NIGHT IS A PECULIAR ANGLE

O love

Tear me from

Your angles

Bruise me in the terror of light

That thirst, before a kiss

Where a dark painting hangs like hunger

The night moves slowly

In your veins

Like marble

Lean, in the purple gowns of hiulcity

Shaken like a dove

Closed in the darkened ochre landscape

Warm are the tears of first flight

Blood on the red bird’s mouth

Go wash your face

In ashes

In an age

There is no one older

Than God

Or that shadow on the wall

That escapes the cage

Of day

Bio

Alan Patrick Traynor is a Poet from Dublin Ireland. He is the author of SEVEN DAYS OF ASHES, EDIT NOT MY SOUL & his latest collection UNTIL THE BROKEN CLOUDS ANSWER that laments the world around the Irish Poet.

It has been said that his poetry is like the mystical galvanic paint that sets the fields of Provence on fire.

by Alan Patrick Traynor

© Nov 24th

2023