Poetry Writings Artwork and stories from Neil Furby

Nov 27, 2007 at 23:21 o\clock

Sun stroke by Neil Furby

 @ Neil Furby

a

Nov 27, 2007 at 23:02 o\clock

Jagged moon and slivers of light

Moon in the distance            aglow on the dark horizon                     slivers of light shining  

                                                    through the dark forest  

In my tangle                          slivers of a different kind                    lapped away in the grey

 Cat looked         eyes moon bright          steel on flesh               left a quiver on the hard stone

Held the dying flesh                  bled and fled the scene                            in that ghostly night

 

@ neil furby

Nov 27, 2007 at 22:53 o\clock

MIRAGE

MIRAGE
A pool of earth billows and steams in the summer sun.
Tombstones, flat slow barges, sail past me,
the cross a crooked mast.
There’s no wind, it is the sandy ground itself
that inches its way forward.
Where is the journey headed for, I want to ask.
There’s no answer.
Sitting on the quay wall on this strange Sunday afternoon
I see them disappear one by one.
They tilt over the edge of my vision
into the vortex of an hour-glass perhaps.
Who shall say.


© 2004, Eva Cox
© Translation: 2007, Judith Wilkinson

Nov 7, 2007 at 07:24 o\clock

New Zealand mist

dd

Nov 7, 2007 at 07:09 o\clock

Ruth by A B Jackson

Ruth Ruth at sunrise, grooming horses.
The bit, bridle, curry-comb of love
was her business.

Simeon skulked around indoors,
consulted Qabalah, threw sticks,
anything to improve sex.

Clouds were locomotive smoke,
camels or torn pillows,
the imperfect

science of moodswing or a god
in evidence everywhere, the veil
obscuring male from female.

Ruth gathered apples. The Elohim
stamped in their stalls.
Copyright  AB Jackson

Nov 1, 2007 at 07:23 o\clock

Paul Muldoon Horse Latitudes

The Outlier

I

In Armagh or Tyrone
I fell between two stones.

In Armagh or Tyrone
on a morning in June
I fell between two stones.

In Armagh or Tyrone
on a morning in June
in 1951
I fell between two stones.

In Armagh or Tyrone
on a morning in June
in 1951
I fell between two stones
that raised me as their own.

II

I had one eye, just one,
they prised and propped open.

I had one eye, just one,
they prised and propped open
like a Fomorian's.

I had one eye, just one,
they prised and propped open
like a Fomorian's
with a fire-toughened pine.

I had one eye, just one,
they prised and propped open
like a Fomorian's
so all I looked upon
would itself turn to stone.


Paul Muldoon
Horse Latitudes
Farrar, Straus and Giroux


Copyright © 2006 by Paul Muldoon. All n Boland

Nov 1, 2007 at 07:20 o\clock

House of Shadows. Home of Simile Eavan Boland


Don Selby & Diane Boller
Editors

House of Shadows. Home of Simile

One afternoon of summer rain
my hand skimmed a shelf and I found
an old florin. Ireland, 1950.

We say like or as and the world is
a fish minted in silver and alloy,

an outing for all the children,
an evening in the Sandford cinema,
a paper cone of lemonade crystals and

say it again so we can see
androgyny of angels, edges to a circle,
the way the body works against the possible—

and no one to tell us, now or ever,
why it ends, why
it always ends.

I am holding
two whole shillings of nothing,
observing its heaviness, its uselessness.

And how in the cool shadow of nowhere
a salmon leaps up to find a weir
it could not even know
was never there.


Eavan Boland
Poetry
October 2006


 

Nov 1, 2007 at 07:15 o\clock

More Danes

more and more Danes are finding work
more and more Danes are now millionaires
more and more Danes are having children with Dannebrog-shaped moles
more and more Danes are expressing concern for the environment
more and more Danes have a feeling of inadequacy
more and more Danes take the car to Vienna
more and more Danes make little sounds with their mouths
more and more Danes are also eating their apple cores
more and more Danes are committing suicide
more and more Danes are googling their own names
more and more Danes are born left-handed
more and more Danes are going to poetry readings
more and more Danes suffer from winter depression and stop short in traffic, at a loss
more and more Danes speak German
more and more Danes are playing poker
more and more Danes no longer feel Danish
more and more Danes have their teeth fixed south of the border
more and more Danes are licking the mirrors in public toilets
more and more Danes describe themselves as happy
more and more Danes drive round the country at night, experimenting on cows’ eyes
more and more Danes enjoy moving very, very slowly when they are alone.


© 2004, Morten Søndergaard
© Translation: 2007, Barbara Haveland and John Irons