Seamus Hogan

Seamus Hogan Poems

Perhaps it's a little consolation that the village
Lays a carpet of whispers as you are led into
...

Neck deep in night
With mainland morning just a line
On the horizon under a splash of ink sky
Spilt by the arm of waking dreams.
...

Moving apart
As quietly as a puddle freezes,
Crying as silently as slush.
Ah, how long it seems
...

From their control tower
the nest of chicks
Guide in their parents
On a runway of cries.
...

Crows freeze in mid-flight
And hang there
Like fire damaged decorations.
...

Evening again lays down shadow
Like a cardplayer
With a hopeless hand.
At the bend in the avenue
...

Until I was nine or ten
I don't remember any other cares
Than getting the lessons done in time
To play a little more before the prayers.
...

Out fly the fowl
Like feathers from a bolster
And who comes last but the rooster.
Pausing to raise a leg,
...

Among reeds
Surrounded by waves of rock,
Stands a Heron.
In its beak
...

Station.

Our train has stopped
But the platform seems to move.
...

One coin and none to keep it company.
The chicken I'd imagined laying golden eggs
Today asserted himself.
The chopping block chopped.
...

That dead tree that I'm about to cut,
proud with its crow bounty.
A few sheep mushroomed
fly scarved cattle fields
...

Two riders in the elderberry road,
grass between.
With blackthorn and hazel, unseen.
Only the breathing, the hoofs
...

In the orchard
Our dog Mr. Lynch
Rolls in his own happiness.
...

15.

It must have been this month of the year,
November, because I wore boots of rubber
and the cows wore boots of mud.
...

This evening of open windows
Night waits among the leaves
As quietly as tea draws,
As a last fruit ready to fall.
...

17.

Like birds
Flight of tongue
Curlew of neck
Swooping breasts
...

18.

Yes, it's true
that I am quiet
this morning.
But did you hear
...

If You can imagine a blind woman
Knitting, in total darkness, a woollen
Jumper then the wool you see is me.
...

20.

For Seamus and Marie

A turf flame is more modest
Than that of well seasoned elm,
...

The Best Poem Of Seamus Hogan

Damascus

Perhaps it's a little consolation that the village
Lays a carpet of whispers as you are led into
Church on Sundays. That they look towards your pew
at an angle and grab a glimpse of their lives
In the blankness as though it were a mirror.
When you hear those prayers for the sick through
The nave of the priest's hands, who do you see?
Or hear? Last winter's ice underfoot
On the way to the cowhouse, or some October's
Apple falling. Which will not splinter or fall
Through your eyes again.

Once, thinking you were alone, you shuddered.
Then, like transparent fruit, two tears were shook
Free from your pain's branch. A sob, too much
In your hands already, shattered the silence
And cracks raced to my shore of vision
Exposing a torrent of helplessness.
Sometimes when I chase a last pea around the plate
Or say 'That girl is really pretty'
I feel as if I've opened a letter
That isn't for me.

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