#IrishWriters
It is dark’¦ so dark, I remember… It is still’¦ so still, I hear t… Ten times we had watched the moon Rise like a thin white virgin out… And round into a full maternity’¦
Cool, inaccessible air Is floating in velvety blackness s… But no breath stirs the heat Leaning its ponderous bulk upon th… And most on Hester street…
You can see the sandhills from our… Butterflies live in the sandhills and lizards and centipedes.
That day, in the slipping of torso… on the bloodied ooze of fields plo… And the smoke bluish near earth an… floating like cotton-down, And the harsh and terrible screami…
Warped... gland-dry... With spine askew And body shrunken into half its sp… Well-used as some cracked paving-s… Bearing on his grimed and pitted f…
Indigo bulb of darkness Punctured by needle lights Through a fissure of brick canyon… And a sliver of moon Spigoting two high windows over th…
Not your martyrs anointed of heave… The ages are red where they trod - But the Hunted - the world’s bitt… Who smote at your imbecile God - A being to pander and fawn to,
Undulant rustlings, Of oncoming silk, Rhythmic, incessant, Like the motion of leaves… Fragments of color
What of the silence of the keys And silvery hands? The iron sings… Though bows lie broken on the stri… The fly-wheels turn eternally’¦ Bring fuel - drive the fires high’…
Wind, just arisen - (Off what cool mattress of marsh-m… In tented boughs leaf-drawn before… Or niche of cliff under the eagles… You of living things,
Last night I watched a star fall like a great… Till my ego expanding encompassed… Containing both as in a trembling…
Old plant of Asia - Mutilated vine Holding earth’s leaping sap In every stem and shoot That lopped off, sprouts again -
That was a great night we spied up… See-sawing home, Singing a hot sweet song to the su… Shuffling off behind the smoke-haz… Fog-horns sentimentalizing on the…
When you tell mama you are going to do something grea… she looks at you as though you were a window she were trying to see through,
I love those spirits That men stand off and point at, Or shudder and hood up their souls… Those ruined ones, Where Liberty has lodged an hour