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Michael Corrigan

Journeyman (I) 

 

 

Yesterday morning,

the port city of Heraklion

bustling with sunshine and birdsong,

a freshly sparkled sea

heart gladdening,

hopeful.

 

Last night,

Dublin airport in the dark,

my lover waiting,

all tousled hair

and mischief.

 

This morning

dawn, grey in drizzle,

a solitary crow

calling from our wintered roof,

the thin music of melancholy.

 

 

 

 

Journeyman (iv)

 

Sand accepts

 

the memory of my passing,

 

then discretely lets it fade.

 

Unwell for days, I spent myself

 

putting angry clouds in a blameless sky,

 

but here tonight I gain some peace

 

beside this shushing sea.

 

 

 

 

Journeyman (ii)

 

 

Silent moon

 

above the groves

 

spirits ghosting

 

through the trees

 

summer gone

 

season over

 

a small star falls

 

across the sky.

Journeyman (iii)

 

 

Moon silent

 

moon still,

 

groves stoic

 

in the barren season,

 

quiet now, calm now,

 

but jagged winter

 

will not be denied.

Mick Corrigan has been writing for years and has been published in a range of periodicals, anthologies, magazines and on-line journals. He is in his fifties (at least he thinks they’re his fifties, they could be someone else’s), and lives in County Kildare with Trish his lifer, Molly the talking wonder dog and Ben the far too clever collie.

 

He divides his time equally between the islands of Ireland and Crete and the vast open space in the back of his head. His first collection, “Deep Fried Unicorn”, will be published later this year by Rebel Poetry.