Carlisle Pier

by

Hay Machine

Part I

Outward Voyages

November train from Westland Row its oily doors present
last in a line of hungry souls dressed in a tweed lament
marbled cardboard case in hand an Afton plume and scent
Arigna's seams to yield no more no more his shoulder bent
grey all the colours in his heart and dry his every tear
since icecap melt his name endured set now to disappear

Picture folded twice within his wallet made from hide
his mother dressed in black with shawl his father stands beside
behind a whitewashed cabin there a sweathouse on the right
his silent life recorded by the lakes without delight

In Keadue in Roscommon living off the beaten track
blind Carolan the harper lived but that brings nothing back
there still live Noones the Mntons gone did Noonans disappear
the mailboat sounds its horns like doom this night on Carlisle's pier

A ticket bought in Sligo for the train to Camden town
with money under mattress stored since Parnell fought the crown
the uncrowned king this platform rode and Griffith in his wake
where Kitty ran in winter coat for Michael's lonesome sake

George the fourth his father gone to Heaven's harbour gate
arrives in Kingstown (bears his name) and not a day too late
a thousand years before him mighty Laoghaire built a throne
but the plinth on balls commemorates the madman's son alone

This bitter cold November night I hear a lone gull scream
a million souls and more have lived this nightmare Irish dream
dragged from a lime-washed home to sail a cold despondent sea
thrown to the navvy queues that stretch as far as Brightlingsea

November train from Westland Row its oily doors present
a miner from Arigna there who could not pay his rent
he knows a man from Leitrim living well in Camden town
who wrote to say he'd keep him until something comes around

Joyce and Beckett paid the price of small rejecting minds
and sailed for good from Carlisle's deck and left their place behind
somewhere in his Exiles Joyce observes what exiles learn
they pay a heavy ransom toll if ever they return

In this rolling land of green with mists and Celtic folklore tales
a Polish poet once remarked with measured weighing scales
notwithstanding charm and calm the emerald island chokes
from dense effects of all this mist its people sightless folks

November train from Westland Row its oily doors present
the poor that would always be with us if we didn't Carlisle-invent
flushed from our time with the salty brine of England's Irish sea
under the care-less half-filled eye in the fog no one can see

We didn't know nor understand nor what could we otherwise do
Arigna's time had come and gone and that was that for you
we had a life with comforts deep our children tennis-trained
while you with blackened crease of face in mine-pit still remained

We did not see you underground on all-fours dripping wet
we saw a lithographic screen of Welshmen no one met
out of sight and out of mind in misery condemned
electrified our post-war lives means justified the end

November train from Westland Row its oily doors present
nature's perfect balance sheet in sand and in cement
Carlisle's outstretched tongue prepares its contents there to spit
an innocent in dowry tweeds engrained with carbon's grit

Part II

Homecomings

Could Carlisle Pier re-engineered receive and kiss with care
and house who come with open arms and comfort their despair
I think when Joyce and Gogarty were first upon their tower
they struggled with our native flaw this cruel destructive power

From up upon the turret high Buck Mulligan could see
the Anglo-Irish Carlisle pier though short effectively
it welcomed King and Empress Queen to their western kingdom come
they walked its decks and strode ashore when instincts said to run

November Dart from Westland Row its sliding doors present
a thousand souls with tickets bought to enter Carlisle's tent
the percussionist from the orchestra is pacing on the pier
soprano drinking milkless tea her thrush's throat to clear

The seats are filling steadily the houselights through its sails
on purple royal and yellow masts so bright the moonlight pales
conductor enters from the left to rousing cheer'd applause
with baton tap and toss of hair relaunches Carlisle's cause

Around its many seaside decks and open promenade
the Carlisle Pier resembles more a cruise ship serenade
its passengers are all who want to sail the Heaven's seas
remembering those who came before in dark November breeze

November train from Westland Row its oily doors present
last in a line of hungry ghosts dressed in a tweed lament
marbled cardboard case in hand an Afton plume and scent
Arigna's seams to yield no more no more his shoulder bent
he sees the corner turned at last his destination near
at peace and right our meeting place historic Carlisle Pier

NEXT?
Why don't you look at Poblada de tristezas
by: Noris Roberts
from: Caracas, Venezuela

To visit all of Hay Machine's poems, click HERE

Check out these deals at Amazon.com

...the best independent ISP in the Twin Cities

To write us about this page,
contact willy@dreamagic.com (Willy Chaplin)