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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required Twilight was softenin’ the warm summer sky As the sun fled the fields with ‘er gold, An’ the fellers were gatherin’ for bourbon an’ rye Where the tales of McHenry were told. Whenever the moon was as full as she gets… And the sky was as clear as a bell… The lads at the pub would be placin’ their bets On what story McHenry would tell. For twenty odd years he’d been tellin’ the tale of the way he’d discovered his wife All wrapped in the cling of a sailor, she were…both naked from ankle to head! Aye…there in the arms of a fair-headed salt lay the terrified ‘luve of 'is life,’ And Brian and Gawd were the only two knowed how the two of ‘em ended up dead. Now, fudgin’ were somethin’ that Brian would do - Though a mate, and a man of his word - So all of us knowed they were basically true… But it changed every time it was heard! With none of us knowin’ what story we’d hear, Like any good audience does, We’d quietly sit - with our bread and our beer - As Brian would tell how it was. But this were a night like no other, my friend, for there…with the fullest of moon… Brian ‘d been bendin’ his elbow considerable more than he normally did! They claimed he’d been downin’ ‘em - one after one, an’ said that he’d started at noon, But no one who knew him - not even his friends - would bother to cry when he said, “Well there’s not a man, neither livin’ nor dead, Who can know how I felt when I saw The two of ‘em there…arm in arm, in our bed…. ‘Twas them who was breakin’ the law! “But mates…I were there fer the dyin’ that night… An’ it’s time dat I fin’ly confess. Fer twenty odd years I been cryin’ at night….. ‘Twas me kilt the sailor - an’ Bess!” The crowd went as dumb as the head o’er the hearth, and nothin’ would move for a time. The only sound heard was the clock on the wall, ‘twas midnight when Brian come clean. At last he was clear of his burden of guilt, but then…with the fade of the chime… Brian McHenry did somethin’ I swear is the saddest t’ing I’ve ever seen. With so many folk always tossin’ about Where he were when the two of them died… And plagued by the great speculatin’ and doubt, (Though no one was claimin’ he’d lied), With none of us keen to the pain in his heart, An’ none of us keen to the gun… An’ half-a-day’s whiskey for playin’ a part In the way that the poor feller done… ‘E lifted his drink in the air for a toast, “Aye…‘ere’s to da fool what’s in love. An’ ‘ere’s to da mates what I’m callin’ me friends, what knows dat I kilt me own wife. Of all of da t’ings dat I’ve dune in my time, dat’s da one t’ing dat I’m prudest of.” Then drew out a pistol, an’ gave it a kiss…pulled the trigger…an’ ended ‘is life! And FYI: I'll be posting a bunch of my AUDIO files over the next few months, most from my 4 new AUDIO-CDs, along with many more text files from my several books of verse. (Only a few CDs and books left - 2-11-21). Because, as with most poets, it simply depends on the mood I’m in at writing time, my verse, as you’ll discover, varies greatly from lightheartedly comical pieces to meaningfully poignant works. If you happen to like my style, and appreciate the variety, please visit my website’s at - www.writerofbooks.com. Cheers, Mark Stellinga
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