Friendly Berliner –
On the U-Bahn ~ gives the nod:
Our stop for the Zoo.


Big statements abound –
Muscular architecture –
Echoes of Empire.


…and return again –
Enjoy grazing through the streets –
Foie Gras white wine brunch.


Markets in hangers –
That once housed big zeppelins ~
Many worlds since then.


Viennese manners –
Pianist plays ‘Danny Boy’ –
For us, at least thrice.


In Sisi’s garden –
Unsure about Achilles –
Mystery of Greece.


A pleasant aspect –
Neo-Hanseatic hub –
Remember Narva…


Little limestone blocks –
Carefully shaped, white paving –
Grander than an arch.


Christiania –
Bikes of sensible design –
The Children up front.


The most shocking news:
A pond with some dumped plastic –
Evening headlines.


The mad tourist crowd –
Buzzing on the Rialto –
My wife is asleep.


Morning sun on trees –
Yellow, brown leaves ~ tiny flies –
Take their time, also.

Winter Dublin Sun –
Brass Monkey weather, again ~
Mischief in the air…

Spring-feel of the place –
Low bright Sun, red bricks ~ Her light –
Cold-warmth of the place.

By the Grand Canal –
Birdsong, less sweet humansong ~
Very salty chips.

Little crucible:
An offering to the gods ~
Mountains, city, coast.

Project Ends. Twelve Months of Thematic Poetry – March 2011 – February 2012. ©Duncan Cleary. Thanks for watching.


Grateful acceptance of Perfect Poets Award for week 64 of Thursday Poets Rally.”>

I wish to nominate James Meredith for the next award:

Waves Washing Ashore Before Wednesdays

Waves washing ashore before Wednesdays
Before any names for days
Before any names.

Verdant plants lining the foreshore
But no flowers, no grasses swaying in the wind
Nor birds.

A strong high sun, younger
Warm water a soup of life
Insects buzz over white sands.

Plumes rise
From distant mounts
Dusk descends.

Moonless night, sea is calm
Over half the earth, not a single light
Lower Carboniferous, Ireland.

©Duncan Cleary, 08-05-2003


(After Pat Barker’s novel ‘The Eye in the Door’).

I was reborn in a shell hole,

within Picard clay,

a petulant child.

Sibilant shrapnel hissed overhead,

my voice similarly sibilant since.

The vessel was stuck, unable to move and deal with the pain.

And then I came, again.

Command regained.

‘Steady on the left!’


Until, standing alone, I went into the shine of the sun.

Back home, with those who have not been in France, I struggle to contain my contempt,

and stammer like a machine gun.

© Duncan Cleary, 2009.