kilcullen easter

the lambing time
evanescent leaves
provincial poets stitching worn out rhymes
into patchwork quilted semaphores of praise
all of these
mist like matting in muddy fields
old men rejoicing in campaniles
all of these
everything that breathes is on its knees
for the coming of the lord
peace

midnight memories

the moon trapped in the topmost branches

comrade healzov is a cia spy

Afternoon coffee with Marriedski in the Insomnia cafe on Nassau street.
She taught me some Russian.
We discussed Russia.
I asked was Vladimir Putin's government behind various murders, assassinations and poisonings of journalists, dissidents and the occasional head of state.
Marriedski accused me of being full of British and American imperialist propaganda.
She really did.
Without batting an eyelid.
The very idea.
I like Marriedski.
Time with her is always well spent.
But I dread to think what our relationship would be like if the Russians had won the Cold War.
When she'd gone I let out a long sigh.
"Thank God," sez I, "for the British and American imperialists."