Bansheewind Recording

Bansheewind

When the temple you seek
lives not in your Lonely Planet,
but in your lonely heart,
a moment of peace may
conjure the buoyant clamour
of a cup-final crowd

When the guide you meet
speaks in pocket-fluff and posies,
be bathed in nonsense,
unfathomable babbles,
waving their vagina
at the beeping cars

It seems to me, blessed as I am
by the arrogance of ignorance,
that the holyman
calls no place home.
I thank the LORD
this life I am a poet

Do not think the poet undisciplined,
we groom our beards in the Spring.
But if prayer must be in a church,
or full of pious dignity,
then call us mad, pissing song
into a banshee wind

From the collection Boulder Awe available to purchase at www.tendedhearth.co.uk