Seán O Muiríosa
Seán O Muiríosa Poems
|43.||Saddest City Lane||1/9/2006|
|48.||Country Essence - Haiku||4/24/2005|
|49.||Among Tall Pine Trees||6/10/2005|
|51.||A Coral Beach In Connemara||7/29/2005|
|53.||A Golden End||1/26/2005|
|54.||Cracks Of Night||3/30/2005|
|55.||The Visiting Hours||4/10/2005|
|56.||Opening Tunnel Vision||5/24/2005|
|57.||Ode To Sylvia Plath||11/24/2005|
|58.||A Journey To My Roots||4/10/2005|
Comments about Seán O Muiríosa
The Visiting Hours
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,
I examined you myself with cruel eyes
The world will never be able to mend.
You’ve changed all right.
What caused it?
All those years of over indulgence?
Should have seen it coming?
Though it was bound to build up
And up and up and out.
I fear for you dear, alone and isolated
Out here on the west.
I had to leave you then
Like they soon will.
They said you needed to rest.
Cracks Of Night
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
Some disturbing truths to be so utterly glum.
I wonder if my slumber will antagonise the aching lines further
Only to come limping back to me like wounded soldiers?
I think of all those who must have laid here before me –