Cancellations

by Taidgh Lynch

We queued at the check-in desk

staring at the arrivals

and destination panels

hearing a doomed overhead

voice booming out cancellations.

We counted the hours and

watched passer-bys, collect bags

and ghost towards exits, with

faces well worn, leaving us

alone in the haunted halls

with nothing but news updates

to pin on our hopes of home.

Constant

by Taidgh Lynch

We enter deep mountains,

alone and dark in our thoughts,

with footsteps echoing constant,

and wind screeching fierce in our ears.

Up above the sky is tempest,

an empty hole full of space.

Stories in the Grass

by P.B. Adams

If one can be quiet while roses

are just blooming in the east,

nature sleepy still–a small bird

piping perhaps or a dragonfly softly

darting and hovering, the mercurial

silver beat of air whipped briefly for speed

and wind just light upon your cheek,

a breath that sweeps deep

sleep from sodden eyes, hushing

the waking world for a moment–

in such a moment you may hear

stories in the grass. Naturally,

there will be some rasping

complaints about a lack of rain

or too much sun or biting green

locusts from the tall slender stalks,

throats parched with height–but listen

close, the tender young greens beneath

will be whispering the gossip they keep

passing through every field in one halcyon

green wave that sets the raspberry

red clover heads off with knowing nods,

the sweet scent rising to almost

a giggle, soothing a waking meadow

to patience with the world.

Stories are whispered in dawn

meadows but truthfully without

words each brings the will to hear

himself or nothing but the empty wind

among the rustling leaves of grass.

One Blue Morning

by P.B. Adams

The wharf was silent, sunlight level
between bay and fog hovering
over coast, clinging fearfully
as a reluctant child afraid
of the deep when I saw the still
dream bound world turn blue.

A blue fog reflecting ultramarine
sea slapping weathered wharf
planking and pilings ashen
blue even more ancient in days
than the old fishermen
huddled in their heavy navy
macs and slate blue pipe
smoke so like the pallor
of their drawn faces
and beryl hands starving
for sea air. Ocean blue
haunting every story,
and the very piers
where they linger dreaming
of the larger life at sea that electrifies
minds with storm and struggle
then escape of the deep
sleep in the hands of angels.

The buildings beyond the wharf too
were blue, some still twinkling
incandescently against the remains
of midnight blues and the lonely
forgotten many who come and go
never knowing more than the small
dry world of factory, tenement house,
and asphalt streets that melt
shoes and hearts alike
in their comings and goings
yet all cast in blue as the silent
new day shyly creeping
upon their shaded indigo
and still drab doors muted
among dreams and shut fast
against what comes and goes 

prowling in the night.

Then looking down
from my place on the pier,
I saw bountiful colors
in the sea at dawn–
the green sea grasses,
the red, yellow, orange
darting fish unconcerned
with the blue world above.

Once

by Taidgh Lynch

The sky darkened,
and the stars gathered
as we sifted through dirt and fragments,
carefully uncovering a man
quiet and skeletal,
fragile and peat,
fingers sharp as little arrows,
thin curled toes like shaved obsidian,

and a skull shaped like the moon.

We knelt, picking our minds
for information
wondering who this man was
and where he hunted food.
Travelling with no roads
or maps as guides
only the stars.

Star Leaves

by Taidgh Lynch

The damp weather curtains in,

the half-empty moon peeks out

at autumn shadows.

Leaves settle in piles

growing into streams and then rivers

spilling up and out into the open sky.

Weather Report

by P.B. Adams

The pearl shoals of dawn fog
rolled away with sunrise
like a brooding winter gray
roller when blue spring
skies appear. Chasing after
came schools of expansive snowy
fish, adorned with improbable
fins, curling and bristling.
Then coming rapidly apace, clouds
like white breakers chasing them
all further inland. It will be a hot day.

The ocean rises along
all our coasts sending picture
postcard announcements to these
many islands in advance. Learn to swim.