First Poem of the year

CASEBOOK

I am the great detective, follow clues
through my own past amazed, retrace the dance
of steps. Go backwards, then again advance.
No sound except the echo of my shoes

tap-click against the pavements of the years
I thought I wasted but in fact I learned
so many fingers that I thought were burned
were building something, and so many tears

that left their traces here. Crisp on the page
words that I spoke in anger or in lust
that seemed absurd a while, but now are just
seen focussed through the burning glass of age

All mysteries solve themselves, unfold reveal
Time compensates for all that it will steal.

Awards Eligibility

I had a novel out in November, which means it is eligible for awards for 2013. It's the second volume of RHAPSODY OF BLOOD - REFLECTIONS and it's available in print, e-book and Kindle.

I would be really grateful if people who like these books push them here and elsewhere - small publisher, late in the year, I seem to be being ignored a bit...

We need to deromanticize that bloody war

GRANDFATHER JUNE 1916

Came back and could not bear the feel of mud
under his feet. Would walk paths in the park
and never cross the grass. Sat in the dark
for random hours. A quickness in the blood

that told him horses, pulled him to the card.
It raced so fierce. Whisky would make him sleep
like the best pillow. Echoed lice would creep
across his skin. He got his life back. It was hard

To live. He stumbled. Bootlace was untied.
The bullet glanced his helmet, and his face
down in the stinking mud. And in his place
his best friend, who was right behind him, died.

He went there to pull teeth. Over the top
they made him go. His scream would never stop.