Distances

sometimes it takes a year or two
(or more) of minutes to fill a day
as the sun cuts its path in
and out of the overcast,
the haunting of a place in its shadows.

as now in Spring
when couples traipse across the green
propped only by each other
and the reek of a running mower,
the real of cut grass and petrol.

would that I could put a thousand miles to the feet
and beat the beggars road down to your door
but it's better sometimes just to count the days
than take a wave by the horns.

Winter Scenes

Morning

The sullen rise from personal concrete blocks
And in Dublin's wetted streets
Work to the ticking of many parking meters
Or one grand clock.
Case histories, seconds of an hour.

Evening

The harbour lights offer little warmth now
To the village fleet,
Tight knuckles numbed, paint-flaked beams,
Edge slowly past the breakwater.
The last tack windward, a watched kettle

^

Biography

Charlie Boland here responding with some info about myself. I'm 23. I'm from Dunmore East, Co. Waterford where my family runs a small hotel. I studied English and Greek and Roman Civilisation at UCD to where I have returned to do a Masters in Anglo-Irish literature. My mini-thesis is on Paul Durcan. I spent one year of my degree in Sicily and went back there last year to teach English.