Back West

This corner of the townland
Where the fields are not neat and rectangular
With parallel boundaries,
But small and irregular, speckled with boulders,
Like a cluster of cancer cells in healthy tissue
Or the absolute opposite.
 
Above, the zig-zag course of the green track
Back and forth across the mountain’s screen
Shows a pulse, a still-beating heart,
Or perhaps I am mistaken.
 
No boat nor punt stirs the harbour below,
Be there shoaling or – most often – nothing.
It is not the water only which is like a sheet,
For a sheet lies on this scene’s every part.
 
Perhaps the riddle could be untied,
the spell broken,
Had we the correct words
Or knowledge of the combination,
Like the chrome keyboards
On the gateposts of the empty houses,
 
But there is a hollow silence within
and silence has slipped the leash. 

Thiar

Thiar

An chúinne seo den bhaile fearainn
Mar nach bhfuil na páirceanna néata, dronuilleogach
Le clathacha comhthreomhara,
Ach iad beag neamhrialta, breac le boirneoga,
Ar nós chnuas de chealla ailse i bhfíochán sláintiúil,
Nó a mhalairt iomlán de scéal.
 
In airde, teaspánann rian fiarlán an bhóithrín ghlais
Sall is anall ar scáileán an chnoic
Go bhfuil cuisle inti, croí ag bualadh fós,
Nó tá dul amú orm.
 
Ní chorraíonn bád ná coit sa chuan thíos,
Bíodh ráthaíocht nó – is minice – faic.
Ní hé an t-uisce amháin áta ina léinseach,
Nó tá léinseach ’na luí ar na’ haon ghné den mhír.
 
B’fhéidir go bhféadfaí an rún seo a fhuascailt,
An ortha a bhriseadh,
dá mbeadh na focail cuí ann
Agus fios ar ord cheart na n-uimhir,
Cosúil leis na méarchláir chróime
Ar chuaillí gheataí na tithe folamha,
 
Ach tá tost toll laistigh
agus tost amugh.