MySpace
myspace music


The White House Poets



Last Updated: 10/19/2009

Send Message
Instant Message
Email to a Friend
Subscribe

Status: Single
City: Celebrating over 300 readings at the White House,
State: Limerick
Country: IE
Signup Date: 2/7/2007
Wednesday, June 13, 2007 

Here is a very brief sample from Revival #3 – the hardest one to whittle down yet.

..:namespace prefix = o ns = "urn:schemas-microsoft-com:office:office" /> 

Visit http://revivalpoetrybook.blogspot.com for subscription or submission details. Or keep an eye out for our Bulletins here on Myspace.

 

 

Buon appetito!  

 

 

All poems Copyright © Revival Press 2007. All rights reserved.

 

 

 

 

 

Goldfish

 

We who have met and regarded each other,

Have noted, even desired the other,

Are yet too selfish to love one another.

 

We are as two goldfish in a bowl.

Two stars suspended in liquid there.

Two rivals mouthing

For crumbs of wafer or air,

Furtive in the jungles of green hair.

 

In mirrored corridors we pass,

See only ourselves:

Bold as oriental kites.

It is a carnival of sighs.

 

But each time my mouth fills with water,

I am reminded –

A second of opportunity has died.

 

 

Susannah Clare

 

 

 

Candlestick

 

This candle was not made for church,

nor cake nor celebration.

 

It is to be used in voids of light

with the flame echoing off vacant walls,

filling rooms with the volume of luminescence.

 

A spotlight for the late night

reader or scribe, a friend to call upon

in the abandonment of daylight,

knowing a romance beyond

the electric torch or kerosene lamp.

 

Used sparingly, or lit through long winter hours,

a silver teardrop still shines from its mountaintop.

 

Eventually, it will melt and whither

until only a stump of once proud trunk remains,

a burnt thread of a wick

peeking through the wax,

still asking for the flame.

 

 

 

Colin Dardis.

 

 

 

Straight Line of a Curvature

 

Awkward with ignorance

I knew nothing of rhythm

 

other than I moved in such a way

that was pleasing to you.

 

Awkward with age

you knew nothing of rhyme

 

other than things had always

ended in the same familiar sounds.

 

Yet even with both of us in the dark

we still managed to mesh the

 

crooked curvature of contours

into one straight line.

 

And we were neither awkward nor ignorant nor old,

but defying all that had up to this point, rendered us lonely.

 

 

Aine Herlihy