Wednesday, 26 July 2023

 



THE HUNGARIAN PILLOWCASE


The poet Maria mc Manus retweeted 

a tweet and a good Friday memory  

came flooding like the Danube, Buda-

Pest, a country like Ireland turned

On its side, people like the Irish fifty

Years ago. 


I took to it and they took to me, I traveled 

the length and breadth of the land Pec’s, Szolnok 

Szeged, lake Balaton. Atilla Jozsef was my Patrick-

 Kavanagh both statued in my statue park.


I  can't remember what I'll never forget

Cant cling to this moment but I can blog

Get/for its people made it my second home. 


I went to read peace poems and set up work

shops but they workshopped me Serbs 

and Croats we were Hungarian Irish 

the boundary was one.


The good Friday agreement was on

Their desk they knew every word as if

Their own, the Irish ambassador welcomed

Me home into the bosom of mother earth.


This is a blog of Morphic resonance, poe-

artry, I feel these words vibrate.


 CONSCIOUSNESS ATILLA JOSZEF STYLE


Armorous abstraction




I felt the cosmic

order gleam-the leaves like

tiny butterflies.



Build a bonfire,

 a super-duper one 


to warm everyone.



No arrows, stones

                 or guns just a sigh of beauty-

                        a train whistle blows.



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