BLACK AND WHITE

Called black and white,

it’s gray and grays:

bright shades of night

underneath day’s

colors. The name

for grays is gray,

as if the same

bleak underlay

were everywhere.

But lovely grays –

the palette spare –

etch dusk’s display.

21 January 2005

 

DROMBEG CIRCLE

Seventeen stones

mark once sacred

space, sun-circled.

What first rays shone

between to prove

gods are? Grave priests

stood facing east

for the sun’s move –

which was only

earth, turning. Teeth,

the stones; the heath

maw, still stony.

11 February 2005

 

THE PHOTOGRAPHER

A photograph of a

photographer

photographing from the

photographer’s

left a man in mid-leap

from one stone to

another. One lens keeps

closed, open – who

would know? The other shoots

itself, motion

and stones illusion. Who’s

behind, hidden?

12 February 2005

 

EARTH WAVE

Like a debris-laced

tsunami, the background

looms over the space

of the foreground.

The huge wave carries

tiny cows grazing, dark

hedgerows, a farm, trees,

a sedan parked

in a field. Only

the photograph captures

that earth will bury

sacred circles.

18 February 2005

 

ON THE ROAD

Two human figures,

their moment in time

fixed by the shutter –

a stalled paradigm

of ON THE ROAD. Dean

makes an unending

leap – for luck – between

stones, Sal observing

him always. Dean flies,

about to jump round

forever. Paradise

waits, still, on the ground.

23 February 2005

 

THE CAR

You have to look closely

to see the car,

more closely still to see

the faint figure

walking from it toward

a house. If you

step back, he’s gone, absorbed

in the field. Who

is he? His ancestors

left behind stones.

He leaves a white Escort,

the boot open.

3 January 2005

 

JUMPING THE CIRCLE

One of the stones

is a rhomboid,

one a rough cone.

I would avoid

jumping to these.

Three look broken,

like decayed teeth –

jagged, open.

I would not jump

them. My ankle

might break, jumping

Drombeg Circle.

3 March 2005

 

ILLUSION OF PERMANENCE

Frame, glass, mat,

emulsion shocked by quick light,

transfixed at

that instant, stares with burned sight

out at eyes

used to seeing through windows

countrysides

stream. The unblinking photo

holds my glance,

though there is nothing behind

its slow dance

of chemicals I can find.

4 March 2005

 

REFLECTION

Fourth of forty, this print

is. The same negative

spawned each same scene, same tint,

same print, same objective

correlative. Minute

differences there must

be. Only an acute

eye and patient focus

could see. But remember:

four keeps changing. Now I

see a pine tree shimmer

there – light to glass to eye.

7 March 2005

 

PICNIC

In County Cork,

was there a picnic

near Glandore,

some songs in Gaelic,

Harp or Guinness –

or Power’s nipped neat –

the shoot finished?

Perhaps a slow peat

fire for soul-warmth,

when dark brought Druid

ghosts up, a-swarm

for vital fluid?

11 March 2005

 

IN THE CENTER

In the center of the circle –

so a side perspective suggests –

what looks like a rough stone nipple

protrudes, one teat with a flat breast’s

aureole, lighter, around it.

A hard suck it would be to draw

milk out from Mother Earth’s gray teat

without fire and warm blood to thaw

her. Ashes and infant bones, stone

knive s, thong garrotes r ise in the dirt.

No place for campfire girls or grown

men grilling steak and hamburger.

13 March 2005

 

THE CLOUD

A powderpuff

stratocumulus cloud

in the third of

the photo that’s sky could

have been airbrushed

in to mark dead center,

even though just

above it. It’s clever

work, either way.

Wind seems to blow left

to right, and may-

be even some stones drift.

14 March 2005

 

THE GIFT

The gift brings with it

a gift of seeing

what I wouldn’t look at

without it – a scene

from Ireland’s pagan past.

Who made it never

imagined it would last

two thousand years or

migrate across oceans

to my eyes to ask

me: if not the seasons,

do you wear God’s mask?

20 March 2005

 

MODERN DRUIDS

Modern Druids still

wear vestments, still cow

masses of faithful

anxious any how

to think life returns.

The priests prophesy

rebirth. Their sun turns

imperceptibly

higher. Take and eat.

Spring comes. Eat the sun,

drink your fill. Repeat:

the resurrection.

25 March 2005

 

MOTHER EARTH SLEEPING

The shades in the foreground grass

could be seen – as a child’s eyes

shape clouds to what they can grasp –

as a woman’s torso, thighs

to breasts. Her mons – pubic hair

darker grass – bulges over

an eddy – weed dimpling where

the little man in the boat

sets sail. Prone, her breasts flatten;

between her thighs, dark shadows.

It’s easy to imagine

Gaia sleeps where the grass grows.

26 March 2005

 

LITANY OF THE STONES

Someone to plan,

someone to find them;

someone to measure,

someone to cut.

Someone to hone them,

someone with ropes;

someone to haul them,

someone to dig.

Someone to lift,

someone to be crushed;

someone to bless them,

someone to watch.

29 March 2005

 

MODERN IRELAND

The tiny houses

and barns are modern.

In the fields, cows bow

to their task: to turn

grass into milk, beef,

and euros. No thatched,

whitewashed huts, or heap

of a tour castle

in the picture. Only

Drombeg Circle speaks

the past: one stony

shrine on a worn peak.

1 April 2005



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