Jeff Guess

Tarantella Do you remember an Inn, Miranda? Do you remember an Inn? And the tedding and the spreading Of the straw for a bedding, And the fleas that tease in the High Pyrenees, And the wine that tasted of tar? And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers (Under the vine of the dark veranda)? Do you remember an Inn, Miranda, Do you remember an Inn? And the cheers and the jeers of the young muleteers Who hadn't got a penny, And who weren't paying any, And the hammer at t

To Mistress Margaret Hussey Merry Margaret, As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower: With solace and gladness, Much mirth and no madness, All good and no badness; So joyously, So maidenly, So womanly Her demeaning In every thing, Far, far passing That I can indite, Or suffice to write Of Merry Margaret As midsummer flower, Gentle as falcon Or hawk of the tower. As patient and still And as full of good will As fair Isaphill, Coriander, Sweet pomander, Good C

Said Hanrahan ‘We'll all be rooned,’ said Hanrahan, In accents most forlorn, Outside the church, ere Mass began, One frosty Sunday morn. The congregation stood about, Coat-collars to the ears, And talked of stock, and crops, and drought, As it had done for years. ‘It's looking crook,’ said Daniel Croke; ‘Bedad, it's cruke, me lad, For never since the banks went broke Has seasons been so bad.’ ‘It's dry, all right,’ said young O'Neil, With which astute remark He squatted down

Dreaming in the Shanghai Restaurant I would like to be that elderly Chinese gentleman. He wears a gold watch with a gold bracelet, But a shirt without sleeves or tie. He has good luck moles on his face, but is not disfigured with fortune. His wife resembles him, but is still a handsome woman, She has never bound her feet or her belly. Some of the party are his children, it seems, And some his grandchildren; No generation appears to intimidate another. He is interested in peop

Sea-Fever I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by; And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking, And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking. I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied; And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying, And the flung spray and the blown

The Meadow Mouse 1 In a shoe box stuffed in an old nylon stocking Sleeps the baby mouse I found in the meadow, Where he trembled and shook beneath a stick Till I caught him up by the tail and brought him in, Cradled in my hand, A little quaker, the whole body of him trembling, His absurd whiskers sticking out like a cartoon-mouse, His feet like small leaves, Little lizard-feet, Whitish and spread wide when he tried to struggle away, Wriggling like a minuscule puppy. Now he's

Long Distance II Though my mother was already two years dead Dad kept her slippers warming by the gas, put hot water bottles her side of the bed and still went to renew her transport pass. You couldn't just drop in. You had to phone. He'd put you off an hour to give him time to clear away her things and look alone as though his still raw love were such a crime. He couldn't risk my blight of disbelief though sure that very soon he'd hear her key scrape in the rusted lock and

Love Minus Zero/No Limit My love she speaks like silence Without ideals or violence She doesn't have to say she's faithful Yet she's true, like ice, like fire. People carry roses And make promises by the hours My love she laughs like the flowers Valentines can't buy her. In the dime stores and bus stations People talk of situations Read books, repeat quotations Draw conclusions on the wall. Some speak of the future My love she speaks softly She knows there's no success like f

The Death of the Bird For every bird there is this last migration: Once more the cooling year kindles her heart; With a warm passage to the summer station Love pricks the course in lights across the chart. Year after year a speck on the map, divided By a whole hemisphere, summons her to come; Season after season, sure and safely guided, Going away she is also coming home. And being home, memory becomes a passion With which she feeds her brood and straws her nest, Aware of gho

The Listeners ‘Is there anybody there?’ said the Traveller, Knocking on the moonlit door; And his horse in the silence champed the grasses Of the forest’s ferny floor: And a bird flew up out of the turret, Above the Traveller’s head: And he smote upon the door again a second time; ‘Is there anybody there?’ he said. But no one descended to the Traveller; No head from the leaf-fringed sill Leaned over and looked into his grey eyes, Where he stood perplexed and still. But only a