after Kerouac and Keats
My heart aches for tranquility −
for the still, clear, rhythm-
less rhyme
that a dead, Beat Poet’s heart
has. Jack’s beats time
silently − painlessly now −
after the bloody, full-stop dash
On The Road to his last sentence. Continue reading “A Poor Vintage”
What we know not now 
There’s a holy well in Holywell. Of course there is – isn’t that how it got its name?
Trust? Naïve.
Empty promises.
Plans abandoned.
Cynical nods.
Insults hurled.
Separate paths.
Defiant stance.
Wounds scratched.
Hand of friendship bitten. Continue reading “In Our Hands”
The smell of wild garlic in the woods
overlooking the beach is a reminder
I haven’t eaten in days. I fail in the smallest
of ways, it’s my life’s work.
My grass had grow almost untouched for the best part of three years. In places, the grass roots were so densely entangled that pulling on one plant might roll up a whole section like rotting underlay. It had broken my lawnmower long ago. A local farmer with a brush cutter cleared the part visible from the road and tractored the mowings into a heap at the back. He did a good job, but it took several days and the noise was almost unbearable.
He wrote the score in ’64
A symphony for the ages
Rewrote the scores of heretofore
Laid out his plan in stages.
But many came to damn him down.
With drums and pipe they came to town
While others played along with him
Then chose to sing a different hymn.
Continue reading “Larghissimo”
Thou O Burren hast opened mine eyes and my tongue shall announce thy praise
Strong grey, defiant grey,
Speckled, freckled grey,
Spilled grey, frilled grey,
Shattered, splattered grey,
Smooth grey, Orate pro nobis
This painting by Canadian artist Alex Colville, entitled Horse and Train has haunted my consciousness in the many decades since I first encountered it. It was inspired by a poem by a Roy Campbell, who deplored the authoritarian elements of Fascism and Communism and the horrific Apartheid policies of his own native South African Government:
I scorn the goose-step of their massed attack
And fight with my guitar slung on my back
Against a regiment I oppose a brain
And a dark horse against an armoured train.
for Deirdre and Aileen
Ignoring a turlough’s gleam
Past ancient trees,
I hurry through Pairc-na-Carraig
To reach Coole lake;
