Posted in poetry

Cork Men

A breeze a good god might send
To keep company with old arms
And a chill pint, the sun put away
‘Round the corner, pub tables in the lane
Swathed in shade amidst the ebb and flow
Of tales well told by Cork men.
Posted in poetry

Aisle 8

Birds bathe in summer puddles
Not made of tears
That fall unheard
In parking lots
Not made for waiting
To hear whether the world
Lies all askew and gone
On aisle 8.