Snow will fall -
Obituary clippings cling
onto the fridge door
like children’s drawings.
Gazing into the eye of an other
like peeping through a window of
of homes much more silubreus than my own,
then we stood stooping towards Bethlehem
seeking wisdom where something dumb was being said,
Staggering into the New Year
as if you tricked a badger
ensnaring your ankle
by snapping a stick.
As a boball drops
from a drooping branch,
he tells the grandson,
everytime,
with the taste of turkey
on his tongue,
of the thousands of feathers plucked
for a few poultry pounds,
way back then when,
when the dogs ran around the dog track
and the toys were made from wood.
Snow has fallen:
a pale morning.
From all this cardboard
you could craft a cave
or a stable,
brown gothic Cathedral
Or a Tower of Babel
using only this detritus;
but this is no moment for monuments.
Snow has fallen:
the clean country sky
is a blitz of bright stars;
Tomorrow,
they’ll fire up the fireworks and
We’ll get bored,
so bored
we’ll drink gin from
lemonless glasses
until the ice melts and
inverted alarm clocks of birdsong
beckons us back to bed.
Oct 19, 2025
Oct 19, 2025 at 9:00 PM UTC
Snow will fall -
Obituary clippings cling
onto the fridge door
like children’s drawings.
Gazing into the eye of an other
like peeping through a window of
of homes much more silubreus than my own,
then we stood stooping towards Bethlehem
seeking wisdom where something dumb was being said,
Staggering into the New Year
as if you tricked a badger
ensnaring your ankle
by snapping a stick.
As a boball drops
from a drooping branch,
he tells the grandson,
everytime,
with the taste of turkey
on his tongue,
of the thousands of feathers plucked
for a few poultry pounds,
way back then when,
when the dogs ran around the dog track
and the toys were made from wood.
Snow has fallen:
a pale morning.
From all this cardboard
you could craft a cave
or a stable,
brown gothic Cathedral
Or a Tower of Babel
using only this detritus;
but this is no moment for monuments.
Snow has fallen:
the clean country sky
is a blitz of bright stars;
Tomorrow,
they’ll fire up the fireworks and
We’ll get bored,
so bored
we’ll drink gin from
lemonless glasses
until the ice melts and
inverted alarm clocks of birdsong
beckons us back to bed.
Dolphin's Barn is an inner city suburb of Dublin
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