Near coumeenole past the potters house
the august storm has lashed the coast
Throwing debris and stones across the beach on Clough Strand.
In summer sun a south seabeach now weather beat.
'Dangerous currents, ' do not swim'.
Spits of Alantic rage.Huffing and puffing out its tempest.
Lear and Lean would understandDingle Beach.
Like the emptiness of a shout a roar-hollow head.
War dead, we
remember you.
dead youth thrown upon beaches lie upon a fossilized intuition
like a parchment of power, wasted.
Its purpose forgotten in the sands of time.
A loss endure in trauma of historical memory.
A dead seal on Clough beach is found,
a yellow digger, lifts its beak and lays
the seal in a sand dug grave nearby.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem