Canto CCCLXVII

When daylight prods into the travel cot
and baby girl alerts us to the fact,
I rise to lift her out without a thought

and place her down gently at the exact
mid point between my pillow and her Mum’s.
Sometimes we all agree a silent pact

to sleep another hour despite the sun…
and you can take your leave now, dearest reader,
these iambic confessionals are done

and I’m anxious to reinforce the border
between my family’s bubble and the world.
The ebb and flow of linked Terza Rima

continues elsewhere, endlessly unfurls—
the words that I lobbed in were only pebbles,
the flow was always there, as eternal

as rivers that vanish below ground level
to leave the jurisdiction of the ear.
Some of the world’s worst poems are immortal.

The verse endures, the poet disappears.

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4 Comments (+add yours?)

  1. Steve
    Aug 31, 2012 @ 11:26:24

    Have loved following these. Thank you Niall. Is there also the suggestion here of the reader having become in your mind a kind of stalker, feeding off the poet’s intimate life (that line “you can piss off now, my dearest reader” – ouch)?

    But then that is your job, no, to challenge us “dear” (and probably not-so-dear) readers? For that, gratitude.

    Reply

    • Niall O'Sullivan
      Aug 31, 2012 @ 19:41:49

      Hey Steve, Thanks so much for the support. I’ve actually edited the post to soften the “piss off” bit. Felt right at the time but kind of leaps out when I look at it now.

      Reply

      • Steve
        Sep 10, 2012 @ 18:45:21

        Haha. Love the fact that “piss off” becomes “take your leave”. Language is so bloody powerful, isn’t it. Am missing having these poems pop into my inbox on a nightly basis. Part of the “magical thinking” that starts to happen when the poems pop up regularly enough, is that in some way they’re being written ESPECIALLY FOR YOU. So in that sense, it’s probably best that some “closure” gets effected on the part of the poet and reader whether by piss-off, or take-your-leave.

        Regardless, I bloody love these year-long projects of yours and look forward to seeing what you’ve got up your sleeve. I admire your descriptive-writing, but its the personal stuff that really delivers a belly-blow to the solar-plexus and a whomp to the heart. Thanks, Niall.

  2. peter litton
    Sep 01, 2012 @ 00:49:33

    The end of an era and it feels like the day after the Olympics…a bit of an anticlimax. No more getting home from work and switching on the PC to find what kind of poem the day had brought. The best thing about this series was its diversity of subject matter and style. It was interesting to speculate on what kind of mood you were in when you wrote each poem. I think, at times, the series became rather personal but that was inevitable as you sought to stretch your poetic boundaries. I enjoyed reading all the poems but I think the best ones were when you wrote descriptively; I’m thinking of the boxing , the Grand National and the numerous London street scenes.
    I hope my comments were not too tedious, their sole purpose was to act as a kind of applause and to encourage me to read and consider each poem.

    Two thoughts on the last terza rima of the series.

    It’s fitting that it should start with Rosy who inspired so many of the poems.

    It reminded me of a Shakespearean epilogue in the way it bought the series to a close.
    Now I will piss off 🙂

    Reply

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