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Poem from:

Blue Room by John Kavanagh

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Train Home

Kavanagh, John

Looking out west beyond the Shannon,
a sudden elemental shift
blooms into softer, loosened light,
floats over splayed horizon

canters toward mountain and sea
in air charged differently.
The open windowed,
raw ocean freshness
tingles on face and scalp.

Fields undulate and ramble,
endless lines of dry wall skirt and skim
Ė stone stitched tapestries
threading boundary and ditch.

Haw and whitethorn lean wind-sighed
and bow backed, an odd curiosity of oak soars,
while bramble and scrub cluster
into knotted impenetrables,

The groundís stubborn rebuttal 
of harrow and seed scatter,
the back break of ditch-hoke and stone-heft,
ghosts in grey ruin of castle and church

the windowless broken cottages 
and their slow crumbled release
of shape and form back into clay and air.

It is here, freed from the noise and clutter
of the cityís swelling entropies
its hemmed in, concreted dissonance
we see things more clearly

the Sunís arced walk across the sky
a lemon Moonís charcoaled amble,
the primrosed pre-dawn glow 
of Venus heralding re-birth.

Copyright © John Kavanagh 2013

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