Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublinby Patrick Kavanagh O commemorate me where there is water,Canal water, preferably, so stillyGreeny at the heart of summer. BrotherCommemorate me thus beautifullyWhere by a lock niagarously roarsThe falls for those who sit in the tremendous silenceOf mid-July. No one will speak in proseWho finds hisContinue reading “Lines Written on a Seat on the Grand Canal, Dublin by Patrick Kavanagh”
Author Archives: poetryandplaces4
Spring in Belfast by Derek Mahon
Spring in Belfastby Derek Mahon Walking among my own this windy morningIn a tide of sunlight between shower and shower,I resume my old conspiracy with the wetStone and the unwieldy images of the squinting heart.Once more, as before, I remember not to forget. There is a perverse pride in being on the sideOf the fallenContinue reading “Spring in Belfast by Derek Mahon”
Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst
Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst No country leads so softly to nowhere as those slow shoulders that curtain the horizon let us hold the sun at noon in this valley for morning will not come again. We will watch the trees grow up and the flowers stiffen and brightly dressedContinue reading “Speaking of Iowa: The sun at noon by James Hearst”
Dubuque, Iowa by Eve Triem
Dubuque, Iowaby Eve Triem Travelers notice this town for its bricks,(warehouse and mill) sun-and-snow weatheredto apricot and dahlia. And then that it is a port,the streets in waves winding from a riverand flying the side of a hill, like gulls. They will climb the stair-sprayed hill—the hill, a ball-player’s arm swung up for a catch Continue reading “Dubuque, Iowa by Eve Triem”
Butter by Andrea Cohen
Butterby Andrea Cohen I’ve never seen the landof milk and honey, but at the Iowa State Fair I glimpseda cow fashioned of butter. It lived behind a windowin an icy room, beneath klieg lights. I filed past as one filespast a casket at a wake. It was that sad: a butter cowwithout a butter calf.Continue reading “Butter by Andrea Cohen”
New Zealand by James K. Baxter
New Zealandby James K. Baxter for Monte Holcroft These unshaped islands, on the sawyer’s bench,Wait for the chisel of the mind,Green canyons to the south, immense and passive,Penetrated rarely, seeded onlyBy the deer-culler’s shot, or else in the northTribes of the shark and the octopus,Mangroves, black hair on a boxer’s hand. The founding fathers withContinue reading “New Zealand by James K. Baxter”
Mana by Karlo Mila
Manaby Karlo Mila when you flow through my bodyI knowI am caught in the current of a riverlarger than the length of my own lifetimeit bends where we have all been beforesame rapidsother watersour veinsmy bloodI knowI am in the flowof something greater than my own self PHOTO: Kawarau River, New Zealand. Photo by Makalu,Continue reading “Mana by Karlo Mila”
Although it is small it is greenstone by Louise Wallace
Although it is small it is greenstone by Louise Wallace I am orchids fruit trees I can bear more than you think I am a river stone and I choose a ring made of pounamu to remind me PHOTO: River in New Zealand by David Mark, used by permission. NOTE: Pounamu (or “greenstone“) are several typesContinue reading “Although it is small it is greenstone by Louise Wallace”
The Winter by Dafdd ap Gwilym
The Winterby Dafdd ap Gwilym Across North WalesThe snowflakes wander,A swarm of white bees.Over the woodsA cold veil lies.A load of chalkBows down the trees. No undergrowthWithout its wool,No field unsheeted;No path is leftThrough any field;On every stumpWhite flour is milled. Will someone tell meWhat angels liftPlanks in the flour-loftFloor of heavenShaking down dust?An angel’sContinue reading “The Winter by Dafdd ap Gwilym”
Only Exmoor by Kim Whysall-Hammond
Only Exmoorby Kim Whysall-Hammond Only Exmoor stretches out to embrace the whole sky in its immensityReflects its moods and colours, its nurture and destructionOnly the moor is as fickle as the sky Today the moor is swallowed as clouds subsume the uplandsYesterday it shed water like the clouds themselvesTomorrow it will shimmer with heat, dryContinue reading “Only Exmoor by Kim Whysall-Hammond”
POETRY and PLACES 