BECAUSE it is the bank holiday. Because it is June, almost. Because there is a sniff of summer and its possibilities although 11Celsius reads on the desktop dock as I knock out this poetry at the straggle end of May. Cast not a clout, but perhaps a fishing line or anchor with encouragement from artist, poet, critic Jo Slade. ‘Boats’ is from Limerick City of Culture anthology, ‘Dream of a City’
Boats
A blue boat drifted toward the river bank. Tied to a tree stump an old red cot*/ hidden in the cool shade of trees was watchdog.
The river was quiet in its silver./ The sky filled it with clouds that wove through the sheen/ of its garment or suddenly blown under/ wings rose in a plash from the water.
The blue boat drifted closer drawn by a thread of wonder./ In the stillness of evening sun slipped behind trees – / the world deepened and darkened.
At its own will the red cot broke moorings/ it loosed on the water nudged by a breeze./ What are they like drifting up river/ these dark forms these old poets journeying together ?
* ‘Cot’ is a traditional Irish river boat
