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In a Dublin moment more precious
than stones inlaid in engagement rings,
a daughter’s French polished nails
tap H. M. Samuels window, ..
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This is a poem about my favourite uncle. Someone who above all taught me a love of music and that everyone has hidden gifts. He is infinitely kind, al..
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The mature studenthas soft,
almost German blonde hair,
butan English accent
I imagine as laced
with mauve plums and brandy.
He keeps fli..
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This poem is an old one. I was reminded of it by two poems one mentioned building the other tuberculosis. As an old poem, it is quite weak and any sug..
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I wake, half-drunk, where
I wake, half drunk, where
those first sparrows warble
into early spring. My best friend
presses ice-cool..
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Ten horrific years wormed into our minds
like nightmares – slaughter, sentences, sacrifice –
but always there was music. Wicklow,
lat..
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That old boss, boy-sized in adulthood,
started out an orphan of neglect,
an eight-year-old nomad who strolled
Blackpool ’s nightmare-..
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How often Iwakefrom these cold night sweats
tothink I see you, a ghost, not yet dead, watching TV
as dazzling as you were in those neon years,
..
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THE SWAN
I recall us, preteen dreamers
beneath a pub sign,'The Swan'
spelt out in gilt letters,
our hands full with cider pints,
downed o..
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