Alchemisland

Harsh, sermon-shushing winds blew baleful regattas on His funeral day.

With winsome Sherman demonspeed winnowed in off the coast,

Like an invading host, to harry us and hoar his untarrying ghost,

Before his in-chariot carrion could be carried to the flensing garret;

That wind hit harder than a chartered stepdad after a few jars.

Marshy the marred leys where he would be lain, courtesy unforecast rains.

Askew hairs unglued from immovable wholes, faithfuls taking facefuls;

The pomade cannot hold. It is Baltic and bitter cold,

Curse that brindled cow for ever having gloated.

Listless gaols, fast fades a graven name to the Ancient of Days.

Into vile earth, vial and urn, to piteous grave,

We convey the once-vital Hemsbick O’Shea.

The wake

The patient who never more will wake

But we will wait a night to be sure. Virtuous patience.

Amazing waves made for café wall inspirational pictureframes

Seen vaguely through panes rain scathed

Shadowplaying flames at tallow-paling lintelplay

Selfsame in glacial days

On the walls of caves

Lending vital animation to animal shapes.

Tree-shaking winds whittle away hymn specifics.

Something happened, something terrific,

Which made me think of him specifically.

Overnight all of my lane’s partially vacant bins

Were overturned like unearned convictions.