David Tierney – Three Poems

 

poetDavid Tierney is from Galway, Ireland, and is currently doing the MA in Writing in NUI Galway. He’s previously had his poetry published in the NUI Galway student newspaper, and in two collections at Cardiff University. He’s also written video game reviews and features for a small gaming site, powerupgaming.co.uk.

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A family of four sits down for dinner;
the father orders seafood chowder, starter,
steak, rare, main.
Three wrinkled men sit at the bar,
Guinness decreasing synchronously,
methodical gulps.
A young couple press their thoughts together,
I see his skinny arm pondering its placement,
try to blend crude oil and water.

On the 42” 4K LED TV
huddled in the embossed ceiling’s corner,
Sky News is muted,
shows war in a land far far away;
outside, orange light
catches green leaves’ flight;
hail bombards the streets.


Sunny Skies

I don’t care about your trees,
don’t dislike your ice.
I don’t rise my bulbous gaze,
don’t set my head at night.
I’m not sad, for I don’t miss you,
you are, for you miss me.
Don’t cry when I don’t kiss you,
for I don’t feel a thing.

I burn,
like an oven,
it’s everything I do.
And it’s not for lack of love or luck,
that I’ll be burning all of you.


Woodwork

The 30-year-old couple
drag a felling saw to and fro
halfway through a chest of drawers,
held together with glue, nails,
sturdy dovetail joints.

Yellow, tattered books, photos billow
from the cracking corpse,
Sawdust permeates the air,
pyramids on the kitchen floor.

Friends and family sit, stand, stare,
remember how he sung her song,
how she wept at the altar.

Son and daughter whisper, wail,
screech, smelling sweet sap,
oozing out the oak.

Yet the couple keeps sawing,
sweat-drenched foreheads, red eyes,
blisters popping on palms.

All they see are woodmites,
all they smell is rot.

 

 

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