, “I do hope that they allow cats in Heaven and I shall have the joy of once again seeing my sweet five.”

“Only one cat per person is allowed,” said the man at the gate.

Carmel returned to the man in the row boat. “Take me to the other place,” she said.

2407. Stairway to heaven

And there in front of Matilda was a staircase. She had been heading for school a little tentatively because Fatty the playground bully had been flexing his muscles these past few weeks. But now suddenly in front of Matilda the sky opened up and a staircase of overwhelming length and height opened before her. Was this the stairway to heaven? There was only one way to find out.

Matilda began to climb. Step by step. It was tiring. Her legs were sore. She thought, I can stop climbing whenever I like. So she did. She would stop ascending, sit on a step, and rest. Of course there was no longer much of a view. Clouds shrouded the earth in misty invisibility.

Soon she was on her feet again. Step by step. Higher and higher. She felt pulled towards the apex. Was there perhaps a door? Or a pearly gate? Were there angels waiting to welcome her into Paradise? Matilda thought she could see in the distance where the staircase ended. There was definitely something or somebody there.

Nothing motivates a tired traveller like the thought of arrival. Matilda quickened her step. And there she was! At the apex of the stairway to heaven! She gazed at the most beautiful and welcoming gates in the history of existence.

Fatty the playground bully was there. He pushed Matilda off, over the side of the staircase.

2393. Angel of mercy

(The stories are back! – albeit erratically. I shall restart with a story that some readers may not like!)

It was extraordinary. Drew was more than aware that he had died suddenly. He was sitting in his armchair early on a Friday morning. Next to his armchair was a little coffee table with his mug of coffee and a slice of marmalade on toast. He had just had his first bite of toast when next thing an angel was leading him towards the gates of Paradise.

What a lovely angel! So seraphic! So kind! The angel led Drew by the hand.

“We are heading towards the Gates,” said the angel. Drew could already feel the effects of Heaven emanating towards him.

“To quote Saint Paul,” said the angel, “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor have entered into the heart the things that God has in store… You know the quotation I’m sure.”

 “Of course I do,” said Drew.

“You realize,” said the angel, “that if you hadn’t put so much salt in your food and into cooking that you could have extended your life on earth by almost two years.”

Drew hung his head in shame.

“You realize,” said the angel, “that if you had been more careful to eat only organically grown vegetables that you could have extended your life on earth by two further years.”

Drew hung his head further in shame.

“You realize,” said the angel, “that if you had bought an electric car instead of that beat-up old bomb you drove around in you’d be going through that gate there into Paradise and not through this door here where there is an eternity of weeping and gnashing of teeth.”

“The old bomb was all I could afford,” said Drew.

With that the angel opened the door and flung Drew in.

“Now who is next on the list?” asked the angel looking at her clipboard.

“How Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez got that job as the angel I have no idea,” said Drew as he disappeared into the nothing world.

2365. Heavenly surprise

It came as a great shock to Dr Gareth Priscott, Professor of Literature at a prestigious university, to discover upon entering Heaven that he had never heard of the greatest novel ever written.

“Put it this way,” said Archangel Michael, “I’ll give you another example: Wuthering Heights would never have seen the light of day if Charlotte Bronte had not pushed for her sister’s novel to be published.”

“But surely,” said the Professor, “Providence in all the great scheme of things, would not have allowed such a masterpiece to be lost from human endeavour.”

“I’d like you to meet Mrs Jocelyn McLeod, mother of six, homemaker, and part-time secretary to a refuse collection agency, whose novel, Onion Fingers in the Deep Fryer, is regarded in heavenly circles as the greatest novel ever written in any language.”

“I’d love to read it,” said Professor Priscott.

“You can’t,” said Archangel Michael. “It was never published, and her husband threw out the manuscript when clearing things up after her death.”

“But surely Heaven saved the masterpiece for all time,” said the Professor.

“Humanity must look after humanity,” said the Archangel. “We can’t be mopping up after every foolish human foible. Humanity must take responsibility for humanity.”

And that was that.

2346. Miranda’s first day

It came as a terrible shock to Miranda to discover, upon her death, that her husband of forty-seven years had been a bigamist and he was sitting in the heavenly choir slap bang next to Henrietta, the recently departed mother of his seven children. And to think that Miranda’s obituary read, loved wife of the late Elbridge for forty-seven years. There was no changing it now.

At least Miranda would have her pets. She had spent her life adopting cats and dogs from the local pound. What sadness each pet-passing had caused in her life. What an irreparable gap they had left. Rather quickly she discovered that all the dogs and cats she had cared for were now back in the heavenly keeping of their original owners. The pets had been lost and now were found. What a delight it was for the original pet-keepers. What sadness for Miranda.

Well, she would seek out her favourite aunt. At least Aunt Nina would be a familiar shoulder to cry on. Nina had always understood Miranda; the two were in emotional sync. But no one in heaven had seen Nina; in fact no one in heaven had ever heard of her. Could she in fact have gone to the other place?

There was only one last thing to give her comfort: her pet canary, Aria. Aria was a yellow canary that had been Miranda’s companion in the kitchen for almost a decade. These beatific days Aria wouldn’t need a cage. There she is now! Oh! She’s in a cage. She has taken the fancy of the head angel in the Contralto Section of the heavenly choir. The head angel is in no mood to share. Just listen to that canary sing!

That about ends this account of Miranda’s first day after death. “Just wait until dinner!” declared a rather plump personage that Miranda had never met in her life. “Dinner is out of this world!”

Miranda said she wasn’t hungry.

Poem 102: A Monologue on the Eternal Banquet

And here in heaven at the Eternal Banquet
there’s strawberries and cream.
I’m not fond of strawberries, I once said.
Everyone was shocked. They like strawberries.
Just eat the whipped cream, says one, rather than insult the Cook.
You’d think with all the resources up here and stuff like that
they could provide more variety.
But no! When Adam and Eve arrived they said everyone would want
strawberries and cream. Certainly nothing with apples.
Strawberries three times a day. Full stop. Period. Permanently.

Then Queen Elizabeth the First of England
(she’s got really fat – I mean really really fat)
says that if I want variety I should go to the other place.
Hell, I say, what do they eat down there?
Raw quince and crab apples.
All day and every day with no whipped cream.
They’re all skinny as rakes.
For a special occasion they get an uncooked cooking apple.
Well, I say, it sounds like that other place sucks.
So I get stuck into my strawberries and cream.
I’ve been here two hundred and eleven years now
and have never got used to the diet.

Once in a blue moon, for a special occasion,
we have a big feast;
like the other day when Abraham and Sarah celebrated
their four thousandth year since getting pregnant.
We all got a dry pink wafer cookie
stuck in the strawberry concoction.
Honestly, I crave a hotdog.
I wouldn’t mind if it came poked into the whipped cream.

The other day some visitors popped over from
the Conservative Sector for a social visit.
They took one look and said, Bloody hell!
Is that all you eat? You need to sack the Cook.
So we’re having a meeting about it, all fifteen billion of us.
The angel in charge said a decision has to have a 100% consensus
before any changes can be made around here.
That’s impossible, especially with some of the politicians in our Sector.
I’m not putting much hope on our chances of firing the Cook.
Besides, God loves to personally prepare the strawberries for us Liberals.
It’s the reward we get for being always right.
Bon appétit.

To hear the poem read aloud click HERE.

1984. Honey, I never made it

Granville had made his wife, Doreen, the most beautiful rocking chair. It had taken him months of secret working in the shed out the back. Doreen never knew what he was up to. She supposed he was simply messing about, and then one day he produced the rocking chair and said “I made this for you, Honey.”

What a beautiful chair! Carved legs! A perfect, perfect rocking motion! Even the sweetest cushion on the seat!

“What a clever husband I have!” declared Doreen. “Who would have believed?”

But the truth was, Granville had started to make a rocking chair and things didn’t work out. It was a mess, so he had a rocking chair made. It certainly was a magnificent rocking chair, but he had merely pretended to have made it himself.

“What a clever husband I have!” repeated Doreen. “Who would have believed?” She was over the moon.

Sometime later, Granville was diagnosed with a terminal disease. He grew weaker by the day. He knew, as he reviewed his life, that entrance to eternity perhaps demanded sorrow for sins. He simply had to tell Doreen about the rocking chair.

It was clear that the end was near. Granville still hadn’t confessed to Doreen. And then, with one gigantic effort he declared “Honey, I never made it”. Within seconds he was dead.

Doreen always thought, as she rocked her way through widowhood, that Granville’s final “Honey, I never made it” was some premonition that he had been refused entrance through the Pearly Gates.