Ireland - Two Poems

Portrush and Dublin, 1976

The North.

Burnt peat black land.

Atlantic salt rocks.

Giants slipping on seaweed hair.

A small dog races ridicously along the beach,

voices shout names stolen by the wind.

The South.

Pointlessly drifting in Dublin,

looking outside blindly.

It´s a journal not a diary she said,

and quickly left me more alone than before.

Reviews

[Andrew Scorah]

I loved this, just goes to show you do not need loads of verses to capture the essence of something job done great work.

[Mauricio Montoya]

There are always two sides to a story I like what you did here.
Excellent write.

[Alessander]

Reminds me of James Joyce or Shinead O'conner.

I especially like "peat black".

Atlantic, Barren, Pointless...which was North and which was South?

And why does it even matter, again?

[WindSong]

This is so philosophical and at the same time soulful! Your words run swiftly through the poem stolen by the wind! It's a great poem of depth and vision of the times! Great work! I love reading poems like this! Your poetry has such substance!

WindSong