After a novel, co-founding a small poetry press, and a professional career, Richard Simonds has turned from private, personal poetry to public poetry. He was an English major at Columbia a long time ago. Richard Simonds experiences of life are unique. He has the guidance from Peter Money (who published a novel in Ireland two years ago) and Gracie Bialecki.

A Visit to Inishfree

The curlew called to me in the West,
the grave by your ancestor’s church,
Ben Bulben shrouded in mist.

Jutting concrete pier,
into black water,
full of slightest ripples;
across, I see the lonely mound.
A wooden landing,
waits for me perhaps,
arriving in a rowboat,
sacks of beans, and beehives.

But as I stare,
lingering, savoring,
no sound of lapping,
or linnets, or fish, or frogs,
just banks of mossy rocks,
thin tan reeds,
a sublime stillness,
forever-frozen time,
oblivion-dreams, of
just lying there, under
moons and suns,
arms by my side,
fill my mind;
I sleep,
and listen for the voice
of the curlew.