Three Poems by Paul Connolly

Blue Flowers

The long summertime’s fall,
abrupt as Damascus curtains,
was only noticed afterwards,
after the night’s leaf-shush
and rainfall, which presaged and prepared
this first graphite morn
of autumn. Blue border flowers
poured out from an office wall
in a summer liquid, more blue
for the downpipe-water air
they were pouring through and dyeing.
Their edges were torn. They had
dark patches, were bruised,
in a few weeks they wouldn’t be there.
But now they were gratia plena.

Dump Rivers

Baked and sandy eddies renew their ooze
in brown slush, freeze-silvery ejaculations
past splayed ironing boards, earth smoke, cans of booze,

hemmed by scrub and old man’s beard. Smurs stack atop
smur, and behind them hidden yonds confuse
terrors with everything rolling on and on.

Meeting Once Again

What is it now,
almost thirty years, save some chance sightings
across rifts, ploughed
in fine scoring
on faces or hewed between them, isopleths of feud,
at funerals’ hungover mornings
where you were viewed
but not absorbed?

I’d frozen you before
those glimpsed differences,
which didn’t thaw
your cast role, for memory says
you are a passed
simplicity raw and perfect
we’d wanted to hide in, fast
and stowed away.

What does it say,
all the amplitude of what you know,
this thickened play
of life, which shows
you at ripeness, a new bounty,
lets you foreclose
the ground, walk past me
and take the lead?

So that my need,
always fitful, sleepless, which blurts out, can’t
screw this up, take my hand please,
place your other on my heart,
quicken then still it, so
that we may start
afresh, and I can know
what we’re about.


Paul Connolly’s poetry has appeared in Agenda, The Warwick Review, Poetry Salzburg Review, The Reader, The Dawntreader, The Journal, Scintilla, and will soon appear in Sarasvati. Shortlisted for the Bridport and Charles Causley Prizes, he was third in the Magna Carta Competition and Highly Commended in the Sentinel Literary Quarterly Competition.

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