Terry Doyle

 Frameless from Delft
 
Yes, it was difficult to store,
two flights ascending anti-clockwise 
above Grenhams,
the recently retired actuary.
 
The house reeked of peat perennial lit
with the Musicians re-roofed their provenance
secured under a gable end window.
However, impossible to insure against fire, or theft!
 
By nights candle full lit
Macushla’s sweet murmuration ascending, descending.
 
I have called them countless times,
long distance, some Boston number,
I tell them, there is a Concert in Elphin,
please come, collect it.
 
They hang up or redirect me to Members Only
It is all a bit of a farce,
though I've grown to love the Manet,
he reminds me of my Great Grand Uncle,
The Badger Tansey.
 
 
Well how are things in heaven?
 
Who posted the fake reviews?
                       From last week,
what are the five things you now know?
            Are the overflowing bars
(Hashtag, open twenty four seven)
all talking heads, early morning glory.
 
                         The recent dead
Diverting off Damascus Street,
popping their omega and alpha threes
their altruistic demeanour setting new highs.
 
Adjusting to a different echelon,
        (The cloud index is low)
            Enya’s on constant shuffle,
breaking bread at the all you can eat.
 
Your crumbs feed the sparrows,
a crane watchs over your sleep.
As tears fall from you, we linger in constant awe 
                 of ourselves,
A lamb storm beneath the Albedo.
 
Travel solo on ‘last things before you die’
Bring only your memory.
 

Vigil
 
Setting out down east alone
late January the first stretch into evening
promising you home – 
suddenly I realized that
if I stepped outside of my body 
I would break into blossom.

The moon more dominant than remembered
across the raw incoming bay
an epiphany of fog flossing the town, lights blurring.
Silent sirens their seeking strobes
elucidating night – 
tinned as restrained salmon
in parts ready for the overwhelming question.

The paramedics come and go
Talking blood types, next of kin.
 
Something silver against my teeth,
drug, rate, duration, time
the feed of the therapists spinneret
your name is Tracey
you hold my elbow, magma flowing
through clenched fists, waves in the bay
their cold unreflecting lapping – 
keep me tight this night
for I have miles to claim.
 
The paramedics come and go
Talking blood types, next of kin.
 
The first thorns break their beaks,
Keep vigil this late admission
sing of the Spring to fall. 
 
Line in bold from ‘The Blessing’ by James Wright & from ‘The Love Song of… ‘ by TS Elliot.
 
 
Yield, Return Journey South

Off season back to the old country – 
any morning, drift off from the sea road
to the waters slow gauge.
A corduroy channel
in-between tidal forces,
your coffee booth sentinel
grinds out the disorder.
Beside your ‘Bean of the Day’
A note verbs on wisdom,
limpet to a compostable cup
‘Tips PLEASE! Not advise’
In teal ink childlike humour felt.
Satisfied coins gather by denomination
At face value scrambling,
heads & tails for air.
 
I cannot determine you 
with double espresso in hand
as turning I impart
some hackneyed observation on rain.
In the hours after, still returning inland
you reveal your eyes – 
the ruins of dynasties
through place names obsolete
and the passage of time. 
 

Terry Doyle lives in Cork his poems have appeared in The North, Poetry Ireland Review, Drunk Monkeys US amongst others. Poems are forthcoming in The Salzburg Poetry Review and Dodging the Rain.

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