"abeat" poems
The old brown thorn-trees break in two high over Cummen Strand,
Under a bitter black wind that blows from the left hand;
Our courage breaks like an old tree in a black wind and dies,
But we have hidden in our hearts the flame out of the eyes
Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
The wind has bundled up the clouds high over Knock-narea,
And thrown the thunder on the stones for all that Maeve can say.
Angers that are like noisy clouds have set our hearts abeat;
But we have all bent low and low and kissed the quiet feet
Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
The yellow pool has overflowed high up on Clooth-na-Bare,
For the wet winds are blowing out of the clinging air;
Like heavy flooded waters our bodies and our blood;
But purer than a tall candle before the Holy Rood
Is Cathleen, the daughter of Houlihan.
2.2k
Born out of an unmarked grave
Molded from the dirt a slave
With eyes fumbling in the dark--
I feel
A sparrow trapped in my ribcage
My gifted little pressure gauge
Who though she pleads can't disembark
This vessel.
She pecks at my liver
convicts guilt while I shiver,
And ****** at my heart when I am numb.
I listen to her wings abeat
A flutter-rum-drum so petite
It makes me wonder what I've become.
But a wimeywobbly found belief
I'm quite sure that time is brief
When unawares she'll break loose my chest
A treasure,
half a pretty penny for my soul,
Chamber unlocked, He paid the toll
Sparrow, my spirit...
escape, you short-stayed guest
Aug 22, 2013
Aug 22, 2013 at 4:40 AM UTC
you marched into my Jericho
blowing down my walls like Scirocco's
our world it seems is lost in time
our hearts abeat to thoughts sublime
our fears recede conflicts subside
we share a dream and dare confide
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:45 PM UTC