Self-definition

by | Jun 30, 1988 | Poetry

I am weird des­pite a lack of defin­i­tion for normality. My mother says I am organ­ising a revolution. My friends say: enough of the exist­en­tial­ist crap. I take pleasure in the fact that the integral of d(cabin) over cabin is...

Framed in Grey

by | May 27, 1988 | Poetry

I am sure they missed my word of thanks, Or mis­in­ter­preted it, which comes, at the end, To the same thing. Both their faces were Pic­tures framed in grey, and every memory Had etched itself a line on the leather-smooth Canvas. One looked out the...

The Excavation (an ode to writer’s block)

by | May 25, 1988 | Poetry

Out of the dark­ness, a tunnel has been chiselled. Painstak­ing and heart-rend­ing, over the years, from the inside out. Slowly gently, the water begins to trickle from the dam Aiding in its turn the excav­a­tion; carrying twigs and mud and gen­eral debris...

Links

by | May 19, 1988 | Poetry

for Seamus Heaney As in war, we are com­rades and enemies all at once. We inter­cept another’s plea for help, and understand instinct­ively the pain and the struggle to escape. Some­times, seeing between the coded lines we com­pre­hend a deeper mean­ing...

On Being Under the Age of 20

by | Mar 7, 1988 | Poetry

My mor­tal­ity con­tin­ues to affront me mercilessly – Writ­ing a letter, I ima­gine it old and yellow in a dis­tant des­cend­ant’s hands, exclaiming wonder at dis­cov­er­ing such an ancient document. Walk­ing under a con­crete tunnel,...

Lamb’s blood

by | Nov 19, 1987 | Poetry

for Mat­thew I didn’t know that life could cut like this, Razor-sharp and unreasonable: A shot going off in a young mind, No-one there to com­fort the tormented. I didn’t real­ise I could bleed through tears, Pain­ful and searing, Burn­ing...