I am pleased to announce my new book of poetry “The Last bus to Clifden” from the good people at Abraxas Press
Help is at hand
No need to worry
We are all trapped in the same June
Between the dais and the floor
Hands of fate are rarely slight
And if an imbroglio is a confused heap
Then we are nothing more than beautiful stereo ripples
Whose colours give themselves away,
Imploring certain envoys to finish their search and come home
Here it is never winter
Sounds amplify simply on faraway alpine reservoirs
Thaw comes before the deluge, never after the snow drift
A palm waves a fist, many angry fists
The object is the hardest part
Lost assumed as the others finally arrive
And find a point zero or locus solus
This is all we came here for
The secret is kept up in the ozone
Somewhere near the Espirides or the Southern Cross
Someone laughs heartily as his or hers breath loses its way through the jet stream
Learning and Unlearning
The semi divine process of miscellany and Diaspora
By which we seldom now daydream to conjure home
On this nether shore
We call this ocean Atlantic
The girl, Lilith
This atoll on which we stand will be named later