Author Archives: Nicholas Power

This one-eyed jack, this pop-up, this joker This arrogator, this poor billionaire This matchstick to hard wood, this fire poker This bombastic firework flashing in air His flesh will fade since he’s simply mortal Brittle celebrity not withstanding His wife’s … Continue reading →

walking at night in the woods between my childhood home and the river fully awake and wondering, in a dream both strange and familiar particular trees reach out like lovers, breathing in their distinct rhythms rough skins pulsating with heat, … Continue reading →

white traces of a broom mark the blue where morning sky is swept clean dogs are silent and crows hold their tongues while citizens of Rathdrum stir in their sleep on the green where Parnell’s statue stands – ancient rebel … Continue reading →

down below in the swamp far from the clouds’ reflection in the lake without the aid of sun or any medicine far even from the pale light of stars I am still agile and in good spirits born with the … Continue reading →

Raise high the roof beam carpenters Open wide the city gates Let those once turned away now enter Welcome the ones who are seeking shelter Who has the right to sanctuary? Who is pure enough to stand in a holy … Continue reading →

not merely words for discord what makes the other rich the good old days again verseless penniless in debt til we die kicked out of paradise immersed in hard labour not glib and not sentimental daring not to encrypt ourselves … Continue reading →

We make him famous, with our busy mouths, this man who is more servant than bruised leader, petrified, tangled in his own lines, leaving the reporters cooling their heels. As for me, my lips won’t be sealed in service to … Continue reading →

It’s what you’d do, tempt fate to console her Except you’re busted, her hope’s crushed Caught without the elixir of money Both marching on into the dark We persist in eating and sleeping While rulers write off our identities Invest … Continue reading →

the summer pond is mystical, in winter not merely stone when light slants in a certain way, at a particular time on a particular day, then something happens: an uncertainty wilder than one imagined

the ambiguous pattern of Escher’s tessellated sky shifting, translating, turning about an axis he researches his poems by reading the daily news his perceptual art proudly insincere in its categories of disappearance simulated poetic thinking one more mark in an … Continue reading →