Triumvirate

triumvirate curling from
the wall with
Monica thrown in
for good measure

the kitchen gods who
oversee the tines
breaking through egg-yolks
after the whites were
finger-strained, separated

searing flames, this
molten centre, carrying forth
burnt offerings on
crackled Limoge, the

flowers are
so delicate

when all are asleep
the crickets sing to her
in the deep dark
punctuated by fireflies

Shaking the Sand from Her Shoes She Sees.....

accidental abstractions, the
towels piled one upon
another,
catalogue colors--
rose pink, marine blue,
loden green,
sunset layers confined
to the linen closet

this final confinement, and
release, to the rain spotting
the pavement, splotching wet,
a study in contrasts

freshwater--rain--so unlike the
seasalt kissed from your
cheek

on this curving stretch of
sand, sand she later
shakes from her shoes,
heels clattering on the
aluminum, smoothing
damp curls back into
tortoise clips

September

sense memories thick and
fast, the jam spilling
from the jar, the
sweet-sick odor of floor
wax in the auditorium,
the clean smell of wood shavings from
freshly sharpened pencils,
the inky essence of
purple-wet worksheets,
the air of sour milk
in the cafeteria

push pins and printed
notices, edicts for our
edification, the sheen
of notebooks new without
a blot, a jot of writing in them

September, new and old,
upon us once again, the
quilts of dried leaves, red,
gold, brown, cover the
grounds, whispering to us
as we walk

Sunday Business Post

video box blares, the
sleek, incomprehensible heads
babble away, blonded, tipped,
lipstick-spackled,
charting the daily cacophony,
battering our ears with
all manner of words

how many column-lengths in
the Sunday Business Post, how
many thick-inked pages to
wrap fish with?

the words rise, aromatic,
and fill her mouth, tickling
her throat as they trickle
stomachwards, woman does not
live by bread

but by the words that
enter through: her eyes, her
mouth, her ears, to feast
upon pages torn and tossed, like lettuce,
into a fine salad

MaryAnn McCarra on Ustream.tv!!!!

MaryAnn McCarra will shortly be broadcasting on Ustream.tv.......


http://www.ustream.tv/MaryAnnMcCarra



Search "MaryAnnMcCarra" no spaces to reach her webpage on Ustream.tv

Stay tuned......

Coddle Pot

A witty, wonderful, new website....by four of the best Irish bloggers.....check it out!!!!

http://www.coddlepot.com\

Citizen Journalist

so the green flag slaps
against the grey of the sky

the ropes of red pearls spot
the pavement, each larger than

the next,
thick-stranded tears

but still, wrap the green flag
round me boys.....to die were
far more sweet

than to live without liberty,
the blood of life, the cup supped

eagerly in spite of the
hands of despots striking at
your throat

Irish American Poets group on Facebook......

There is now a group for Irish American Poets on Facebook......post poems, upcoming events, promotions for forthcoming publications, videos, photographs........


http://www.facebook.com/

Poetry Podcast Updated!!!

MaryAnn's poetry podcast -- available on Podbean -- has been updated!!! A link is available on this website.

Thainig mo ghra-sa

my love came to me
as I wielded the hot
iron, pressing the creases
from a sleeve, steaming to

the end of the cuff, the
drops sprinkled like rain
on the blue
helps too

and did his hands
encircle her waist
as sun dappled the
greenery she sees

so near and far,
fence-separated from
the rattle-hum of
highway roaring on

Friday evenings, and did
his breath blow lightly
on her neck as the
curtain, breeze-billowed,

embroidered with baby
vegetables, flounced, inhaled
and exhaled,
oh my love, my lost one

and yes, his fingers tapered round her
waist, as if marking rough
measurements of her longitudes
and latitudes, pale geography sparked

with silver,
the mapland of the
brainpan, the unknown territories
yet to be traversed while thick
with sleep

and freshly pressed
shirts hang and move,
almost inperceptibly,
in wind-breath