Monday, May 3, 2010

Four poems from Donal Mahoney

Summer Eve

Her lips?
As I recall,
even when she talked
her lips were slung
in a sundown surl
and there was liquor,
always liquor,
just a jigger,
in her walk.

Leprechaun’s Creed

The thing of it is,
says Johnny O,
none of us knows

whether he is
while others announce
after looking around

they beg to differ.
The thing of it is,
says Johnny O,

some would say
he’s here, he’s there,
he’s everywhere

while others would say
after looking around
no one can see him

anywhere--so how
can he be everywhere?
The thing of it is,

says Johnny O,
he’s right over where?
Let’s look around.

Shy Girl

Light ambrosia of the sun
is over all of her.
She is shy

the way the flicker
pink of rabbit eye
is shy. Within the

almond hair, cliffs
of cheek round in, where
unifies her chin.

There, two birds meet
before they carry out her smile.


From shimmering oil
of ebony still

will come flailing of limbs
will come hacking

quick slashing
of hands now untied

tattooing no pattern
not even a maze

depriving gray walls
of their stone

will come spittle
wild churning rivers

agush from slack jaws
of blanching gray hounds

till one day at dawn
will come quiet

Donal Mahoney, a native of Chicago, lives in St. Louis, Missouri. He has worked as an editor for The Chicago Sun-Times, Loyola University Press and Washington University in St. Louis. He has had poems published in or accepted by The Wisconsin Review, The Kansas Quarterly, The South Carolina Review, The Beloit Poetry Journal, Commonweal, The Lesser Flamingo (France), Public Republic (Bulgaria), Revival (Ireland), The Istanbul Literary Review (Turkey), Opium 2.0, Rusty Truck, Pirene's Fountain (Australia) and other publications.

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