Days are the spars of a shipwreck. Overhead,
the constant fear of looking at the sun.
No more raft of promises. Instead,
a decent life, an audience of one.
Ted Mc Carthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, ‘November Wedding’, and ‘Beverly Downs’. His work can be found on www.tedmccarthyspoetry.weebly.com.
Remember this when names won’t come easily:
the patch of green too narrow for houses,
viewed from an upstairs window;
a flit of yellowhammers at year’s turning,
the long view east, milk-souring suns,
far unmeasured mornings. Remember these
when your name moves beyond you
like the sun behind a house.
Ted Mc Carthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, ‘November Wedding’, and ‘Beverly Downs’. His work can be found on www.tedmccarthyspoetry.weebly.com.
I woke with an old sense
of entering a clearing
as a boat breasts a strait of reeds
from one lake to another
with no notion of the vastness
in front, behind; a settler
thinking himself still, feet
either side of a century,
belongings mere ideas again,
a scattering of atoms, a constellation;
rainfall, each drop still pure
after its million collisions.
Ted Mc Carthy is a poet and translator living in Clones, Ireland. His work has appeared in magazines in Ireland, the UK, Germany, the USA, Canada and Australia. He has had two collections published, ‘November Wedding’, and ‘Beverly Downs’. His work can be found on www.tedmccarthyspoetry.weebly.com.
Foxglove Journal 