Paula Meehan Poems
|2.||The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks||7/23/2015|
|4.||My Father Perceived as a Vision of St Francis -new-||10/14/2017|
|6.||A Sonnet for Gary Snyder on his 80th Birthday -new-||10/14/2017|
|7.||The Inscription -new-||10/14/2017|
|8.||A STRAY DREAM -new-||10/14/2017|
|9.||DEATH OF A FIELD -new-||10/14/2017|
|11.||OLD SKIN -new-||10/14/2017|
The Statue of the Virgin at Granard Speaks
It can be bitter here at times like this,
November wind sweeping across the border.
Its seeds of ice would cut you to the quick.
The whole town tucked up safe and dreaming,
even wild things gone to earth, and I
stuck up here in this grotto, without as much as
star or planet to ease my vigil.
The howling won't let up. Trees
cavort in agony as if they would be free
and take off — ghost voyagers
on the wind that carries intimations
of garrison towns, walled cities, ghetto lanes
where men hunt each other and invoke
the various names of God as ...