timmyconway

Figures dancing on the half waves

Sooth the dreaming swans

The water is full of quiet

After its journey from the Wicklow hills

Her mind boiling

Her feet on a treadmill

Taking her away

Far away

She is drawn to the lock

Full of a constant thunder

An eternity of darkness

That is oblivion

PEDOPHILE

Tear up his grave

Yank the coffin out

Scatter the rotten wood

Let the maggots free

Haul out the bones

Grind the head to a pulp

Because it housed the brain

His evil mind

 

Take the skeleton hands

Burst them finger by finger

Stamp them into powder

They blotted the innocence

Pour acid on his stump

Where the awful thing was caged

Now gut what remains

And send it to the hideous sea

 

Plant deadly weeds

Tell the robin

His song is not wanted here

Stop the grasshopper

From singing the Beatitudes

 

Bring out his photographs

Take a scissors to his head

Cut the rest in strips

Flush them

Into a wash of stink

 

Bring a sledgehammer

To his headstone

Dig out is name

Banish it to no time

 

For it is better

That man had never been born

A whisper of a breeze

A blackbird sings

A wagtail saunters the canal

Swans paint Valentines on the still

And all again is ready

For love

Daffodils are a month early

A summer fragrance invades my senses

The elders are pushing

A young bee practices on a dandelion

Buttercups are everywhere

Chestnuts make green fists

Everything seems forward

A robin chants its Lenten message on a stump

And eases my concerns

 

 

I watched the moon

Walking down the avenue

Through an acre of birds

Asleep and dreaming

O WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD

MAN PASSES FROM EARTH

LIKE A FREE FLOWING CLOUD

 

A POEM BY WILLIAM KNOX 1789 -1825