Croan Lodge

On August 30th 2001 in Croan Lodge, Clonmel, Deirdre Crowley was shot dead by her father, Christopher, before he turned the gun on himself. On arrival there was no thaw. No obvious reason to withdraw from sight. No questions asked though she was seen once or twice. Last Novembers ice remained on the doorstep. It wasnt easy to keep to yourself. he was too young for the school a hundred yards down the road! the Loretos red "umper# white blouse# green pinafore not skirt. It must have hurt to keep the curtains closed but no one was allowed pose a threat. $ false name was billed for milk# groceries paid for by cash not cheque. he may have asked for a satellite dish# her Christmas wish your something to muffle her cries# to keep her from outside. wallows are still here. ummer beats the Comeraghs drums. %wo years on the run slip between someones teeth. %heres the knock on the door and the grief a few words can impart. One minute more before departure creaks and you kiss her forehead# chin and cheeks with your stubble.

La&y Irishmen
ased on the arrest and murder of !i"hard #eates in $ildare, during the summer of 1%&'. 'eres a (uaker wife in her kitchen. 'ome is pots and pans scrubbed clean where the kettle sings alone# a melody. %he smell of fresh bread draws in the crowds# a circus ring of yeomanry who have a )oman prisoner bound. 'es tugged along# though the la&y Irishman is lying down. In their hands are muskets# pikes# they do not sit for tea# though the kettle has been lifted# pours. One takes bread and butter# lifts his chin a little higher before a double in the mirror declares its time for war. No kneeling priest or seven sons and daughters# reminders that not all Irishmen are la&y and are equal before their *aker will change this militias drumhead decree. +ods will be done , though the la&y Irishman is lying down. %urncoat# informer# his sleeves show signs of patching# wearsquires son# he may have numbered men and weapons in barracks there but the la&y Irishman lies down still. tretched out behind a mortared wall# mothers and maids his only mourners in simple homespun frocks so (uaker they do not see the moment when he falls. 'ell close his eyes beneath an orchards leaves and a wall of coats the right way round. No bacon will be bought in Ireland for months hogs gorge on windfalls of flesh# they litter the ground. +ods will be done , though the la&y Irishman lies down still. 'is blood trickles into streams then rivers that flow uphill. allitore, Co.

+oldgrain
+oldgrain was served where I was the visitor! relatives# my parents friends# the nuns home where I discovered my sister and brother. +oldgrain always appeared on a plate# never straight from the packet like the biscuits stashed with sweets and crisps in my parents wardrobe# away from the agile window leverings and verbal twists to get the key# in cahoots with my brother# .ohn. No# +oldgrain came with grace and saucers# with *arietta and +aribaldi for company# .acobs (uakers and /ink 0afers# the )ising at 1olands *ill. *ost of all# I recall afternoons in $unt Lenas when she read my leaves# a special treat to be supped with caution being used to the bag. )egardless of pedigree# loose leaf or Lyons# I dunk my biscuits and frequently leave my own home and half,baked oracle# a rich tea,mush of burnt raisin# lemony syrup and +oldgrains nuggets of crumb. 2ates remained that way# in front of my nose# beyond the reach of my lips and tongue.

'earth
0ish we would rub our tindrous limbs together and lie in this hearth for weeks# two briquettes buried in blankets of timber and coal# pages of newsprint coiled like snakes where flames catch# wood crackling slowly spits as kindling fires lick# the hot sparks fly and we ache to be consumed by this furnace of bliss where old boles and bark# knots too unwind in time. %he decades cremate in hundreds of thousands of kisses and then we bla&e into one# a choir trembling in its hymns to an undying +od# his promise of sun. It is Christmas and 'ark3 the herald angels sing of a molten grail and its heavenly 'ost as we groan in tongues suffused by the 'oly +host. %hen# when I bumble off to brew tea4coffee# your knees# bum and shoulder shuffle over to settle on my smouldering space and you lie there# cocooned and foetal# in a calcined state of /ompeian grace.

0ord Collector
All that(s left of them is print. )*erything about them is silen"e and in+. ,e-n Dunne, .he /ord Colle"tors Living in 0aterford and Cork# the rivers uir and Lee cradled you in the absence of a mothers arm# tea called with the ring of a cracked cup# a fall of leaves. 5ou measured and treasured time with little things! a rusted iron gate# a blackbirds broken wings# moths and marmalade# brooches and bracelets- they sing with a voice that belongs to history. It was your own. 5ou gathered words for blank pages and left them sown. %he land was yourself# an open book cut to the bone.

$ 1rush with ilence

after a painting by 0aria 1allwey %hey are silent thorns caught on our skin# cartography in crimson. 'alf,moon# broken communion hung overhead# there is solace offshore from the thin smear of gore on the strand. (uotidian surf scrubs it clean. 5ou# moon# grow full as days pass. *y highest dose of codeine dissolves in mist. /ain ebbs with her caress and kiss only the night teems onto canvas# the ink of a million whispers brushed from our lips.

Love Letters
1urning love letters never deliver the longed,for release from smoky affairs. %hey flare in an absence of light. 2eeble ashes# charred and cheap as the rubbish bin theyre incinerated in# their promises crumble if touched for relief. 5oure a thief who creeps through time and memorys consumptive curtain of smoke# its envelope of perfumed pleas racy as Catullus Latin# fanciful as )egency lace. It all blows back in your face. %oo late to twig youve no grip so you slip on the past tense# the future imperfect sheets of black satin# things you should have forgotten that you had and now have not! theatre tickets and best wishes# a lock of blond hair# the invitations of a spider in its lair. *ementoes realise the poverty of writing lie after lie# wriggling signals )ed Indian style# small in an e6panse of plain. 5ou are free and alone# unlettered in pain. Count your blessings one by one# they burn tonight. 0atch them go. Once it was they that led you home.

1ad 1oy
after a painting by )ri" 2is"hl Open callipers measuring degrees of truth# knees yawning instead of mouth# wound wound round me# noose loose as the satin slip that fell from your shoulders# youre so cool# cool as the air conditioners monotonous tune. %he hot notes rise# fingers pass from clef to clef# I take my first step- paw the rumpled notes# they reek of others sweat. 7ids play ball and "ump through hoops. 8enetian blinds# this rooms split in two. %heres so much to do# so much to touch. Its easy and warm in the dark# +ordian knot. %o taste you must break. 'ere a tailors scissors# snip sniphere the paper people holding hands cut from sheets# sweat,silhouettes of themselves unravelling back into place- theyd run for weeks3 If I leave now it would save face# I tell you# as I pocket your cash and tongue the remnants of your fruit from my teeth. %rust me# I was always beneath.

+reat 0ar +host

!ugby 0hy watch the scrums of rugby# the clash of flesh a cry from where you sleep9 0ind backhands the leaves of oak and ash over mud churned by boots and feet bristling with calves streaked by sweat on the pockmarked yards a team must keep. 2or #ou 2orget %he face is all# for you forget! words become redundant in this tower of dark. omme and 5pres are wounds with no point of entry. 0e know your name was /eter- 1rown,/latens friend# shell,shocked member of the gentry who sank beneath a green and grey hori&on that washed over this troubled :nglish scion. .he 3ammered %he hammered ob"ect is brought to bear on earth torn by hooves of cavalry. %here is no first or working class it learns# no upper4 lower form in ;eaths $cademy. ;ecembers sun throws rows of planters beech into a mottled and pitiful shade. 2rom behind that $nglo line a cannonade# a triumph of the will that it remains between two worlds to man the gate and do its duty still. Ar"h +ranite may be seen as marble from afar when we whitewash this arch# this portico to 0ar whose target is the sky# the eye of heaven that sheds its tears for the millions of reasons it takes to make a man and see him die.

Odeveryday
%he neat blue smoke of my cigarette swirls into then blends with the rela6ed white of my e6hales. 8arious waves roll up to and break against the matt black beach of my midi system. <p and down# to both sides and all around# these flimsy# ephemeral roller coasters are blown away by the merest fresh breath. 1illowing# my cloudy &ephyrs love the air as they fondle and caress an otherwise intangible substance# following and tracing the flow of its ethereal contours and curves in a way we clumsy creatures are incapable of. %wo of Leclairs violin concertos paint the backdrop to my tobacco composition# to the calming influence of a smoke. .ust watch and listen to the soft sound of a cigarette as its sweet music slides from my mouth and fills the air with a sophists melody.

Newfoundland 'aiku
for )mi+o 0iyashita ilver birch blush# bare where conifers are careful to keep their clothes on. No matter if storms are days or months long# trees shrug their shoulders# snow melts.

nipers in ;erelict 'ouses

4.hese se"urity people, the pointed end of ritish "ontrol, and their "i*ilian se"urity "olleagues are always at ris+, ea"h a target 5 the 6udge, the "ustoms offi"ial, the infantry bri"+ 5 and the 7!A sele"tion of the parti"ular is determined by "onditions on the ground, patterns of beha*iour, unanti"ipated *ulnerabilities and lu"+.8 9. owyer ell, 7!A .a"ti"s and .argets Now clouds creep away# hushed wind warning footpath and kerb# the trampled grass and busy doorway where winos camp in ammoniac stink of vomit# urine and dirt,cheap drink. Newspapers barrack themselves into blocks and damp black slogans crawl along a crumbling hall while I search for a knothole or two in boarded windows too mean to let in more than slivers of sunshine. till# work must be done. Long 7esh has my brother# his grilled fingers# mesh# barbed wire and pigeons feet# hard rain he sees but cannot see glistening his native streets. $ neighbouring bell,tower levies a toll# rings its hymns for a brick framed by a tattooed wall. Its heads or harps# the fairest of bets# but the coin is mine and I havent called yet. 'is head and shoulders are caught in the nook of a crosshairs quadrant# a gallows tree crook. +o ahead = rub your neck# maybe its bruised9 *aybe some sweetheart took a chunk out of you. *y rifles butt brushes my hip as I roll to get a better view# a lover in discoverys delight at something new# like a barrel smooth# snug as a cigarette between lipstick teeth# impatient for a spark# for the shark to rise

from beneath. %his pleasures momentary# pos,

ition absurd! a few column inches# an arch of gunshots pious words# the draped flags parsimony of tears wrung from stiff upper lips. O sword which summons our blood and controls the image onscreen# the printed word# little things like when and where we walk# with whom we speak# the meekest of cheeks will turn. 5ou know for what we yearnravenous graves whose earths heaped high and your blood bleaching the rods in our eyes as the rising sun reveals an open sky.

'ymn
with apologies to ,yl*ia :lath(s ;)lm( I know the bottom he says. I know it with my oesophageal tube! It is what I fear. $nd I fear it! it is far too near. Is it the sea you hear in me# Its dissatisfactions9 Or the voice of nothing# that is my madness9 +rub is a shadow. 'ow I lie and cry after it Listen! these are its booms! it has gone off# like a gong. $ll night I shall rumble thus# hungrily# %ill your head is a %,bone# your pillow a 5orkshire pud# 0ith gravy and gravy. Or shall I bring you the smell of cooking9 %his is done now# this big pot. $nd this is the fruit of it- red,brown# like bolognese. I have suffered the atrocity of brunches. corched to the base of the pan *y bolognese is burnt# I leave it stand# the chip pans on fire. Now I break up in pieces that fly about like baguettes. *y wind is of such violence No bystanders will tolerate it! I must scruff. Noon# also# is merciless! it would drag me Cruelly# being barren. Its emptiness scathes me. Or perhaps I have taught it. I let it go. I let it go ;iminished and flat# would not wait for lunch. 'ow dreams of dinner possess and endow me. I am inhabited by a cry. 'ourly it flaps out Looking with its fork for something to eat.

I am terrified by this dark thing %hat wakes in me-

$ll day I feel it rattle a plate against prison bars# impatiently. *eals pass = and disperse. $re those plates empty# those pale irretrievables9 Is it for such I agitate my heart9 I am incapable of waiting any longer. 0hat is this# this face o ravenous in its strangle of gut9 = Its stomach acids hiss. It petrifies the will. %his = the isolate# slow halt %hat fills# that fills# that fills.

*ein 7ampf
%he mirrored echo# crowds roar $s 'is words hammer On eardrums# 7ept in time by 'is step# ;igits and fists# 'is voice towers $nd falls# 'is pace of breath# 'is burning heart and sorrow# $nd all like the drum 'e beats against )esoundingly hollow.