| This Edition's Poetry |
Dropped By A Peacock
I can no more justify these poems
than can the pyromaniac
his conflagrations. We both
stand back, the pyromaniac
in his alley, I on my hill,
each of us loving
the leap of our flames.
His are gazelles but mine
are just feathers
dropped by a peacock.
by Donal Mahoney
Email: This e-mail address is being protected from spambots. You need JavaScript enabled to view it