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Michael greatly enjoyed the following poem, which this web's designer wrote in 1998 shortly after MIDNIGHT COME was published. After laughing at it in his inimitable way Michael stated that this webmaster should stop wasting his time on "my rubbish" in that characteristic self-deprecatory tone of his.

The poem alludes to events in the novel. Sadly, the title of the poem has now a double significance for me.




I’d had enough of cryptic war

(and valve-sparked, wire-mazed box of tricks)

and so I left my army corps

to start afresh with saner mix.


Enigmas solved, victorious,

the Church had seemed a safer bet;

I little knew that glorious

gold copes could ever cause regret!


Dilapidations was my beat;

wags said, “it is quite à propos:

disabled wife and hair’s retreat

has led him to career’s just dose.”


Most times it’s been a bitter pill;

compared to this, the War was nought.

Give me those covert tasks to kill

deceitful spies before one’s caught.


Weird saintly garbs to proffer tea

and maniacs upon dank marsh,

eccentric priests in Holy See

and heretics, inured and harsh...


For nothing is just as it seems,

and miracles are formed of air;

the sun discloses iced moon-beams,

quaint cottage is a she-wolf’s lair.


Dark past revisits spectral grounds,

Cathedral bell tolls for its prey,

and from the Close hell’s greedy hounds

hear Satan’s orders and obey.


So why did I continue forth

with specious inoffensive job?

Would tropic swamps or polar north

redeem me from this clerics’ mob?


Can “Germany calling” be worst

than “Bishop requests” to my ears?

Could bubble of sanctity burst?

Can only Winnie know my fears?


Yet as a Christian I must fight -

malignancy cannot endure -

and when I am within God’s sight

He’ll point me to the Right, I’m sure!



mdanthony004.jpg (64216 bytes)


Michael's dedication in our copy of his second novel

Acknowledgement in the third novel  when Michael was still using the  PCW 8256