“The blood-dimmed tide is loosed, and everywhere The ceremony of innocence is drowned”: Yeats
IRISH REFERENDUM 2018
I saw Ireland hanging naked in the rain dead to her faith a miscarriage of justice scrawled upon her skin, death by referendum.
Why use long-fought freedom to ape the English sin? When “the centre cannot hold” what is to be done? A woman with an empty womb hangs in a muddy sky. The old country is not a home.
Muezza, favoured cat of the Prophet, ended her tale thus on the one thousand and second night: “O cats who came from the Libyan Desert and conquered Egypt and the known world with fur and claw, heed then this tale of the flying box which like the carpet is carried by djinn directly to Mecca; I enjoin you to try all boxes and sit within.”
Julian O’Dea
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Playground
The children go inside vacate the playground and leave the light to play alone glancing and beaming as a truant wind scrapes a dry leaf along the ground like a small boy grazing his knee.
pallid Pierid butterflies like shards of light alight on the bush heaving with scent wings singed fringed like scraps of a burned book carried in warm air moving fretfully to settle and crack the code of pollination to turn scattered matter into seed
Spring comes out again like a painting from the attic that we eagerly scan – here is a patch of pink – how lifelike the leaves – hold it out in the light – more light please.
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