Excerpt from the Boy Who kissed Lamposts

Martin's spoon traced the figures of ancient China etched in the landscape of the blue willow plate of breakfast cereal.   A thought scurried across his mind. ‘One day I will go there’.

He paused for a moment, to catch the morning sunlight filtering through the laced curtain and turned to his aunt standing by the stove.

' Auntie , please, please  may I leave the table?' 

An approving wink set him free.    

And I Awake

The burn would run all night and morning

Gurgling seductively outside my bedroom window

Golden brown and bubbling over the peat-moss moor

Sounds of scratching fowls and swishing cows

Cud-chewing to the milking parlour

Narrative - excerpt from 'The boy at the Window'

We sat on Sundays,  high up by  the roots of the knobbled beech tree, careful not to get our Sunday best worse.   The castle hung in the distance, anchored by pristine lawns that glistened in the early morning  sun. That held the castle a distant nirvana.  Untouchable,unreachable.  Shuttered blinds that guarded the Major’s privacy.

We were more interested in what went on below.  The Moyola , it's honey browned waters burbling blindly over the weir, fattened by the rains of late Autumn.   Gorged on leaves from falling foliage, the swirl and foam all working together at the edge of the weir.

It's razor sharp edge awaiting.   We watched with all the uneasiness of Sunday,s service children mumbling  prayers and humming hymns.  Restless on uncomfortable bums.

Postscript by Seamus Heaney

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other

No Second Troy by W. B. Yeats

WHY should I blame her that she filled my days
With misery, or that she would of late
Have taught to ignorant men most violent ways,
Or hurled the little streets upon the great,

Poems from China 2 by Haizi

(c) www.inkcn.com

Afterlife – wanting to be a tree

 

If there's an afterlife

Make me a tree

Forever standing irresolute

No more sad disposition

Poems from China by Haizi

Summer Sun

Summer

If this street has no shoemaker

I, barefoot

Stand naked in the Sun, watching

I recall the day a child was born

It was meant to be

Maya Angelou - I rise - RIP

Cavelleria Rusticana

Now that I am gone

I
You left your shoes

In the porch, outside the door

You left the upright Hoover

In the middle of the floor

The gate is open

I know you’re in

The car is in the driveway, waiting

I can’t see the cat or hear the dogs

Our house is so quiet now

Mi primera poema espaňola

Aquí el sol hace escondidos con la lluvia

Un momento sol

Un momento tormenta

Hay un viento que lleva puesta etiqueta

<hoy-es-buen-día-per-ser-vivo>

Y hay la primavera como un adolescente

Lúgubre, inseguro

Buscando sus límites

Para florecer

Para sembrar

Para dejar su rastro

© Bellaco 2014 'dedicado a OC'

The Rock Heads

The Rock Heads & Mussenden Temple in the distance

The farm to which this poem relates is a mile to the West of the Mussenden Temple (main blog picture above) we called it  the Rock Heads.

They said you could see Scotland

On a clear day from the Rock Heads

I  saw a patchwork of fields

Where men and machines toiled  till dusk

And uncles told tales of the one that got away

Postscript by Seamus Heaney

And some time make the time to drive out west
Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore,
In September or October, when the wind
And the light are working off each other