Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page

To be a poet is often more of an unsought responsibility than a coveted distinction. Good poems are written because they have to be, and not necessarily because their authors want them to be.

Of course more people feel the urge to express themselves than have the confidence to do so.

What matters is that all who feel impelled to write poems should do so, without concerning themselves with success or failure.

Our poem this week comes from Tommy Curran of the Mallow Poetry group.

This is a poem that Tommy "had to write" and in doing so he captivates those almost inexpressible haunted feelings of one who has overindulged on a "night out on the town" in Cork City.

Many of us have had such an experience but Tommy's poem is an imaginative revelation.

DEATH OF A PURITAN

Sunday night: across the river
Lavatts Quay waits for Monday.
Vacant buildings: above these,
the dark half of the moon
is the whole night-sky.
Pints of Murphys: too half drunk,
I walk the Honda along Popes Quay.

Shandon Street Hill: I push hard.
Up here it's closing-time.
As all over Ireland,
people flow out onto pavements,
some already eat their takeaways.
I push very hard.

Donnellys Fish And Chip Shop: I stop,
glance over my shoulder, and there,
on the backdrop of the dark half
of itself, the yellowing moon
quickens its fall towards the Lee,
grows optically bigger, intending soon
to go underground in Cork,
to sink into the poetry scene...
breathless, hungry.

© Tommy Curran