The Pleasure Of Small Sorries
the phrases cling on so firmly
like hot tar on our foreheads
so heavily spread across reason
no quick peeling or washing off
only a familiar, smarting pain
for now we attempt to stay low
so the light seeks out no one
time alone for magical cleaning
our warm, gentle miracle water
the pleasure of small sorries
this snapping dog in our lives
chewing on the best of things
then howling a wretched truth
awaiting that familiar return
our old hunger for surrenders
cosy love has landed so easily
territories delicately marked
absent now the master's voice
calm after the midnight feast
the pleasure of small sorries
© Copyright, 2007. Seamus Kearney.
4 comments:
Hello!
This poem is very good. Thank you
Good week
David,
Thanks very much for your positive feedback and visit. Please call again. Have you checked out my main site? Link on the right. :)
This site is very green. The words are nice. I hopped over from chiefbisuit's, BTW.
There used to be a brunch place in Paris near Gare St Lazare called Sam Kearney's, but they took it away. No relation to you, I suppose. Cheers.
Hi rethabile,
welcome! sorry I missed this comment, with this not being my main blog and all ... and the colour's changed now! I hope it's better. Thanks for your kind words and do visit again. :)
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