Tuesday, October 4, 2022
Embers and ash by Dennis Moriarty
Hand rolled and glued to my lips I smoke
this room like a spliff
thick earthy autumnal smoke, windfall fruit
in the orchard,
my lungs a flaming grate of apple wood.
I am listening to the night
the elemental grunt, groan and gasp of copulation,
the rain naked and responsive
to the thrusting wind, a frenzied coupling, octaves
of please in the chimney breast.
I am listening to the voice of despair, harrowing
chants of tawny,
an owl lost in the loneliness of longing, searching
for a soul mate,
the back and forth of advance and repel, the serve
and return of unrequited love,
ping pong balls of moon in the star lit wood.
I draw on the spliff,
my lungs hot and heaving, trying to decipher the
dialects of darkness
until the owl lapses into a silence of acceptance,
and pricked by a branch,
the moon deflates and the stars ebb on the incoming
tide of dawn,
the rain comes in a final climatic squall and the wind
slips into post coital slumber.
I close my eyes and smoke this room to it’s inevitable
conclusion, a dull glowing tip of embers and ash.
Dennis Moriarty was born in London, England and now lives in Wales. Married with five grown up offspring Dennis likes walking the dog in the mountains, reading and writing.
In 2017 he won the Blackwater poetry competition and went to county Cork in Ireland to read his work at the international poetry festival. Dennis has had poems featured in many publications including Blue nib, Our poetry archive, Setu bilingual, The passage between and others.
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