the bus at five o clock
the engine tingles
the seated nation breathes
joe and michael argue politics
whilst a couple of rural misfits mingle
with some servants of the hebrew god
and not a few atheists
tom and jackie on a lovers tryst
giggle
only the if and why
are yet unknown to them
whilst i
on a journey to kildare
through a dark forgotten corner
of an exploding world
scrawl words
on the fly leaf of a book
for in the coming tempest
such frail things may endure
and monuments of bronze
be rendered dust
the seated nation breathes
joe and michael argue politics
whilst a couple of rural misfits mingle
with some servants of the hebrew god
and not a few atheists
tom and jackie on a lovers tryst
giggle
only the if and why
are yet unknown to them
whilst i
on a journey to kildare
through a dark forgotten corner
of an exploding world
scrawl words
on the fly leaf of a book
for in the coming tempest
such frail things may endure
and monuments of bronze
be rendered dust
posted by heelers | 12:25 AM
2 Comments:
You know what. I'm beginning to think there isn't so much irony in this whole 'Ireland's greatest living poet' thing.
I think you might be.
Course, to be fair, I don't really know any others, but if'n they're better'n you James they must be bloody damn good.
Fraulein Schnee, you are right as usual!
James
Post a Comment
<< Home