Invoking a wrathful God
With icons, beads, candles,
The liturgy of the middle ages,
My dark people clutched
Faith like a crucifix,
The grim descendants of a tribe
Hardened by famine and plague,
That bullied, burned, and killed
In the old blackguard days,
Knew the grief and shame
Of the peat-soaked mist,
The heartbreak fields.
Schooled in the pubs, they'd couch
An insult in the guise of praise,
Praise in the guise of an insult.
Be wary lover, stranger,
I was born in a black hour.
My legacy: a blessing and a curse.
ELEGY FOR AN ACTRESS
I always thought we'd meet again some day,
With you in pink or purple crepe de chine.
We'd have a glass or two of Chardonnay
And chat about the local drama scene.
Instead, I sit inside a dive alone
Off Fuller Street and nurse a Black and White,
A place with just a single telephone,
But then I won't be calling you tonight.
For you there's no Millennium, no chance
To rectify your failings down the years,
Not even one more, free for all, romance
No falling out, no last display of tears.
Upstaged by Death, you've left the masquerade,
Who lent a breadth to every part you played.
