The funeral

They stand around the grave
of the man that left them early-

-damp eyed all of them
and as grey and chalky
as exhaust fumes.

It rains quietly,
dropping somnolently
without fuss

and birds watch curiously
from wet oak limbs.

The faceless lower him
into the earth
while briefly time ceases-

-Later at his wake
they drink stiff drinks

and talking about his life
restores the colour
to their faces.

the lost battalion

On a mountainside in southern Spain
tall trees in full greenage
climbed silently in single file,

marching with military sturdiness
like a long forgotten battalion
of republican soldiers-

-still ceaselessly advancing
towards General Franco.

Branches swaying
in the Moorish wind
appeared as slung rifles

and onwards they marched,
endlessly towards a distant
forgotten battle-

-while the bitter scent of
oranges rose from the west,
flanking the battalion
triumphantly.

Death came to lunch

Death visited my Uncle's house that day
while we began to sit for lunch,
it hovered menacingly around the kitchen
as Aunt prepared a punch.

It whispered and whimpered across the table
spilling gravy from my sisters plate
and sat down quietly next to the fridge,
where it stayed deciding our fate.

Before long it was on the move again
slipping quickly across to the sink,
pushing pots and pans to the floor with a crash,
it grinned and gave me a wink.

My cousin was lounging on the sofa
chain smoking in the long front room,
Death sat down next to him and said,
"I'll be seeing you very soon".

The reflection

The town that stood
upon a hill

was seen reflected in a sea
that sung ballads to
a sleepy beach.

Shimmering softly
with the night,

the streetlights
and cafe neon's,

silently

wash gently ashore.

For the defeated

The naval officer
was liked by his peers
because he talked
with a nasal twang,

talked fondly of the Queen
and had blue blood
in his veins.

When he lost his men
and ship through negligence,

they carved his name
boldly in stone

and left his men
to old black and white photographs
and a forgetful promise to families.

The artist's impression

At night the harbour
became a large canvas,

lights from ships
and cafe thronged
marinas,

dancing and quivering
in artistic fluency.

But towards morning
the canvas faded,

and once again
the harbour
became an abstract
of fishing boats
and buff coloured gulls.