He’d had that thing for years – some dreadful woe -
I can’t remember what it’s called -
I guess he’d had enough, although
I don’t know all the details. Was he bald?
I haven’t seen him for a while; he crawled
Something about the way in which metaphysical poetry engages the mind is unique to this style of verse. A combination of relatable simplicity with conceptual eclecticism renders it into a form of expression that can be deeply and...
Here is a sonnet I composed in honour of the original St. Valentine. I notice some Facebook posts implying that as an early Christian martyr he has nothing to do with Romantic Love and should be dissociated from it. I believe that on the contrary there is...
We found a thousand hollow shells left scattered
Among the rocky, kelp-strewn teeth of shore:
Some of the seeping, tight-lipped hunks were shattered,
Tossed up by chance and left as dried decor
For tourists like myself to stow away
In pockets, as a keep-sake...
The train runs, carrying her amongst her things,
A bag upon her lap like some dull child
To whom her pale but red-ringed throat never sings.
All songs forgot, as she grows clenched and riled.
Her hand, all nerves, combs over a blond case
From a compositional and conceptual standpoint, "Eldorado" is arguably Edgar Allan Poe’s greatest poem. It is a perfect example of how a seemingly simple theme can be thoroughly developed using new rich metaphors, which allow human beings to communicate what is otherwise not possible with merely literal...
Let me tell you about a bullet
And a body.
A Sunday Mass
Tolled its loud bells
While we all stood
And broken glass
Crunched like old shells
Through the neighborhood,
Where a mural presents
What’s come to pass:
Masked men, spent shells,
In a field of...
Advocates of the liberal arts include “heretical" books in the great conversation, whereas political liberals seek to silence them as dangerous. As we have seen in Nazi Germany and in communist countries, the banning of “heretical” books ends with the burning of “heretics”…
We scrambled up the craterous outcrop
That ruptured like an isle among gray sands
Spread thin around Cill Éinne Bay. A sop
Of drying kelp lay tangled in red strands,
Half-covering a shallow pool, inside
Which a few trapped snails slinked till the...
They talked about planned parenthood;
I thought it sounded A-okay;
Had such a wholesome ring—it sounded good—
Until I saw that clip today
On YouTube, and the world turned grey;
I may be hard of hearing, and my wits are slow—
Could be mistaken—but they say—
I stood atop Slane Hill
Where Patrick’s fire burned
And chapel floors now fill
With cold rain. Each cracked grave
About has risen with
The dead. And tourists, turned
On knotted, brazen lists
Of all the “weak or brave,”
In any case, those lost
Beneath the winning...
T.S. Eliot reminds us that the answers to our soul’s depravity are all around us, in our collective culture—the books we read, the places we inhabit, the music we listen to—but also that culture can only survive if we remember it and keep it alive...
Today’s offering in...
American Beauty Exhibition, National Gallery, Dublin
The wounded anger in your eyes, last night,
Seemed for the first time and, perhaps, the last,
To cut through every screen of charm, and sight
In me the innards of a sordid past.
“For too long...
Through T.S. Eliot’s use of symbolism in "The Journey of the Magi" there is a call to a world beyond words—just as the mystics of historic Christianity beckoned to Eliot from the beginning of his journey...