The Sky the Night the Wind the Day

Link to Sketchbook update, March 30, 14 new drawings

66

Wild pitching her hair torn
Wind about stopped now still
Running to knock the morning down.
Twice but not the strange orange of
The piece read again and again
Wait in any case within the loose
Summer, a friend who rises to the street
Might do much worse.
God knew the hurry to speak
Of cooler, younger music
Excuse the letter, now, fondest would-be,
How to know the mind, the heart
Yourself?

Uncertain Night

Link to Sketchbook update March 28, 2009, 16 new drawings.

64

The soul bone word-
It wants to ask
Another time the call of nothing?
The better wound
Ruby fierce is naked and a
Search for home and meaning.
After death the book of man is living
Renewed before the lives remind to break the
Mark of dreaming.
Tell me now of all we
Live remembering

How To Age

Link to Sketchbook update, March 25, 2009, 16 new drawings

63

Open a book
Torn from night
The warmth of air
The mirror the hat
The dimpled act of
Singing lips drinking
Bringing stockings to the
Funeral asking the time shiny
Twisted, rumpled dreaming time
Like foul flowerwater streaming the
Stale smell of sex and nightdress incense
A window opens and pronounces the morning

Another Year In the Wilderness

link to Sketchbook Update March 23, 2009, 16 new drawings

62

Folded eye to draw the plume
Along the bedside chair unlifted
In blinded air too many fingers
Sprinkled in the unfilled room.
Reading tea, the morning paper
Delayed, crushed and drawn
The Too Soon Dreams of gifts rinsed
By weight the pieces folded down
Smiled pouring in the seaside garden
Dropped and smeared amid the
Broken birthday necklace.

Rochambeau

Link to Sketchbook update March 21, 2009, 20 new drawings

61

Tower cloud yes, yes, you horror
Warning from the dead
Born dying you: running multiplying
Window to the North
Then your card at twilight
The blind earth chilling with age
The sun meets the bold hand
And wastes the sea.

Homeward to your quick heart
The smoke- the flesh yes, yes
The plain number of your bent name
The golden hair of the wind
A girl comes toward you
Clutching a letter of mouths and images
Stoops in the waste of a dying lake
And welcomes us to the end of the world!

The Name of the Woods We're Lost In

Link to Sketchbook update, March 18, 2009, 17 new drawings

60

Long ripening till another
Day poor pay moves away
A flaw, coming all that way
Holds itself in cool nothing
Wonder is like that, too.

Heaven seems to meet you
In an immense field an idea
Neither pleasant nor a bore
You are back from the watering rain
Where you pay for shade and lay
In life, in earth, in wonder
All matter gone
The hand accepts
The book alive and poor,

Another year having fallen by the roadside.

Long Way From Home

Link to Sketchbook update, March 14, 2009, 14 new pages

57

Dark priest wind
Touch the sentry gate
Gently set the moon
While somewhere else
Pleased freemen listen.

Delivering the sundown into
Dark water caves
Shadow street where
Sellers of moustaches
Carpet the night,
Rising mothers smoking
Meet in good houses
in older, fading clothes
To track the terrible daily
Traffic of the sun.

Instrument of strangeness
A robber travels across the city
To steal a moment
With the trees.

How To Make A Dome

Link to Sketchbook update, March 14, 2009, 21 new drawings

56 Calypso

Said softly around the tongue:
The crown is nothing while this
Forgotten morning is enough
Perhaps in some way
No day has a voice that rose
Porous, loose- perhaps as this-perhaps
The bread is boiled into
Something you can use.
I will come back
From the farseeing corner
To bring you tea
To bring you brass
To bring you butter

Perhaps

Everyone's Gone To the Moon

Link to Sketchbook update March 11, 2009- 15 new pages

55 Calypso

The cruel mind is a
Watched kettle like
Fire in vindictive hands
Poured sideways on
Narrowing stones.

A good mouth speaks
Afraid, and faintly thick of heart
In light air,
Scented full
Fine beasts, we say,
“We never saw a stupid thing”
But walked through gentle summer doors
As greed slowly filled our bent eyes

Paper Wolves

Link to sketchbook update, March 9, 2007, 14 new pages

46 Proteus

None spoke but spit
A false dog, a pretender
Put in the water, stranded
Will you be master, or servant?

I save shells and tails
Found safe along the Liffey.
Prey in collars, starving,
Sons of Kings, swimmers
Saved by drowning, really.

Near the shallows quickly
I together, down in soft
Applause then and now
Changeling moved among
The whiterose and the horror.

Stoneheaps

link to sketchbook update, March 7, 2009, 21 pages

#43 Proteus

Broken English spoken
In slanted Paris a tumbled
Light piled in a French heaven, lovers
Marched in blue kerchiefs whilst
Men with no faces slumbered at noon.

Smoky pier at matin,
The acid air reached
At teeth pretending at
Wonder

What was meant?
What spattered hands spilt
Their heaven, sipping incense
Smeared with white to
Shake the pleasers?

Remembering the Hall of Mirrors In Brussels

(*title of an Otto Dix painting)

Link to sketchbook update March 4th, 2009- 16 new drawings

#41 Proteus

Tickled idiot!
You prayed in libraries
But cracked, lifting the bells
The sound heard serpentine then
Dying on the sand and pebbles.

You are naked in the presence of
That widow of kidney and fat and echo,
You invented applause in the wet pages
Heard in the morning, against the mast
You dyed bald the horns and
unread letters
Gone strange
Round the corner
Lost, unnumbered.

Tired God

Link to complete Sketchbook update, March 2, 2009- 28 drawings

#38 Proteus

Hello rhythm stride
Your sounds are made by mallet
Eternity hears you, now open your eyes
To the number of gods first of whom was
That bald, blind, diaphanous Maestro
That dark boot and sword
Swung against the sand
As if jesus were a cliff
From which birth entwines itself.

It is Day’s end and the midwife
Makes her way to Sandymount.