Leslie Philibert

Bronze Star - 2,806 Points (6th March 1954 / London, England)

Donegal - Poem by Leslie Philibert

A line of stones,
the threat of so much space,
a fallen horizon.

Salt grass
coarse with rain,
nights heavy with tides

and the battered steel
of the sea, the broken gong
of the moon, strange friends.

Then, I know not what to call
the rought curves of peat,
slight of the sea,

a bodhran wind over the rocks.
When I am no more,
let me melt in the rain

of this cold coast,
its own name shaped,
the seagull`s call.

Topic(s) of this poem: death of a friend

Form: Prose Poem


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Poem Submitted: Friday, March 27, 2015



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