Poem from:

Blue Room by John Kavanagh

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Sligo Summer Eve

Kavanagh, John

The rain bullets in
slapping on limp dock leaf
battering russet sorrel clump
into pendulumed submission.

Leaning saplings shoulder the wind
the uncut meadows flatten and billow
in pitiless flurries.

Shackled lines of rain-browned fence
sentinel ditch and hedge
drains gurgle, gutters sing.

An Irish summer evening dark and wet
crashes outside my room,
inside windows weep in humid sweat,
birds fly early from a seasonís tomb.

Copyright © John Kavanagh 2013

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