Saturday, March 22, 2008


Another poem
about poets
and poems
and other things.


I cannot see the sense
why these machines
of verse dispense,
in barrowed rows
the obvious.
The skeleton of prose.
A corpse of rhyme
so still.
They have such need
for barrows,
to cart the words
Photograph: On the west bank
of the River Shannon.
The church of
Saints Peter and Paul.
Taken about 1996.

Friday, March 7, 2008

Novel Ideas

This is a poem about poems
and poets and things!
Hope you enjoy!

Novel Ideas.

Footloose perhaps
Or fancy-free
The avant-garde
To you and me
Down some descending
Scale dispersed
While looking much
The worse for verse
Dispensed with form
Well I suppose
It doesn't lend
Itself to prose
And fashioned out
Their work of art
To somewhat lesser
Than the parts.

Photograph: A street scene
in Navan/2007