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Agnus Dei

'I take you by the hand. Your eyes
Are green and red and orange

Reflecting the traffic lights
The monster lorries by our side

Drown out your child heart
Pumping tired under the soot

-grey thorn trees these
Exhaust-fume greasy mornings.

My little girl, my Lamb of God

I'd like to set you free from

Bitch Belfast as we pass the armed
To the back teeth Barracks to

Descend the road into the school
Grounds of broken windows from

A spate of car-bombs but
Don't forgive me for not.

Padraig Fiacc

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Foetus Papypaceous

There is no privacy. We both watch
The sweat pouring off each of us
Our fear is naked and we can

-not cover up our shame
Like locked down in this never able
To open piggy-bank Kill Town

The murderous twins that we are
In Time's Womb, standing in
Out of waiting for the Bomb

To go off, my friend is my enemy, is
My odd, bad friend: We
Chat about the 'troubles' and/or


The weather, and like 'horse laugh'
What has murder and torture to do
With us? 'There is no war'.

Padraig Fiacc

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Introit

It rain drops on the cold

Silver window panes

Of evening, starting to stare

 

With innumerable eyes over

The military, white

-faced as young girls ...

 

'We're all going to be blown

To Hell's Gates' cries

The Scots one: 'The Bomb is

 

Going off at the Gas Works!'

A sudden ball of orange

Spurts over the black

 

-board sky of chalk

Houses and old ladies and

 

Soldiers shake like flowers

Crying 'Christ' and 'Fuck'

 

Padraig Fiacc

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BRIGID'S DAY

Sheep milk time is come
The branch snows
From stem of seedful sap
Comes raiding shooting light.
Sends the wry-neck back.
'Quick, Quick' it sings
Wrenching a head aroundAgainst the blight 
Winter left in worms 
for eating things...
The green woodpecker laughs
'Ha Ha Hello'

Padraig Fiacc

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Tenth Century Invasion

Doves beat their wings
Against their breasts

Bloodying their wings
Bloodying their breasts...

Bells ring through the book
At the bottom of the loch

Gold running over the 
Ruined page

Drowned
Emerald and lilac ink

From the song written in
The shaft of the sun

In the moment on the
Margin
Never to be sung

Padraig Fiacc

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Abandoning Studies

I do not know
What salmon do

After they leave their young
In a cloud of milk

Or where they go
Or why lovers die

And I do not want to

I am content to be

Brave and blind.

The sages wrote
Their names in sand

Watched the Mystery wash

'I do not understand'

With wave on wave of wind

Padraig Fiacc

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Abandoning Studies

I do not know
What salmon do

After they leave their young 
In a cloud of milk

Or where they go
Or why lovers die

And I do not want to
 
I am content to be

Brave and blind.

The sages wrote 
Their names in sand

Watched the Mystery wash

 'I do not understand'

 With wave on wave of wind

 Padraig Fiacc

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Making Poems

Hermit on sand weaving straw 
Baskets I cast to the waves's 
Maw what I finish then 
Weave another out in 
Penny-wise sea wind

 The same childhood at the end 
Of the road as at the beginning

 The same heiroglyphic bird word

 Fish of the sea my work is for you
I made this poem for a thing to do

That it may tickle a salmon throat 
That an empty sea shell ear 
Hear its bell-tone note:

 The laugh-cry of some 'traveling man' 
Building mud towers in the sand!

 (Yes see how they shake and slant
Waiting for the waves to break 
Their imperfection and their want.)

 Padraic Fiacc

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Winter on His Bride To Be Spring A Child

Fionn sings
The hair, a fair, May day,
Eyes, sunlit pear leaves
Two moons over the tiny mouth
The star-green eyes

The mouth;
A little valley to the south:
She tosses child hair over her eyes;
Leaves of the copper pear tree gleam.

Grainne, Daughter of the House of Art
Is granted me
As the sky grants the ground
The fall of the hawthorn flower
The seed-bearing gold bee
The brilliant red holly bird

Two eyes are morning heather
Stargreen at moon light

Padraig Fiacc

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Trying To Study Philosophy

 

It's long the love
Song the black
bird's orange bill

 Warbles down 
Belfast Lough.
Eleven Centuries

 That she can still
Enamour the seed in you

O ever- 
living little 
Black bell

 What is
beautiful?

 What is 
True?

Padraig Fiacc

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MASTER CLAY

On top of the mountain, a school,
a monastery... 
I take the road up to the bells.
(The bells are a childhood memory!) 
Monks are at prayer. Birds at laughter.
Bells peal in still blue air.
I am afraid of the wall of woods though
Afraid of the sea below, the shadow:
(Lest I fall!)
'Come back down, you!'
Waves roar in blackening sky
'You will die for you carry your grave with you
And many's the worm!' I settle in my little cell.
It is not home: Sea wind
Comes in cracks in my skull...
I climbed the whole way up the mountain to
an open wound rooted in the dead
In the ground is my very own
Clump of slime green clay
Might not have ever been or
Having been is now but more!

Padraig Fiacc

 
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