Omniscience

This is the last
poem from
"The Marginal line"

Some triumph
Of the intellect
While grazing
On his bone.

Subtotalled all
The arguments
On everything
That's known.

And following
The wake of those
Well versed
In such discourse.

Was so convinced
Of certainty.
He thought his
Thoughts
His own.

Photograph: Entrance to Tara churchyard.
Taken/Summer 2008.

It's had its season this

It's had its season this.

It's had its season this,

These borrowed days

Their gifts, teased out

Among the strands.

It's had its season this,

The covered ways

And rifts, that ripple

Down the ebb and flow

Of chance.

It's had its season this,

Its shaded greys

And drifts, the colours

On the carousel.

It's had its season this,

Its plays and shifts.

Dead pennies, yes,

It's had its season this.

Photograph: A view from the old graveyard

Hill of Skryne, looking toward

Tara. Summer 2008.