Song for Annette. by John Doyle

Night drifts us north;

we the toughened birds of Yukon, and Northwest Territories -

and starlight the softness that we need;


and I fall in love with tomcats,

like the hooded bandits orphaned - from the torch-lit shawls and saddles -

of Sandy Denny's April and August songs.


You're electric blue like the bronchioles of night,

and I like that: I like it a lot -

you and me, we've been born in sands that dare the wash of angry sea,


ghosts that dart and haunt the faces -

in lives from office blocks and drunken taxis;

that we may belong here


in the clasps of dipped Latin blue, the Da Vinci verandas

and the coolness overhead, that breaths and whispers -

wings over wood-shacked Yukon, eastwards until we stop at Yellowknife -


and Dublin - that's our corner,

the fold and rippled nest that Gods having

given us, hold and burn the bastard darkness from this throbbing cobweb night

John Doyle became a Mod again in the summer of 2017 to fight off his impending mid-life crisis; whether this has been a success remains to be seen. He has has two collections published to date, A Stirring at Dusk in 2017, and Songs for Boys Called Wendell Gomez in 2018, both on PSKI's Porch.

He is based in Maynooth, County Kildare, Ireland. All he asks is that you leave your guns at the door and tie up your horses before your enter.