Poems and general conversation from Irish poet Michael O'Dea. Born in Roscommon, living in Donegal. Poetry from Ireland. (poems © Michael O’Dea, Dedalus Press, Amastra-n-Galar)
The word flows
along the tongue
and over the tip:
river on a silt bed,
smooth as glass
over a weir.
Beer-brown,
lumbering
and opulent
the word
elemental like air,
gorged on peatland spill;
warm
in the mouth
like spittle.
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