Saturday, August 17, 2013


From: Change in the Wind and Revival

This is a city that stands on its own reflection
its people hidden behind darkened doorway
and redbrick walls,
walls marked with the plimsol line of history
and tides,
the ebb and flow of trade;
the resolve of man and his stubbornness
to place a city
where it is not wanted, 
triumphant columns rampant,
mirrored in each square by wells, leading
to the fresh water trapped below.

I wander the meandering streets;
always beside, and over the greeny
blue salt waters of the open lagoon
in an act of faith  . . .  or folly

In St Mark’s Square the pigeons strut,
ready for instant coupled flight,
while I sit impaled, feet fixed
to floats of stone, imagining
what it is to soar.

On the Rialto Bridge,
masks to cover the poxed and the beauty,
and sounds all round sharpened by the clink
of cutlery on glaze, and murmurs, 
conversation over latticed chairs
awaiting the impending downpour.

High up between the roofs of the tiled
and the terraced, grey titan clouds
prepare to shed themselves, and a chill
descends before the sky and the sea
are united in one furious
female deluge.

©Copyright Niall OConnor 2013

Good Bookshops stocking Change in the Wind
Scribbles (Drumcondra)
Books Upstairs (College Green)
Santry Community Resource Centre

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