Sons of Hounds

At Achnacarry and Spean Bridge,
the cry of Camerons, Commandos and Rangers
could be heard all the way up Ben Nevis:
"Sons of hounds, come hither and get flesh!"
Those warriors are with us still,
but the hounds are fat, aye, overfed;
they sleep there on the master's bed
and will not come when called.


(2013)

The Last Match

You can give me the world's last match,
and I'll strike it for you, keep it lit
long enough to light democracy's torch,
or whatever blown out torch you carry,
not that I care that much for planetary fires,
but I've smoked a sun full of cigarettes,
and I can light a match in a hurricane.

I know of others like me,
soldiers, quite serious people,
who make fire for the incompetent,
but you'll give that stick 
to a politician,
and you'll get what you deserve,
the phosphorus wet with perspiration;
at best, the lighting match held head up,
the momentary flame, then a wisp of smoke in history,
the spent head nodding down like a napping president.



(1985)