Morphogenetic
morphic resonance.
Just another
day here
chewing the
cud, no memory
axe-mas cut
down
POARTRY
Like an alchemist turning muck to gold,
Poetry like sunshine is free. Aged fourteen
in 74’ in a cottage in Hackballscross County
Louth, Kavanagh country just a mile from
the townland of Mucker.
Opening a half-door a red dawn shot through
the ditch like nothing else on earth. A fox
skulked like 'The thought fox' but
this was a fox thought.
the spirit of the fox is within, even in
his birds eye tomb vision, I stared
At the fox and it hunkered down on
The damp earth and glared back.
I didn’t know who Patrick Kavanagh
Was but now he is in my being. Muck
Has followed me or I have followed it
To Portmuck, islandmagee. Fireweed:
A poem I wrote in 96’, The mist moves
in over Islandmagee blue horizons no longer
seen. I'm here at The Poets House, locked
in a poetry workshop: "Invasion"
.Jimmy and Janice Simmons awarded me a
scholarship to study for a masters degree in
creative writing at the poets house, Falcaragh,
Donegal in the shadow of muckish mountain.
Muck was the source the spring, to quote from
The Gap from my first collection of poems.
Jimmy edited the poem Light on the stones,
poems it seems were syncing.
James Simmons edited this poem over his
My Mothers ashes and my fathers Muck
and all this I was a street-kid but the spirit
of Fox and Patrick Kavanagh
