Things of Beauty

A poem for St Patrick’s Day

I lived this life but
no one lived it with me.
I lived it alone
without any shared partnership.
A solitary like
that’s not loved enough by others.
A thing of beauty.
To share your song together.
The rail road rainstorms.
The threat that shines above.
The mail train murmur.
His majestic moan.
Shine down, shine below.
A facsimile – folding and turning.
And the maiden who listened
for just one second.
Made the hearing
strain from way down below.
A changing room of wood and mirrors,
of TV screens and the suffocation
you feel in such places.
The pell-mell puttanesca.
The right left, right left
sway of far off signatures.
The sane sudden scuttling
thrown apart with nothing.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.

%d bloggers like this: