The Seashell Anthology of Great Poetry by

Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Poetry
Publisher: The Seashell Press
Published: 2009-11-17T16:00:00+00:00

For his teeth seem for laughing round an apple.

There lurk no claws behind his fingers supple;

And God will grow no talons at his heels,

Nor antlers through the thickness of his curls.

Wilfred Owen, 1918

Next | TOC> Arms and the Boy> Jeffers

Antrim

No spot of earth where men have so fiercely

for ages of time

Fought and survived and cancelled each other,

Pict and Gael and Dane, McQuillan, Clandonnel,

O'Neill,

Savages, the Scot, the Norman, the English,

Here in the narrow passage and the pitiless

north, perpetual

Betrayals, relentless resultless fighting.

A random fury of dirks in the dark:

a struggle for survival

Of hungry blind cells of life in the womb.

But now the womb has grown old, her strength

has gone forth; a few red carts in a fog

creak flax to the dubs,

And sheep in the high heather cry hungrily that

life is hard; a plaintive peace; shepherds

and peasants.

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