Buzzed-up, buzzing bee-stings do bite

Deep into virgin flesh, love requests

Stealth play peacocks’ amorous game

Stood rigidly statuesque – taut

Like coiled rope – determined to lay

Wood, hard between those rippling

Furry clefts, pulsing throbs curdling

Her soused-up frame, bursting busy

Brimful’s bubbling seduction

In the wrong place at rightful time

So conversation gels – with slight

Apprehension, eventual goal

Gets absolutely no mention

Caddish, and have to get things right

 

Skilfully wrapping silver tongue

coated with guile, around bed-sex

Talk – all wiles cleverly spun

Until, bouncing-off mattress springs

Whilst reality takes a walk

Dream’s wanton, effervescent fizzing

Says nothing actually matters

Now – at all – bubbled containment

Cushions how soft, buttressed excitement

Under masterful, sympathetic

Control stalls, to allow quick – slow

Aberrations of breath, flushed; cheeks

Show perspiration’s adept ruse

When intentions grow fuse, excuses

Spark spontaneous combustion

 

About turn, down – on hands and knees

Hoist-up rounded mounds fallen like

Lumbered trees; nature’s inverted

Joist dribbles drips – deliriously

Wet – drizzling trickled moist lining

Kitty’s arced apex; flushed excitement

Slips into uncontrolled emotion

Eager paws clasp horizontal

Haunches, blind; drunk on love’s sweet potion

Fate’s elixir proves instrumental

Swiftly launches uncompromising

Attacks and, promiscuous advances.

 

Fosterling

That heavy greenness fostered by water – John Montague.

 

At school I loved one picture’s heavy greenness –

Horizons rigged with windmills’ arms and sails,

The millhouses’ still outlines.  Their in-placeness

Still more in place when mirrored in canals.

I can’t remember not ever having known

The immanent hydraulics of a land

Of glar and glit and floods at dailigone

My silting hope.  My lowlands of the mind.

 

Heaviness of being.  And poetry

Sluggish in the doldrums of what happens,

Me waiting until I was nearly fifty

To credit marvels.  Like the tree-clock of tin cans

The tinkers made.  So long for air to brighten,

Time to be dazzled and the heart to lighten.

Shamus Heaney – New and Selected Poems 1988 – 2013.

 

 

 

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