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.