To Malu, Painter, Died 8 November 1993

I wouldn't have helped at all
          To say Stephen Hawking had it,
Or
They'll find a cure some sunny day,
          Hang on in there.
In where?  We fall and clutch at as we fall

Only what we are, will be, must.
          You the pacifist pulled your punches
Rarely
          As you fought those yaw daubings of your day.
          I've seen the other side -
You know as well as I do now there is no dust to dust

Unless from dross to gold.
          Around your room each empty canvas lies untouched
By
Lamed effectors.  In silent corners
          Neurone nightmares caught in pain squat
Waiting to be sold

On the phone you end up saying "Fühle Dich umarmt".
          Trying to conceal that slur
That
          Trace of everyones last usurper,
               That turner of calligraphy into chaos.
Whatever oil or water-colour heaven holds your frame
          Malu, Fühle Dich umarmt.

© R.G. Bishop