Biography of Patrick Dennis
'No man can create as did Shakespeare, Homer, Sophocles who did not believe with all his blood and nerve that man's soul is immortal.'
Patrick Dennis Poems
Joy is a way of looking at you & me & this & that, and all things that may oh - heaven knows - cause us grief
An Argument With A British Poet
Poetry is memorable speech, you say? Yes, I heard a young man in Dublin when I was there cursing and swearing on a street corner. I shall never forget it.
Freedom is the soul's right to know itself. Freedom is the soul's right to know beauty. Freedom is the soul's right to slavery in the Kingdom of Truth.
Down from the trees, a Kookaburra, tempted by the throwdown of meat, descends, hops, chuckles and gobbles; and bounces back.
Oh, give over, you naysayers, you who war words point blank. The confluence of words
Let me rush on to where I stammer out the next failed thought that dumbsdown my mind in the heat of composing.
Four States Of The Soul
Fire purges in His fierce ecstasy all things of sap and clay and takes to Himself - oh! - the refined and raptured brides of Fire. Charcoal, well dried, longs for the Fire
What wild triumph of nerve and bone is this! To drag by your hind foot my steel trap and the heavy anchor log. And, so encumbered, in your last frenzy of escape to scale
The waxing tide swells for a flood; and, surging for the unattainable moon, fails and falls back on the ebb.
I have seen snowcapped mountains and pristine fields adorned with the blush and hues of Heaven; but I live here on this arid plain stretched four ways to infinity.
Outside the Library
This morning at five to ten nineteen souls and I sit for the ten o'clock opening impatient and hungry eyed: there's soul food inside.
Jubilee Prayer 2000 (Australian Version)
O, Great Nothing in the sky incline your ear as we sigh. the trinity of zeroes now here with us is stirring up a bit of fuss
Rows of boys turn up their eyes on the good new rector who plans to regroup the shattered morale of the huddled parade of the young church militant upcoming brigade.
Epitaph to My Father
In life I never knew you
except from behind the walls you threw up
to buffet turmoils and hold
the watchful sentry of your soul.
Sometimes, though, on revelling nights you scaled over
and we met like carolling enemies in no-man's-land.
And there we lurked, you and I, like border foe
or sometimes like exiles whose longing to cross