View free background profile for Galuafa K Nua on MyLife.com. Relationship Status, Political Party. Enjoy nudism with the American Association for Nude Recreation. AANR is affiliated with over 260 clothing optional family nudist resorts across North America, the. A gas- ring. To go home to, body heat,His own lying- in. A tipstaff. Having the last laugh. On devilling barristers, magistrates. He slaved for . Around here. Of course, he’s hated,By the crooked and the straight. Once, I looked for him. From East Gallery at Norwich University of the Arts (NUA), Claude Cahun, Je Tends Les Bas, 1931. Publication 575 - Main Content Table of Contents. Qualified employee plan. Net unrealized appreciation (NUA). From: New Hibernia Review Volume 19, Number 3, Autumn/F. William Bates 1931–2013. Michael O'Flanagan (1933–1935) Cathal In the pages of Shakespeare,Found no- one. Another time. In the dictionaries,Not a trace. A man strayed. From the lore and language of his trade,Left alone with a Christian name. O Liam, Liam, when you rise. The court is still in session. There are no goodbyes. For the man in the wrong profession. I hear you ask Is it blowing. Outside? Old man, forget the assizes—Where you and I are going . Childlessness. My portion, art my one bequest. At every lay- by, whispering feathergrass,Infinite distance. Soulscape, gateless gates. To God’s own acre. I knew I had died. Though the mountains held, and the car still waited,Throbbing, on the hard shoulder. Of existence, while I cried, cried, cried—A trembling ghost, who never would grow older,Self- asperged, in little windblown lakes. Too turbid, dense with unresolved emotion. Ever to see your face, your image take. Awake. In the long dark dripping hours, in the rain. Off the Atlantic, on the glacial lakes. Behind me now, that I drowned you in. Just yesterday, you come to me again. A gust of wind. Then nothing. And that otherworldly feel,Ophelia’s, beneath me, under water,Pleading to be free of this or that—You who are young enough to be my daughter. I should do something for you. But what, what? Save you from suicide? Cook you a meal. At three in the morning? Hover above sleep. And watch your face form slowly out of the deep? But the girl. Asleep in the barracks, weightless it would seem. And naked, is the spirit of Ireland,Well- protected. All my life, a dream—To strip and swim the watery divide,To climb that barracks wall and lie inside her,Fathering a race. Instead, three chimes. In the small hours. Changings of the guard. An ancestor, a shadow self, his crime. My life of exile, beaten black and blue,Is dragged, half- dead, to the execution yard. On she sleeps, too beautiful to be true. I lie awake and listen, in real time,Thinking . At first stout. Then whiskey, and the big emotional weather. Tilting the floorboard, instincts spilling out,The old proclivities. I saw your skirt. Had crept above your knees. A white- haired man. Beside us, leaning over, whispered dirt. Not that I was young myself. Oh no,An hour was a lifetime. Drink up, go. I said to myself, unable to move. All this is over. Get out while you can. Eyes were watching me, without love,From another corner. Glasses, smoke, the dream—I hedged my bets. Water grows a skin. All over again—high summer, and the world. In full resumption. Yesterday, dredged mud,Today, the stunned, electrocuted fishes In..
0 Comments
Leave a Reply. |
AuthorWrite something about yourself. No need to be fancy, just an overview. Archives
January 2017
Categories |