Wednesday, December 26, 2012

RIP Dennis O'Driscoll

Dennis O’Driscoll


for Patrick Taylor


Rites of spring.
Bring out your dead grass
wedged to the blades
of a dormant lawnmower.
Time for cans of paint,
white spirits, rags.


The cottage garden
in the mauve light
of delphiniums.with honeyed tongues.

Bird notes tossed
like blossoms.
A fern stretching
its wing.


Night snails, pumped up
to full size, plump
as a colony of seals,
make the viscous journey
to a meal of hosta leaves.


Those daffodils,
you’d know it was
their first time:

so open, so eager to please,
so bright, so upright,
so unaware.


The raw nerve of yearning
triggered off by hawthorn,
by the green of far-off hills
seen from your top-floor office
when sun pays out its light.


That it might 
always be spring,
a held note.

That we might
look forward
to long days

of growth:
haze lifting
like a screen,

waves peeling
off the Gulf Stream
one by one.

(from Verse Volume 21 #s 1-3)

No comments: