OCTOBER 1981
There was a nip in
The air those nights
Tingled the flesh
Clipped away leaves
Chilly winds blow away
Colours from summer
Fall wither cycles Meath
The humble pie of life
We are condemned to
Eat October November
Mercy? no environmental
Guarantee red in tooth
And claw the year then
Seemed young the moon
Was full nobody noticed it
Everyone looks down this
Was me I believed naively
This too would pass and a
Change might happen in
The real world business as
Usual continued that year
SWANS ON OIL
Swans on a slick of oil
nocturnal emission from the brewery
feathers blackened by grease
Hen wary of the cock almost
on her tail till she flies clear
over vat and chimney
Sharp clip of her wings beating
lost in a haze of barley and hops
vanishing into the night sky
The neck of the spurned bird
bends in submission blenished
pride bobs on the tide resignation