the sea! the sea! itself did cry; the fishermen upon the strand,the swans were sleeping in the sand,and in between i’d find,a little book, amongst the rocks,as if lost in time — for the words were all in Irish,and its backing, leather-bind — the sun may set in fire in Galway,but never in my mind …
Author Archives: Shannon O'Neill
“An obedient writing, mine is not, and literature, as any art,must seek irreverence from the start –“and there it was I stopped. The words were grinning on the page,enticing me to misbehave,with promises of better artirreverence would create: for boundaries set by good artists,a great one strives to break. Now: if art is self-expression,a personal …
I saw four horsemen riding by,I stopped them there; I asked themwhy and whereforth do you ride? – – America, they replied. “I am the pale face of fear, that’ssettled on the nation here,”the horseman of the Plague did offerfirst, and laughed, “as much can be accomplishedwhen people are afraid (ch2.loc555); there’s muchto profit off …
What an opportunity! To not just play music, but teach it — not just learn Irish, but speak it; for “broken Irish’s better than,” the quote began, “clever English.” And I have seen the ways that any one who plans an education, will receive it; those out there who dedicate their time to keep these …
“ive had enough!” i cried aloud,i sat cross-legged on the ground,and though i fought these feelingsthat were teeming, rolling seastowards which i ventured,sails open in the screaming windsin vain: no harbor towards which i was bound,no fight against myself could ever bea victory allowed:those tears will smart and stingwith all the bitterness,anger it brings. “i …
how did they taste? thosefleshy seeds in ruby thatchoking through the meat in crushing fruit obtained — how many did you take? enough to ne’r again with us –with us – tosee the light of day;there’s no Persephone inborrowed headstones, nochance of spring to layin wait; even the flowersplaced upon your cursed pillow;both young cut …
the headache came two days before –and then the wind –and then the storm —it poured! it blew the leaves alight –i closed the windows,closed them tight,the sky was painted only gray,and from there , somewhere,lightning came ,her thunder dancing right behind,lo’ laughing, running, hands entwined — the trees waved their helloes, goodbyes,the eaves were …
and you came to me silentlyas the mist in the fall through the treesover the dying leavesand you clung to me closeheld me in my fragile sleepkissed my hair and whispered wordsto ward off winter’s coming keep sonata2012
Turn Off the Piano 