Barrows

Another poem

about poets

and poems

and other things.

Barrows

I cannot see the sense

why these machines

of verse dispense,

in barrowed rows

the obvious.

The skeleton of prose.

A corpse of rhyme

so still.

They have such need

for barrows,

to cart the words

uphill.

Photograph: On the west bank

of the River Shannon.

The church of

Saints Peter and Paul.

Taken about 1996.

Novel Ideas

This is a poem about poems
and poets and things!
Hope you enjoy!



Novel Ideas.



Footloose perhaps
Or fancy-free
The avant-garde
To you and me
Down some descending
Scale dispersed
While looking much
The worse for verse
Dispensed with form
Well I suppose
It doesn't lend
Itself to prose
And fashioned out
Their work of art
To somewhat lesser
Than the parts.

Photograph: A street scene
in Navan/2007