the anvil earth

8/8/2019 The Anvil Earth

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The Anvil Earth

Poems by Brendan ONeill

Birmingham, England. April 2009

www.o-neill.org


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Edition 1.1

Copyright Brendan ONeill 2009

All Rights ReservedSemaphore ................................................................................................................ 4

Dressed to the Nines................................................................................................ 5

Back the Strand ........................................................................................................ 6

Bone-craft................................................................................................................... 7

Crayfish ....................................................................................................................... 8

Sparrows ..................................................................................................................... 9

Burren......................................................................................................................... 10

Landing Mackerel on the Pier Head at Portmagee ..................................... 11

Dinosaurs .................................................................................................................. 12

On the Famine Ridges, Garrafrauns, County Galway ................................. 13

Spider......................................................................................................................... 14

One Driver Escaped Uninjured........................................................................... 15

Sweet Thing .............................................................................................................. 16

The Mulberry Bush .................................................................................................. 17

No Moses Child....................................................................................................... 18

Broken Heart Surgery ............................................................................................ 19

Elephant Song ......................................................................................................... 20

Lambs in the Road ................................................................................................. 21Young Curate .......................................................................................................... 23

Walk in the Park...................................................................................................... 24

Carousel.................................................................................................................... 25

Journey to Minneapolis ........................................................................................ 27

Big Green Truck...................................................................................................... 28

Tyseley Station......................................................................................................... 29

Beside Hubert Humphrey Aerodrome.............................................................. 30

Lighting Candles for the Lost ............................................................................... 31

Central Station......................................................................................................... 32

At Finglas .................................................................................................................. 33I Believe .................................................................................................................... 34

Keen for a Connemara Cyclist........................................................................... 35

The Slide .................................................................................................................... 36

the spear that.......................................................................................................... 37

Hermit ........................................................................................................................ 38

The Traitor's Knife .................................................................................................... 39

Liffey Swim ................................................................................................................ 40

Words on the Wind ................................................................................................. 41


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Semaphore

wandering down drillsthrough redshank and nettlecabbage-whites bobbing, strayamong the stalks, stickingthe spade in and heavingthe hoard-clutch, excavated

by the unclamped steamon the kitchen table, oppositewhere you were last yeartaters fresh from the potin the centre, the semaphoreof Forget-Me-Not


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Dressed to the Nines

dressed to the ninesyour fashion designsa face to the factthat its just an actunder the veilred cheeks hidethe sorrow of blue eyesbut tears aren't in Vogueand so this isn't you


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Back the StrandFor John B Keane at 70

Back the strand I have walkedbetween the remnants of bagged up pupsBright blossoms of anemoneand washed back sheeps gut

A leveret has sprungfrom where my foot would tread

Hesitant past a saint tombed isleArchipelago of the dead

Distant bells have voiced their callconsecrating the wind torn hillsOver cloud chased Coomanaspigcurlews answered shrill

This path rising to a jagged grin

where moon and earth meet sun and skyIn the long grass there to listenamongst shell and sea song I will lie


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Bone-craft

Lost at sea. It had no mateIts entrails gory in a spateDank and long. Big as any whaleSwept red up the wretched spitA taut black bow. Beachingin to a broad archWavering its griponly where gravityplucked its portion of horizonLike Gulliver first arising.bleary eyed, surprised. Itneatly forged a Soutine settinto the jaw sharp shinglePerhaps lost. ConcussedLead astray by the keeling keenof marinized engines. Con-rods

compelling call. ChasingArchimedes worm- baited for destructionBone-craft. Harled and hauledto a reductive stationTried to extract succourfrom the tide-dry eskerWere those open wounds. Harpoons?Carnassial shear of swordfish

Rending aside its giving plateLast bellow of a languid spinnakerForced to furl. Framed to formand harrow the dry stoneInvoke the Ephesian clauseCoracled by barnacles. Matelothelped escape corruption's cellNor wrong witted or dragoonedConnate. Conned. Straked and corbelleda coralline church. Driftwood chapelElemental passage with its being


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Crayfish

They leaned in to the deck and with one moveswung the red crayfish up and outof the bowel of the boat. Boxedtogether. Neutered by the elasticthat held the claw. Antennae stillposting contrary signals. Enthralledin gladiatorial rage. Did not seem to noticetheir territories were taken from under them


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Sparrows

Your conversation punctuatesMy thoughts like sparrowsGathered to a crustPierced with plain wordsFrightened little birdsHungry eyes distrustA baited breathYou wait replyThought failsWe will fly


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Burren

I have harvested enchantmentin fields of stoneUnder the shrill protestof small wild birdsGathered shadows of dead heroesinto creels of bone

I have heard the lamentsof childless womencrowd through dead forestsTraced the scrawl where bony finger'spicked out each patchwork rut and rowA bright mist shrouds

their faces. Gentlethe trickle of their tears

Remembering each flawed caressnurturing cut flowersUrging dormant seeds to growfrom ancient fissures


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Landing Mackerel on the Pier Head at Portmagee

A feathered five from fathoms deepdistils a shower of broken pearlsBurnished silver-blue fishBreathless, sunlit. Flop and curlGive counted out a buyer's dozenFresh salted from a brief affrayDrawn by hand and hookto mouth a searing oratory

From a barbed baptism. Baskets liegutted and gulled. Market readyHeaped and held down by the quayIn hundreds, priced, marked and icedGlass eyes fixed. Like a thousandStars reflected from an ancient seaSupplicants for salvation

Shoaling towards eternity

This anchorage is stillFirm-footed in the bright wave's harvestRipples from remembered stormsstirring ghosts in long departed boatsSimon-Peter's, Andrew's. The Sons of ZebedeeBrendan in his leather tub, sailingthe soft swell of the sea

Tidal. Insistent litany


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Dinosaurs

Dinosaurs have buried the pastIn deep and ill defined holes lieBone and soil by flesh combined

Decay shoulders the great machinesAs trundling they fracture futureWith yellow claws try rib and loam

Old worm hides his blind emotionbehind ribbed and caged boneWaits for crumbling upheaval

Of jarred bone on skeleton skiesTruth is shed and in the ruinsWorm is fed bleached compromise


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On the Famine Ridges, Garrafrauns, County Galway

(The Lark's Lament)For Austin and ine Cunningham and Family, Custodians.

The swirl of a morning mist revealed themClose in together. By one, by twopended across a flitch of a field- a hard wrought stone strewn mire

Weak shadows moving up shallow trenchesAngry fists beating the anvil earthEmpty bellies giving poor counselin their kitchen - the hunger hearth

Stark ration scoured faces gatheredMouthing a futile hymn*Bia, Dia, Bia, their prayerWhole parishes perishing

Last-born planted like seedlingsA crop they were fain to sowOld ones shunned poor-shares and wanderedbequeathing each cursed row

Left furrows watered with mother's tearsfrom the bitter harvest's wellRidges blooming with desperation

by Jude's October bell.

Sun summoned to sleep. They drift backanchored to earth's embraceCoffined by dead roots and branchescondemned by time and place

On uncut flags the lark lamentsthese wraiths where they shelve their bonesA shroud of bog cotton their raimenttheir monument - a tumble of stones

*Food, God, Food


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Spider

A spider spinning its webA delicate dangerThat consumes bothInnocents and foolsYet craves escapeFrom a homemade prisonWill mock the crawlersAnd the manic flyWith stiffening, pulping venomBut wishes that both she and flyCould flee the sense bound prison


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One Driver Escaped Uninjured

a straggle of a linearms folded backreverential contortionshunched crow-blackfrom the sweep of the raina grasp"Sorry for your trouble"poor comfort thatthe clink of glassesstriking a tinder heart

the crazed cuckoo croakof the clockticking offthe first hourof a life without her

those others whose blood was spiltthe rain battered boxgift wrappedwreaths and flowers bloomingon a life of guilt


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Sweet Thing

Drunk again, drunk beforeKnocking at an open doorGiving you things to keepThings that I had buried deepPlacing my heart in the tractionOf bipolar distraction

Listening for imagined deceitFeelings that run counterfeitThe smallest bird can sing a tuneAnd puppy dogs howl at the moonBut my dog died and I found JesusRiding a horse away from Texas

Strike a light. Its Englands GloryListening to your Jackanory

Feeling frail, I then railPavement bouncing - evenings taleGave me a First in misbehaviourSleeping with a perplexed stranger

Vertigo gives fear to stumbleHope's sustained with apple crumbleI salute, my soldiers drillBut war is lost and I am killed

So I park my clogs in bawdy housesImagining your sweet caressBut visions falter in the porterNo substitutes for your sweetness


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The Mulberry Bush

I walked past whenmen in chain and leather coatsclerked infamyon the faces of the chosenHuddled in groupswatchinghorses tied to trees and postsEars pricked to the cymbal clank-wafer thud on doorsa death peal poundingBranching through the hollow halls

We winced as they braced the door-Counting out an abacusof small conceitson the chains of broken out beasts-

Fear and dreadLeft our own clothes redPierced by centuried insanitiesTo gasp as they bled the host.The night air rentwith feral consequence

Our part in outrageThe conceivable bound

of profane logicMixed in flood of innocenceBruised fruit-a-blightingBleeding the very airA sacrifice no wound can stemor salt the flow but our owninanities and mistruth. Pilgrimssporting ribbons and regretsBadges we knew, perhapswe should have worn


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No Moses Child

I.M. Mike Costello

In the rushes he was found. No Moses childFace down in brown water. Troubled mindWatery crucifixion for a broken willHis dolorosa, the boreen down the hill

The transport box brought him backpast a kitchen garden Gethsemane

to the waking station, underthe far off *Croagh, his Calvary

*Croagh Patrick, County Mayo


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Broken Heart Surgery

Friend! You have admitted meTo your broken heart surgery

Listening to my sad testamentYour remedy is self assessment

Reason is your instrumentDenial should be my intent

Friend! Your scrip may bring the cureDrag me on to your dance floor


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Elephant Song

India and AfricaRacked by povertyRiven by greedSpirit of the grasslandsBrought down to bleedMy humbled majestyOn blood drowned dustBrave mouse you are forgivenHuman you are cursed


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Lambs in the Road

Kosovo Crisis, April 1999

They sprayed out from the crushat the gap. Started by the rumbleTrucks double-back wheels: Laden.Lumbering in to the high-sideof the bend. Stoppedbut for the pressthe front-runners stood

anxious at sudden freedom- a perilous pathThe lorry came on.Ewes stricken, mounted each othergoaded on - No place to goNo choice to stayLeading votive lambs, offersto some roadside deity


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Spring Well

Dedicated to the Memory of Paddy Glynn, Garrafrauns

the old plans hadmarked the spotthe tines of Hosty's diggerdrew backwhere Robert Abrahamssaid it'd be

a rood from the Kerrigan place- a brain tumour they saylived alone, died a young mandrew the clear waterhere every day

a scheme had been mootedgrants to be hadif we could but

gather and agree

standing over the new drainwondering atall the wells we'd sunkand all the glassesof brown bog waterwe had drunk


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Young Curate

For G.M.H

An elliptical orbit brought him hereLike some crazed moth. This onebuzzing with borrowed energyPentecostal fervour. Fiddlingin six months short! Strikingall obstacle aside. Adrenalinerush of a subjugated will

Example set squarein the hot ash and lavaof a soul eruption. Skippingdown the road. Bravingnods and winks of old onesAway with the fairies. Wontlast this lad. Bemused childrensuffered the telling of eachmad scheme. Seagulls flockedto escape his recipe bookEconomic regenerationemploying supernatural resources


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Walk in the Park

Coming to this placeWas a mistakeThe shadows of trees lie bareStripped of leafWe once stood for a momentWatching the breezePuppet the mad squirrelA still from anAbandoned movieSeized in memory

Cock-eyed the ducksNo longer trust meTheir eyes fence mineAnd each in turnShoots under the bridge

Alone I am a threatIn the spring. AnonymousLike incubating squirrelFolded in the heart of the treeI too must hibernate


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Carousel

Ashes and dust between my toesI must travel again this broken roadPeering through windows of burnt out housesShocked out shells and basket casesSearching for you amongst the jumbleOf truth and love, lie and fumbleCrowding through mammons churchesAlone amongst the painted facesGrasping hands of well met friendsWishing for their words to endHearing only distant voicesWhispers on the windOf circus acts, the carouselThat brings me on this trip through hellPuts fragile hopes in broken sliversReflections drawn from heart shaped mirrors

An ill wind blows me in full sailPast Reasons Rock towards betrayalVoiceless angers, snares of selfCut glass peril, cut price DelphSleepless still talkingIm tracing the fault linesThrough famined fields to tables of plentyWalking on and crying gentlyDrunk and stupid with despair

Knowing you can not be whereI have placed you in my heartDislocated journeys startSignposts point to different routesClapped out lies and nascent truthsHopes a tramp up in the distanceBut she wont be offering assistanceClowns surround me at waystationDicing only for frustrationA riddle on a gangsters collarRed eyed dawn and bottom dollarWinding up the backwards clockStill reeling from the aftershock


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Of Cupid with a rocket launcher

Quarter none, just hopeless slaughterHomely bars then make the cageWhere I subdue unreasoned rageSuspending my bad attitude inContemplative solitudeLoves a solitary confinementWhen axis shift to realignmentFallen angels lie in the clayAnd I must wake another dayAshes and dust between my toesIll walk again this broken road


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Journey to Minneapolis

Sun bright misty morningCoasting through the goods yardsYawning into long necked bottles,Coffee cups. Blue smoke ringscatching words like butterfliesin a precocious springYou gave me bread and honeybut kept the key to your heartNow, Im Fortunes refugeeawake in the sleeping carHeading west in contemplationof different paths to turn,and uncollected deliveriesBlisters without burns

Forging a fragile redemption

in open spaces and crazy placesCutting from a twisted deckwith one eyed jacks and missing acesSeeking no exemptionsat borders I must crossQuerying the bill butalways paying the costWondering where Ill build againthe barn that I just burnt

Sifting through the ashesmanaging the hurt


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Big Green Truck

Driving along in a big green truckCounty colours, full of muckScooping up and setting downPints as thick as showers of rainHeading back into the yardHatching up the next canardOf where to be for the next few hoursOvertime or changing tyresTending excuses for places to beExcept at home with the family

Big man around the townLet him stand another roundAnother evening's pleasantryDevoid of responsibilityGuilty capers, threadbare lies

Beery vapours, no surpriseWife catch him quick on ThursdayGet it off him before its spentAcquiesce to purgatoryTo feed the kids and pay the rent

Dance to Yellow SubmarineWhen the relatives callNever promised you a rose garden

Never promised you fuck allAngry now as the last ones leaveImagined slights are fresh conceivedFists launching the next tiradeKids cry and grasp the balustradeRaised voices and silent tearsAnother day in all those years


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Tyseley Station

These walls now scored with scratch-black graffitiHide robot metal eyes which peer along the tracksAnd dance to the hinge-song of a gate, cast ironRevelling among the glories of the past

These tracks lead from nowhere to oblivionThose eyes bleed with a terror of decisionThe rusty lines gather and ebb and flowContour concrete, will heap and throw

Those ancient engines heaving glowBy smoke stack crowds of evening chimneysPleasure dousedBy grey night clouds


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Beside Hubert Humphrey Aerodrome

On a morning star clear skied mornBeside Hubert Humphrey aerodromeMoon faced rows of silent deadStretched out across a lawn

America like some big schoolyard kidForced to interveneIn foreign quarrels not her ownSent sons to wars. Sold sight unseen

College boys and farm boysGlad hearts marching to despairMarching back as skeletonsOnce they were over there

Mississippis silent tide. Unbroken

Meandering across the plainEast and West down to the seaRivers of honour. Oceans of pain


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Lighting Candles for the Lost

Making stations near main-line stationsOn my knees in contemplationOf angular sanctuaries. Overhead gantriesSeeking sanction from the saintsBut refusing to co-opt my fateBy leaning to on broad arched pillarsBest stanchion staunched by Rebel Father'sDressing bleeding feet in tattersIn oily rags where burning coalsHave barred the way with self laid fatwasReasons for not growing old

Lighting candles for the lostImagining things can't be the worstThat coins in fountains will not rustThat angels won't discharge their trust


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Central Station

Queen's Day Amsterdam 1998

Here there is no celebrationRound the back of the Central StationThe celebration is to subsistBegging life from who exist

Washing clean the daily grimeAching for another time

Bells and ribbons in her hairBikes and ponies, teddy bears

Her face now covered in a hoodFeels the rush of poisoned bloodIn this neglect there is a savageryAn unnecessary barbarity

Lift the veil, lift the caul

The shame that slaves her slaves us allBreathe redemption into her faceReturn her to that other place


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At Finglas

We aregathered knowingto all this will comeThe cold lightThe sprinkle of the rain

Busy worms will unfoldtapestries beneathMud-clay feetSpooningnew dyes and tintsinto fresh hide


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I Believe

There is something out thereAmongst the tinfoil starsSomething with intelligenceThat made this world of ours


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Keen for a Connemara Cyclist

They rushed him straight to theatrefrom his juggernaut encounter

The tongue clean ripped out of himStill he bled

A gurgle and a splutterThings better left unsaid

His spokes at odd anglesWilted wire flowers

BentLike the high sided road that threw himA young buckOver the last

Some terrible gymnast

They wheeled in the life machinesStood around discoursingAt the bottom of the bed

Shaken badly(fine boots those!)

Examined the chart for optionsBut none without the head

Licensed premises might heal this pain


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The Slide

In the dark of the parkthe slide sleepsAt the bottom of the stairsa child weepsAn African boywith stomach swollenAn angel in blackHis mouth open

At the topa paler childThe air of the cityswirls around her, mildand cool, the cold city airPoisons her bloodand pulls at her hair

The wind creeps

And all aloneon the other sideAn old man sits atthe end of the slideand cries for salvationthrough the veil of the brideWho laughs as she cries as

she falls down the slideto the bottom


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the spear that

I will hold these truths closeto my face. A brazier brandto make the eyes smart

Wean tears from their fastnessin clay. Will hold allguilty but absolved

Not by ignorance or graceBut by the spear thatpierced my heart


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Hermit

for Kevin

Tide alone is what moves usRefuge to which need must recourseTrapping the day out with a hard skinCarapace of remorse

Driven hard and softBurdened by brief respite

Cherishing small sanctuaryIn the waves of night


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The Traitor's Knife

They came and laid the forest bareEach proud tree rent from the airThat leafy shelter once the hoodTorn from the face of that green wood

They came and bought their killing toolsTo hack their mark into the landThe trees now fallen majestyBetrayed by a sharpened band

The traitor's knife in a fool's hand


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Liffey Swim

No parting crowdsOnly darknessEternity to the baySwimming outFrom bright harbour lightYearning sanctuaryLike some contrite cetaceanIn the nightOf a dark oceanThe bitter taste of brineFallen starsThe only aids to navigation


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Words on the Wind

Carnsore Point, Wexford. 1979

Millions turn their ears from the words on the windDeaf to the call from the wasteAnd though Apathy's triumph is gained without bloodDeath's banner will herald the truthOnly a few fight the demonAs it threads its barbed claws through our fabric of lifeA cancer that will kill without the swift blade

A war that's in motion of which no one has heardSave the beggars and penny philosophersLeather is worn as our feet hold the soilOur victories scorned for the good of us allWe are dreamers and liars and thievesAnd the dice has been rolled though it cannot say "No"The verdict well known before the first throwAnd the gamblers all win by agreementYet gambles may pay and you'll rue the next day

And theories mistaken come from chances takenAnd bad tools could point to bad workmenAnd love of money beats love of manAnd the men of wood can't change their standIts the difference between water and glassOne cuts and kills when brokenThe other powers the mills unspokenAnd no man yet has died from rust

Though millions could from poison dustIts an unclear situationIts a nuclear aberrationSo who will be left to ask "why?"As soldiers do after a warThe piper is wiseHe won't come againOur children, perhaps the meek and the lameWill rid us of fools. For ever. Amen!

Just as soon as they've nailed their own coffins

the anvil earth

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