Martin Moore Poems

Achill

The Achill sound is calling me to its bare and barren shore
A sanctuary to which I flee in the shadow of Slievemore
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THE SHADOW

In intimate rings of tongue-tied tales
Through tender bracken stems
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PORTRAIT

Forming a two headed bodiless beast
Two horses behind the low stone wall
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Forgetful
In my mind I think I'm twenty still
With years to go and time a plenty
Truth is, I'm travelling fast downhill
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Having no recourse to pastures new
Other than to break the earths green crust
Riches long concealed emerge anew
Toil and grind can render gold from dirt
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A pied wagtail comes flitting back
Performing a poly-chromatic rave
In subtle shades of white, grey and black
Each curtsy a friendly wave
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Timbers gapped like old seafaring gobs
Hinges hang loose like old breeches
Ending your days as a thingamabob
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On Huntington Down
we hunted them down
the gamekeepers son and I
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Ophelia, oh noble storm
your latent anger, onerous
reveal your hand, your female form
your errant madness over us
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Ivory Knight
in angel pose
black eyed, taloned killer
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