Stride Magazine - www.stridemagazine.co.uk

 

ON THE AVENUE OF THE PORTAL OF ANGELS

#4

theres been so little light today
for you, so little light
in one dream you were flying
a machine much like a house
in another a presence pressed down
onto the bed and leapt towards you
so you woke and spent the morning
thinking about conflicts which make
you who you are and time passing
once when you were on your way
to having your heart broken again
its something youre trying to perfect
she said youve lost your calmness
and you could hear voices
from people and books
too much light can blind a person
the morning was like a flare
and now it has expired
all that is left is its hissing
after-birth and you are saying the words
theres been so little light today
I think of a poem like a beating heart
when your heart stopped
the lights went out





FERRY FROM GOTLAND

the crows are at my head again
a murder of them
wet and scrawny
milk and water
and dreams of gunpowder
flitting away another future

they haunt me
the ghost ships

a dream again
my life is made up of night time visions
a pier,
horses, flesh and blood and metal
carousing us into the water
and then onto an island
transformed

the footsteps, their echo
are ours, again

night falls like the rain
again and again

darkening the way between our hearts

I thought my dreams would change

waves made of voices

my swedish bones
too quickly the moment is gone

strange to see the medieval
revelers, teenagers in costume,
reliving something from so long ago -
their imitations are not even echoes

history is a party
invitation only

sounds to me like god-land
heavens alibi

Maria, Maria

if you see a light in the distance
let it be me
coming towards you
a beacon
bringing you home





THE BATS AT ANNAGHMAKERRIG

We had our backs
against the wall
and watched like sins
thrown to a storm
the bats whirring
and spinning the hours
before dawn
into a tale we took
hold of and up and down
close to the face, a
breath, dizzying the dark
like leather winged devils
postponing the morning,
blind adepts of the night
death has sent out
like inky toys to be
worshipped by our
sleepless eyes until
their winding slowed
and they retreated
leaving the two of us
by the wall closing
our eyes to the light,
our ears to their sound,
heartbeat to nothing.


Paul Perry 2002


Paul Perry won the Hennessy New Irish Writer of the Year Award in 1998. He has been a James Michener Fellow of Creative Writing at The University of Miami, and a C. Glenn Cambor Fellow of Poetry at The University of Houston. His work has appeared in numerous publications, including Poetry
Ireland Review, The Hawaii Review, The Drunken Boat, and The Best American Poetry 2000. Currently he serves as Writer in Residence in Co. Longford, Ireland, where he serves as Editor-in-Chief to The VirtualWriter.net. His work has been described by Fred DAguiar as a beautiful coalition between formal discipline and imaginative flair. Sure to prove himself as one of the most original of younger writers.