Beaten by life

I had a friend who was beaten by life.  A keen poet once, by no means a great poet, but most extraordinarly honest and brave; think of a gay man publishing poetry that expressed his sexuality without inhbition in the Ireland of fifty years ago.

My poem refers to this man disapointed and despondent in his later years; fight and spirit gone, he was good company, but  kept all that he had been locked tight deep inside himself.

The Poems Are Past.

The poems are past;

goodnight, au revoir.

And life, handed over like a cheque;

good luck, all the best.

Still: an adjective for a man ?

Still ?

Think of rain, bucketing down,

sunshine caught in its strings;

that's how I think of you:

a rainstorm in June; gentle subversive .