In other news, for three voices hopefully in
next Tuesday night, go here: http://thecommonty.blogspot.com/2011/11/salon-thomas-tosh-tuesday-nov-15th-2011.html
Up to Glasgow tomorrow for 3 days. Work. Normal service etc.
And because
The Bitter Dead
So seeming solemn still, because I lie
in garden of remembrance, formally
you have forgotten me, and would I be
these cold, carved capitals just one inch high?
It was not your fault. Here your comfort lies,
they are not my words. Grave, I have no voice,
as grave, that shaded day, I had no choice.
I died. I would it had been otherwise.
A silence is forgetting, what I want
is my roar in a red-haired great grandchild;
the captain, his patrician nose punched again
at public school, real tears, and petulance.
A small life. From such we have been exiled,
dying young. You do not carry my name.
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