CONTENT="irish poetry, Irish poetry, Ireland, Irish poets, Irish poems, poetry in Ireland, innovative poetry, experimental poetry, alternative poetry, avant-garde, contemporary poetry, modernist poetry, neo-modernist, neomodernist">

The Course of Nature
If heaven too had passions even heaven would grow old ~ Li Ho

Poor angels their high regard
fixed beyond the outer
horizon of stars

with tranquil fascination
watch the generation
and destruction of worlds

their urgent stride
shatters the capitals
of empires their serene

breath and thunderous wings
blast continents and seas
until sometimes randomly

distracted by the stray
falling of a small songbird
the delicate drift of white

ash inside a furnace
their eyes clouded
with unbearable pain and weariness

oblivious of their feet
bleeding from flints
vast wings moulting

and raw with neglect
newly they survey
all the tiny and discrete

effects of the world
and weeping to witness
such quick and irreversible decay

they stoop to gather them
into eternity and so
become the prey of immense

cats that sniff them
out to maul and play
fully dismember as they dine

on the rare giblets
of felled seraphs
and their squab


© Trevor Joyce