Saturday, January 06, 2018

Buying Shorcake in Brigadoon

—Anonymous Photos
—Poetry by Eamonn Stewart, Belfast, Ireland


The snail-shaped ticket
Machine in the dole…
Rubbing my eyes
To ware the wreckers lanterns,
Tuned-in to those escargotique ondes
My soul mines the ice
At the Lunar poles.

The turnstile’s thaumatrope turns,
But shows exploded views
If its bearings could speak
Ennui, ennui, ennui they’d squeak.

In this Oort Cloud of loneliness
Opportunity knocks
At astronomical distance—
Perihelion is posthumous fame.

 Imagined Oort Cloud


On the day of the transit of Venus
Belfast was overcast.
The Family Court clerk
Metered the Teardrop Effect
From first to last.

My daughter wouldn’t see me
Since I spoke to her like my peers—
Both case reviewed in 244 years.

My First Communion congratulations
Were profane
“Not age-appropriate”
Too urbane.

Later, The Evening Star’s
Portentous Eclat,
Not sleeping, I saw it rise the same.

 Transit of Venus


Bring your own, Beechmount ‘97

In waking’s pay telescope,
The penny drops.
Dreaming’s shove ha’penney machine
Pays-out the lot.

“Where your treasure is, there will your heart be also”
But, untouchable reason doesn’t want to follow.

One swallow didn’t make a summer;
Each ring-pull was not Excalibur retrieved.
Though the sun transfigured the bottles,
Each beer can was not Achilles’ Shield.

Asleep, I felt again
That barbecue’s infernal flames.
Once more you say “Buck-up your ideas or I’ll leave.”
Both of us unhappy, both of us to blame.
In sleep I’d not be the one who mostly grieves.

 Victory of Samothrace
220-185 BC


I dreaded it like the Banshee’s Comb,
The music box works
From a Lourdes tableaux
Some dead pilgrim
Neighbour brought home.

Broken, Ave Maria
In starts and fits
Picking out the notes like nits.
I was scared out of my wits.

On honeymoon, The Victory of Samothrace
Thrilled me with dread
As mum’s lucky “Chile O’ Praig” had—
The one without a head.


Today’s LittleNip:

—Eamonn Stewart

When they release your name
The soul departs
But it is loathe.

The Big Bang fizzles out
And creation maunders into reverse.

Now boffins say there is
No peace in the grave—
And there is water on the moon
And I’ve bought shortcake
In Brigadoon!


—Medusa, with thanks to Eamonn Stewart from across the sea for today's fine poetry! For more about the thaumatrope, see and For more about Oort Clouds, go to

 Eamonn Stewart
Celebrate poetry from across the sea!

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