Burn Poem by Seán O Muiríosa
Burn
My hand shakes and quivers a bit
At times of importance, times of joviality.
My face burns like the ring of a hob,
My hands slide like melting plastic.
And the head is adrift, treacherously,
A lost ship close to jagged rocks.
The mind’s on the island asking why
The warning sign is always burning in the sky.
Devious & spectacular. So current, relevant. This is why i continue to read poetry over song lyrics. Your writing, Seán, keep on. care, sjg
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/6/2026 3:22:41 AM # rel_20260803T153344Z_4267e77
Sean, Disregard my threatening message. (Oops!) I'm happy to see you back in action!