2000

Athasel Abbey

Cuban tobacco

beside the stone wall

cigar smoke rises

to the gray sky

a spoiled water-colour

a lost brush 

-don’t fall or get eaten by the cows-

gray ash and stone

cloisters sitting in a field

as our brave knights

protect us

Father Matthew

the large hand slips to

another minute

on the face of the clock

above Patrick Street

inside the TV-3 bus

broken celtic cross at

the feet of Father Matthew

stretching out his hand

to touch an imaginary

child on the head

- the millennium is gone -

a chair scraping

across the floor

concrete slopping

in the truck

On a gray silver day

-you can’t think when it’s too hot-

I wouldn’t believe a word he says

hundreds of 2000’s across the floor 

in the midst of Tipperary

mail carts at Limerick Junction

grease spread down the track

a pink florecent luggage bag

on a gray silver day

Homeless

sodden bedding

burnt out chairs

red and white strips

on a work-mans tent

gloves and socks

hanging on a hedge

breakfast laid out

beside the road

silver mist creaking

through the trees

beside the hot pavilion

down the blue tunnel

a hedge in the room

and a dress of sparkling lace

grass frosted like sugar

a broken hair dryer

the ragged edge of a torn out page

Skeleton in the cupboard

The house was full of broken things

holding on to childhood dreams

the skeleton in the wardrobe

might be needed one day

a false sky reflected in the mirror

the breeze snaps off a branch

a tiny graveyard in the middle of the field

frost melts as we head for Cork

a couple with an Eason’s bag

it has nothing to do with age

The back of a truck

on the back of a truck

at the foot of Shandon

I am sitting on a couch

steam rising from Murphy's

a rich smell of malt

driving through the streets

the radio switched on

water fills the bridge

cleaning her teeth in the car

The Cottage

through the pine forest

to the bridge

where the water

is carved in the wood

be a child roll in the hay

with mud churned

by the horses hooves

a tiny jade tree

on the window sill

and sun glistening

through the leaves

Take away everything that’s not the elephant

take away the scaffolding

from the back of the house

next to the largest selection

of furniture in Munster

pink plastic rocket

on the Watercourse road

glistening roofs cluster up the hill

tar machines hiss by

-Jesus was not a woman-

white polka-dots on the window

red and yellow stars

lights above the street

scrambled eggs sausages

hash brown English muffin

clutching her white hands

to her chin  long black coat

huddled in a doorway

The snowman

I saw an umbrella floating

up the mountain side

a cannon stuck in the pavement

on Grand Parade

trees tracing a black lace-work

against a pink sky

a snowball hiding in

the freezer

searching for a snowman

up in the clouds