Padraig O'Morain's Poetry Place
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Jesus loves Angela

19/11/2016

 
It began on the beautiful day,
that's what she called it, the beautiful day
an angel stopped her on the Newbridge road
and told her of Christ's desire for her.

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Morning blessing

19/11/2016

 
He flits from the butcher’s stall across Main Street
unbuttoning his beige coat. The usual need
drives him to Kelleher's discreet side-door
for his morning blessing, large Powers no water.

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Not talking

19/11/2016

 
Since the final fight, details now forgotten,
when pride sealed up their hearts and mouths
they have made their own mute liturgy:
the scraping of a chair announces dinner,
the car engine turning signals Mass.

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The red heifer

19/11/2016

 
The river field sinks into the dark,
raindrops drip from the slates of the cowshed,
the paper sprawls across the kitchen table,
it says it's hot in California.

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Salvation

19/11/2016

 
The doctor's pleasure on Saturdays
was to drive out to the hotel
and behind its ivy-veiled facade
its dark and crimson draperies
to feel up the chambermaids
the fillies de chambre he called them
in an unreserved guest room.

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Taking the plunge

19/11/2016

 
The boy in the photo hangs above the Atlantic
like a drop of rain from the edge of a leaf,
paused in mid-air between diving board and water
on tiptoe, arms spread like a dancer, balanced
between this moment  and the next.

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You've been great

19/11/2016

 
A bronzed man pirouettes
on the TV in the corner
for his afternoon audience
in the nation's dayrooms.

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Watching you walk to work

19/11/2016

 
I watch you walk down the South Circular Road.
In dappled shadows, leaves and sunshine
you seem to dissolve into dancing dark and light,
before you vanish in the bright distance                                       
into your efficient world of telephones,
enquiries and tomorrow's appointments.

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With Niamh in Harcourt Street Children's Hospital

19/11/2016

 
The intravenous drip machine doggedly
hums through the night,
breaks into fits of frantic ticks
as if it wants to fight its way out of the room.

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A woman runs along city rooftops holding her hat

19/11/2016

 
She flits past blackened angels,
chimneys higher than houses,
walls heavy with wealth.

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    Padraig O'Morain

    I have been writing poetry since around 1990. My work has appeared in Irish and British literary journals and has been published as a collection in The Blue Guitar (Salmon Poetry, 2011) and previously in a short collection called You've Been Great (Smith/Doorstop, 2008) which won a Poetry Business prize the previous year. I have an MA in English and Creative Writing from Lancaster University.

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All the poems here were published in poetry magazines (mostly print), in my collections The Blue Guitar (Salmon Poetry 2011) or You've Been Great (Smith/Doorstop 2008) ​