The old house stood as sturdy as ever
even as the mangled jade ivy clung and grasped
as it had for decades, but she would never be killed.
It’s not in her make-up.
Painful star of poetry;
Ending in an oven.
Twinkling lanterns shone high
In the Johnstown night sky
I visited your grey face today.
Your not well, old friend, not well.
They say it’s spreading swiftly
Through your every curve and bend,
Staring through the dark of night
I can just about make out the ceiling, cracks and all.
It’s a battered fading plain of white like a rolled up piece of paper
Flattened back out again. It must have witnessed
Golden waves rushed on in
upon a rusty Irish sky
as mother sang out across the land,
fading leaves strained on branches.
The mind is the scariest thing I know.
It is not like any darkness.
It is a transparent, life colour
Covering everything I am,
The two of us alone on that stony Cheathrú Rua beach
On a July evening that almost seemed like my reason for being.
It was our last day together and the sun was burning strong.
I am an erratic.
Look at my edges
How they pierce the landscape
Of the desert each day.