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Dermot McGarthy Poems
Seagulls congregate like taxis along the liffey walls, Lovers lock lips for September memories, As street beggars inspect their daily hauls. A man trudges homeward under the heavy burden of guilt,
Nature Always Wins
The tricolor of blue, Mingles with the sea's essence, and, Newly born memories of you, Like the cascades of pink and green,
Timeless like sleep. Like laughter, and the sacrificial bleat, Of those that wallow in defeat, Unchanged, permanent, infinite and forever,
They poured trust, entangled with, Remote memories of lust, In cradle type recognition, Of one who has traveled,
Of all the things he killed, He regretted killing time the most, During that long season of love, When he played catch-up to the host.
King of The Jungle
(For Francie 1956-2009) He went back to look for his youth, In echoes, shadows and stains,
For Joey Ramone 1951-2001
The scrub-land jingle jangled, Between Forest Hills and Flatbush Avenue. You gave it a voice, and you were it's echo, From Rockaway beach and the High Schools,
Postcard from Basildon
(For Music Lovers Everywhere) A Central European girl,
Atlantis Silhouettes of humanity mingle freely here, The past to cherish, the present to fear.
Wally Lives In Wisconsin
Under the wings of the Golden Eagle, Wally was born in Wisconsin, By buxom youth, now feeble. He chomped on blue cheese burgers,
Music is her morning drug, Overdosing on her lover's lasting hug, She showers in freedom's water, Lathers her body in future's gel,
Comments about Dermot McGarthy
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
Seagulls congregate like taxis along the liffey walls,
Lovers lock lips for September memories,
As street beggars inspect their daily hauls.
A man trudges homeward under the heavy burden of guilt,
Another searches for his conscience in vain,
Among the city's filth.
Youngsters sail by in innocent guile,
Judge, jury and defendants in some far flung future trial.
Life's sinful soldiers eagerly possessed,
Mingle freely with the sorrowful, the gentle, the repressed.
If the volume were turned down,
Then we could see the true color of this town,
No beeps, ...