All Poems
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Sudden Movements
© Bob Hicok
My father's head has become a mystery to him.
We finally have something in common.
When he moves his head his eyes
get big as roses filled
Another Awkward Stage Of Convalescence
© Bob Hicok
Drunk, I kissed the moon
where it stretched on the floor.
I'd removed happiness from a green bottle,
both sipped and gulped
just as a river changes its mind,
mostly there was a flood in my mouth
What Would Freud Say?
© Bob Hicok
Wasn't on purpose that I drilled
through my finger or the nurse
laughed. She apologized
three times and gave me a shot
The Coney
© Paul Muldoon
Although I have never learned to mow
I suddenly found myself half-way through
last year's pea-sticks
and cauliflower stalks
Christo's
© Paul Muldoon
Two Workmen were carrying a sheet of asbestos
down the main street of Dingle;
it must have been nailed, at a slight angle,
to the same-sized gap between Brandon
Immrama
© Paul Muldoon
I, too, have trailed my father's spirit
From the mud-walled cabin behind the mountain
Where he was born and bred,
TB and scarletina,
Pineapples And Pomegranates
© Paul Muldoon
To think that, as a boy of thirteen, I would grapple
with my first pineapple,
its exposed breast
setting itself as another test
Why Brownlee Left
© Paul Muldoon
By noon Brownlee was famous;
They had found all abandoned, with
The last rig unbroken, his pair of black
Horses, like man and wife,
Shifting their weight from foot to
Foot, and gazing into the future.
Aisling
© Paul Muldoon
I was making my way home late one night
this summer, when I staggered
into a snow drift.
Truce
© Paul Muldoon
It begins with one or two soldiers
And one or two following
With hampers over their shoulders.
They might be off wildfowling
The Sightseers
© Paul Muldoon
My father and mother, my brother and sister
and I, with uncle Pat, our dour best-loved uncle,
had set out that Sunday afternoon in July
in his broken-down Ford
The Frog
© Paul Muldoon
The entire population of Ireland
springs from a pair left to stand
overnight in a pond
in the gardens of Trinity College,
two bottle of wine left there to chill
after the Act of Union.
Tell
© Paul Muldoon
He opens the scullery door, and a sudden rush
of wind, as raw as raw,
brushes past him as he himself will brush
past the stacks of straw
The Birth
© Paul Muldoon
Seven o'clock. The seventh day of the seventh month of the year.
No sooner have I got myself up in lime-green scrubs,
a sterile cap and mask,
and taken my place at the head of the table
The Avenue
© Paul Muldoon
Now that we've come to the end
I've been trying to piece it together,
Not that distance makes anything clearer.
It began in the half-light
Anseo
© Paul Muldoon
When the master was calling the roll
At the primary school in Collegelands,
You were meant to call back Anseo
And raise your hand
Cuba
© Paul Muldoon
My eldest sister arrived home that morning
In her white muslin evening dress.
'Who the hell do you think you are
Running out to dances in next to nothing?
Promises, Promises
© Paul Muldoon
I am stretched out under the lean-to
Of an old tobacco-shed
On a farm in North Carolina.
A cardinal sings from the dogwood
Holy Thursday
© Paul Muldoon
They're kindly here, to let us linger so late,
Long after the shutters are up.
A waiter glides from the kitchen with a plate
Of stew, or some thick soup,
