Once, we sucked
The Sherbet Fountains of Paradise;
The pseudocyesis of our joys bore vice
When we were no longer boys.
Though snakes were banished from our land
The Dipsas thrives in a caul of blue bags
The trees and the railings fly them as flags
Now all joys and all sherbet taste bland.
Our Guns of August Returned to me in a Dream
The only ticker tape parades they had
Were our volleys of cap guns firing like mad;
And the tape worms in the parcels of shite
We lobbed in the jeeps on those August nights.
The alter boy who swung the censer
Inspired us with CS gas.
Neon cat’s cradle of tracer,
Efflorescence of windscreen glass.
Traffic intertranspicuous with pig-iron sunshine
In The Indian Summer of 1969.
Votive penny candles’ arrays
Slopped Muybridge-ing autos-da-fe.
The Apollo Mission left me stunned
And I was allowed to stay-up late.
Then, The Guns of August
Fired by Shankill ‘Huns’
“Keep throwin’ Shell” was their litany of hate….
Transit of Venus/Transit of Access
On the day of the transit of Venus
Belfast was overcast.
The Family Court clerk
Metered the Teardrop Effect
From first to last.
My daughter wouldn’t see me
Since I spoke to her like my peers –
Both case reviewed in 244 years.
My First Communion congratulations
Later, The Evening Star’s
Not sleeping, I saw it rise the same.
Sentinel Poetry (Online) #43 - June 2006. ISSN 1479-425X
The International Journal of Poetry & Graphics...since 2002. Editor: Amatoritsero Ede