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
A Journey To My Roots
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.
A strangely small garden shook me at first
until memory kicked in removing all those fears
with its usual record of rhetoric:
I had not been here now for close on ten years...
Inside a marbled, brown chocolate fireplace greeted us.
There was some catching up
over mugs a’ tae and sweet crumbly biscuits.
A cool chill snapped at my ankles suddenly
from the deep reaches of the old ...
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 –