Poetry

In those days

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In those days, when Heim was still well, walking three miles every morning, silver hair under a broad-brimmed hat, hands in the pockets of his linen jacket… In those … halcyon days, when I walked miles every morning, too, sometimes with Heim, sometimes with his daughter, speaking in little but German, your name on...
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You think it strange. It will come true.

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And now a word in uncouth rhyme Of what shall be in future time Then upside down the world shall be And gold found at the root of tree All England’s sons that plough the land Shall oft be seen with Book in hand The poor shall now great wisdom know Great houses stand...
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The Lament for Ur

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The Lament for Ur

The evil wind, like a rushing torrent, cannot be restrained. The weapons in the city smash heads and consume indiscriminately. The storm whirled gloom around the base of the horizon — the people groan. In front of the storm, heat blazes — the people groan. A fiery glow burns with the raging storm.
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The Book Burner, the Sleeper and the Stalking Womb

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The Book Burner, the Sleeper and the Stalking Womb

Details Date: 2011 (Composed between 2007-2011) Run Time: 3.1 Hours Published by: Stag Records Download: Internet Archive The Book Burner, the Sleeper, and the Stalking Womb by Tom Fahy Between storms in a wooden chair in tall grass, your hair drying, wisps in the wind, I watch from within the circumference of willow roots,...
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See You In Sheol

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Worlds do die, necessarily, by agency of their parasites who with lances for reverence swing, pad larders, pack troves, defend unwinsome broods, toothy hordes, bowlegged ciphers; while down on them bear the White Reasoning Devils, with razor-sharp jawbones, prepared with will to crimp iron in their fists, to rob of light and to pot...
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Keeping a sort of watch on sails by night…

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There is a spirituality about this place, and about the time... Christmas... that does tend to make one a little bit melancholy. And one thinks of one's friends and family, and you know that they're thinking of you. And the sense of separation is somehow increased by the loneliness.
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Mr. Williams, can you tell me, simply, what poetry is?

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(Q. Mr. Williams, can you tell me, simply, what poetry is? A. Well . . . I would say that poetry is language charged with emotion. It’s words, rhythmically organized . . . A poem is a complete little universe. It exists separately. Any poem that has worth expresses the whole life of the...
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Time passing light.

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Car engines pass and slowly the air becomes still again. Music soft touches cheeks. Filters through rooms, gently pausing to watch it fill with light.
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Madrid

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Woke up sweating ate a croissant got dressed under duvet
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The North Wind (Velour et Crochet)

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Craftsbury, no-man’s land, on a plateau above birch forests, an empty commons, men carrying axes, women with children in rotting papooses. A hard, fast drive east to 91, 91 to 55, 55 to 10, 10 over the St. Lawrence into old, old, OLD Montreal … She says, “I have to keep my options open...
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