In Memoriam

The gravestones in this place are wet with tears

Of children, wives and husbands who have stood

Beside dark holes that swallow up their fears

Replacing ice water where once flowed blood.

November skies are grey and hold no lights,

The flowers flattened in a winter gale

That whips away dark thoughts the widow fights

To keep hidden behind her mourning veil.

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The Ballad Of Billy Nomates

You were bigger than a bus,

with a face as red as Martian dust

and a neck that started somewhere in your crown.

I was small and insecure,

as I approached the guarded door,

knowing that you were about to put me down.

You were giving me that look

that said you couldn’t give a fuck

for my need to get beyond the ticket box.

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