Poem: Man of the Century
1999.
Man of the Century
a moment's silence
if you will
lift your glasses
to the late remembered
century
he was a man -
how best to say it?
he was a man
for good or ill
who thought large
lived high
knelt in the trenches
gazed at the sun -
yes, burned his eyes
from gazing -
grew wings,
breathed fire,
bottled lightning,
sold the moon
all these things and more
he was, he did, he saw -
saw further than the giants
because he had outlived them -
made his own law,
wrote his own play,
stripped myth from the trees,
painted his own shadow
he was proud - yes,
we can say that of him
gentle? - no,
he was not always that
he was a man
of speed and thunder
always planning
always building
piling surprise on subterfuge
hurling us like locomotives
at one reckless visionary future
after another
do we miss him? - no,
we do not all do that
he was not a man
shy of making enemies
there are some here
who will remember
the wire, the steel, the light
there are some
who will never forget
and there are even some who feel
he stepped too carefully
well - we all have scars
to remember him by
as well as roses
he has left us legacies
dark and bitter,
electric and intoxicating -
champagne mixed with malt
so let us drink
to his memory
one glass, enough
to see the old brute off
wherever he's headed -
wish him well
the world is ours now
to break
and to the future -
pour one for yourselves -
here's to our children
and the toys we're passing on
may they live to weep their loss
more honestly
than we do ours
