The Grave Mischief of Lady Betty

Bloodthirsty Bet what have you done?
The stranger dead
your only son.

Taught him money was warm as gin,
and greed it was
that put a blade in him.

Time passed slowly in Roscommon gaol
fearing the scaffolds shadow
and hemp pigtail.

She was not alone on her final night,
and all condemned
cursed the morning light.

On the chosen day no hangman came,
but Death was eager
so upped the game.

As Bet stepped onto the gallows cloud
she removed the noose
and said aloud;

'Spare my neck and i'll hang the others!'
And so it was,
she swung her convict brothers.

No souls it seemed could quench fair Bet,
the Irish bloodhound
children won't forget...

© Steven Francis poems 2009

Six Times As Much As Six

Oh where for thou art!
Cavort through metal stalks
toward adder throated kings
laying lower than a baptist.
Daughter of a bamboo bruise,
the hunt six six six,
for birch bodied kettle teens
who hark for cadaver lined strumpets,
toppling on their bayonet heels
and hitching up their wolves for howling.

God rest the mission 666;
wake digital spells unto homebrews.
march gator heads to their hernias
to hernias in shadows
where domed headed children
lurk below as punks.
Always beneath
the simmering blast of summer
blinds a devil's eye
and bands of saturated flesh
seep death sauce to its hunter...

©Steven Francis poems 2013

To Bethena

I missed your love and kindness,
your soul of souls,
but beauty with its assorted delinquents and trinkets
never fades or wilts,
and 'tho I nest amongst adders in the dawn
I am at the gentle mercy of you always.
Those eyes, that smile,
a face which had all the answers
and hangs forever, a portrait in my chest.
Oh to have known you darling Bethena!
To have held your hand
and walked with you, both poets on fire,
a furious blaze all together smothering the page.

I gaze into your eyes, those chessnut pools
and know what might have been
is happening now in the emerald garden
where your delicate touch is freezing the furies.
Bethena! Gone before your time
but time itself will be your tribute
as those you Love remember you,
and this ode, testament of your inspiration
which reshaped the horizons of a distant hand.
Oh to have known you!
But content am I to know that you live on,
triumphed over crocodiles
and sending Love in butterflies...

@Steven Francis poems 2010