Doppelgänger

I saw you down O’Connell Street, first to cross the pedestrian crossing

Still, still after all these years, still in a rush, you didn’t see me, or did you

Is that why you moved so swiftly, away from my piercing eyes

I had been talking, in the Palace Bar, to that Tom Carney, the lawyer farmer

He said I had caught it, you know, the regret, he said I had caught it, with the repetition

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Injured Yet Joyful

A couple of lawyers, you wouldn’t if you could, tales to take the wind’s sails, no really, really you should

And kick her on the leg, say sorry a hundred times, say you’ve ridden around Kerry, say you love her, say everything’s fine

And you love him like a brother, he’s planted trees as no other, he’s helped to find that land of plenty, for to give it to the poor

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Giving The Given

Imagine this, I doubt if you can, he is the new Capability Brown, the most philanthropic man I’ve met this week

He works in Dublin town, plays lawyer for the crown, but spirits the money away into the land, o boy he’s way out there, something grand, and I met him this week

Imagine this, I doubt if you can, he says that I am a poet, and that I have written the perfect poem this week

I work in an old England town, mostly I play the clown, and spirit away the money by following bands, o joy he’s given me quite a hand, good that I met him this week

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Man of Substance

Be there, as the time plays on, stay on that peaceful joyous note

As if all day the sun’s rays shone, as if the goth and his grand-father held hands till the day had gone

Why would I doubt you, a mind with such fine shoes, as if all the rich and famous haven’t already stayed here in the Gresham Hotel

Where you remembered that afternoon, almost thirty years ago to the day, sat at a dining table with Professor PJ O’Reilly

Watching the men of the cloth, in their crocodile skin shoes, taking all on tap, with a slight nod, to their Holy Father

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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Reader

All in this body, all in this mind, all open to rediscovery, such a thing of such a kind

All in all this morning, all in all, all this day, is open to the tinker, the tailor, the soldier, the spy, and the catcher in the rye

All in all this hearing, all in all this breathing, all in all to the keeping, of such a thing, as an open mind

From Christopher Sanderson's Ireland Poems
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