Scattered words,
from Meadville to Needmore,
hand the reins at Galloway
30 or more years ago now,
and the words
the shattered words
painted
with
colors,
scattered like leaves, golden,
around the veranda,
on his holy land,
the staccato blast of the machine gun,
the errant road, the child.
Author notes
Written July 29th, 2003
In a list
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1 - 17 of 17
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Such a wonderful painting you write. Your words provided many images that melted off the page. I hope to be able to write this well one day. You did an amazing job Lute
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I just read Stef's new poem which reminded me of a poem called Belfast Confetti I had read ages and ages ago which reminded me of this ....
on the Eve of St. Patrick's Day.
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i remember this piece... so fitting for now
bloody marvelous piece
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Profound
Well it sure rings profound to me yet I know not of the circumstance nor the actors on that given stage. Suffice to say it compels my mind to reach beyond the words that I might come to understand of what it is that you speak.
Profound it is and yet I like it, I like it so.
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ohh gosh... and Stormont Castle lies beseige to allunsundry ... and they let slip the dogs of war....
thousands have heard the shock of shell and felt the hot blast of gunfire... ..
this is a fine piece of writing... ... very fine
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absolutely. -
Beautiful, haunting -- like the place, I imagine.
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I really enjoyed this poem, and the imagery is very strong and very clear. I think you did an excellent job!
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I would change "on this holy land" to
Of this Holy Land. To be grammarically correct. -
yea I remember this.
Níl aon tintean mar do thintéan fein
Edited on Nov 08, 4:48 p.m. because ''. -
of course, I will have to admit that some references are beyond my scope. But the imagery is intense in its brevity...the staccato firing...and golden leaves...and to end it wtih the child...I get an allusion to wanton bloodshed and the words from those sensitive to it. IRA violence? The graffiti of blood?
and the errant road...one travelled by those who have strayed.
these images combine to make a forceful whole, which i can only imagine would be more forceful if I were better informed about the author and related subject matter. -
don't touch it
Funny reading Smileys comment. One of my favorite Irish poets is Seamus Heaney, restricted yes but still a joy.
This is lovely though the last stanza touches a chord of sadness with me. Sure ya never been there?
Desiree -
I think poetry can never be too deep, the more challanging the read - the more the mind desires to grasp the readers intention and gain understanding.
This poem is not so deep as to be impenetrable...the inspirational writers impact, territory, style and glory are all envoked in what I can't be sure, and can only guess is a fitting tribute to the authors talant. (some further reading might prove the fact)...
(Loving your work BTW) -
Ah! Mr. Muldoon ask him if he's knows why Brownlee left.
Can't say that I know of much of his work. Heaney and Paulin are better to my mind, although I do find Heaney a little restricted.
J. -
hmmm.
i like this.
however it is on the verge as far as im concerned.
sometimes i think poetry can be too deep, too complex. sometimes simplicity is called for. i understand this is a tribute to somebody elses work, and i am not criticising. this IS good work...
sometimes my mind just wanders off on a thought train and all i can do is hang on
Lisa x
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beauty
This is art everything about it. Nice appreciation! I will have to check into Muldoon.
Keep Feelin' Fascination,
Tiffany
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