Grand Canal Square In March #poetry #irishpoetry #Dublin #ireland

Grand Canal Square in March

Only in Dublin
would two swans
crossing the docks
greet you in March

Light reflecting
refracting the image
of urban life
and city living

hazy sun and
smokey stacks
 a tall ship mast
and two wild swans

Welcome to my city
cosmopolitan
21st century
metropolis

Welcome to my city
Viking terrority
mystical land
mysterious port.

(Photo taken March 2007 GCS Dublin, on the way from my husband's ( then fiancé) apartment to work.)

1.

In Dublin, on an Autumn Day

Written this morning in the Stephen's Green as my one year old slept happily in his Bugaboo, all wrapped up against the Autumn bite. There is nowhere quite as pleasant as the Green on a quiet Autumnal morning.



In Dublin, it is a treat
to find a seat in the Stephen's
Green
Near the fountains
on Constance's Side
Where if you sit quiet and still
On an Autumn Morning
Chill in the air, and Leaves falling
A robin might appear
at your feet
Under the seat, where careless
Tourists
Spill crumbs from O'Briens
And you watch the punks and goths
flock
Followed by the suits and shoppers
And a park keeper passes
And nods, hello, the ducks in the pond
Rising.

1.

Spaces

Deep in the night
Between last orders
And first light
Gods wander the city
Stealing dreams.
Pass them by,
If you see them
Do not stop or stare
Do not dare them
They are not at play.
They own this ground
From slick kerb
to guttered edge and
In between.
All the spaces.

1.

Swans and Chimney Stacks

(Swans sail out into the morning sunlight at the Dockside)

Only in Dublin
would two swans
crossing the docks
greet you in March

Light reflecting
refracting the image
of urban life
and city living

hazy sun and
smokey stacks
a tall ship mast
and two wild swans

Welcome to my city
cosmopolitan
21st century
metropolis

Welcome to my city
Viking terrority
mystical land
mysterious port.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

From the Secret Diary of a Capitalist

From the secret diary of a
capitalist…


The girl on the bus
looked normal
’til she fixed her eyes on mine
and solemnly assured me
that the end was nigh. So
with a sigh and a
muttered excuse
I once again changed seats.

This is why I drive. The
much maligned isolation
the experts beg us all to overcome -
within my jaundiced heart I find it a
sweet boon and comfort.
Why throw myself upon the mercy
of the world
or seek comfort in the kindness of
strangeness?

Yes, strangeness. It’s odd to want to climb across
the seats,
reach out clammy hands to touch the
hearts
of others. Daytime pundits of a warped
charity, back off, you living dead.
Armed with every half baked theory of Armageddon
and the reason why
Aliens want sex with earth women.
News flash, kids, I don’t care.

I want my car back. I want
to sink into cushioned seats
and listen to my radio
and change gears with reckless
glee – and pass these sad people
at bus stops on rainy days-
oh, and guzzle petrol and emit
fumes,
and generally be me.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.