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  • Writer's pictureHiram Larew

Stanza Cannon Features Two Poems

Appreciations to Editor Andrew "Ink" Feindt of Stanza Cannon for showcasing audio recordings of two poems -- Achill Sound and Smart Dumb -- on his journal's platform.


Here's the link to the Stanza Cannon site -- https://stanzacannon.com/issues/issue-seven#larew-achill…


And here is the text of both poems --


Achill Sound


When the roads curve like sound

and dip as if lifting to bow

Whenever all thoughts round or cluster

or when hearts call down

is Ireland


And as rich when poor was

or as wise as bare heads in snow seemed

and as twigs so frail broke into song

and as true as any blight or potato could be

was Ireland


So when sand laps the senses

or salt drips the edges as dreams

Whenever hope streams through such heavens

and moss comes home

or hearts beam down

is Ireland.


Notes: This poem was written at a writers cottage on Achill Island, County Mayo, Ireland. The Irish Potato Famine occurred from 1845-1849. UK composer and songwriter, Geoff Wilson set the poem to music and recites it here -- ACHILL SOUND by Geoff Wilson (soundcloud.com)

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Smart Dumb


She was born inside out

the size of a heavy orange.

And the story goes that she was wobbly from the very start.

Even as a little girl

she was so smart and so damn dumb together --

that’s the way sometimes.


Well, wouldn’t you know it,

dead solved the problem.

The full story isn’t important

but what is is that at about nineteen or so

she fell jaw drop in love

with someone who just wouldn’t, couldn’t and didn’t.

Someone, like too close to a fire --

Yes, with those kind of eyes.


And the thing was there was no warning her at all.

Not any.


And oh my goodness

the rumors were rich enough to live on.


But here’s the thing really --

She ended up like a tree toppled over

with all the roots up in the air.

Hers was a big sideways life

that just never really got started.

And of course, she’s gone now but is wholly famous.


That’s what starting out with too many wants

will do in an all or nothing sort of way.

So, the lingery question is this --

Is it truly best to leave nature alone,

or invite it in for a chat over dinner?


Notes: I read this poem lovingly in another voice.



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