Dennis Moriarty is originally from London England but has lived in South Wales UK for thirty years. Married with five children Dennis enjoys reading, writing, walking.
This year he won the Blackwater poetry group competition and read his work at the Blackwater international poetry festival in Ireland. Dennis loves all things Welsh and speaks a little bit of the Welsh language.
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| Dennis Moriarty |
The Undressing
He is a storm gathering far out at sea,
Oceanic stirrings
That can no longer be contained
Within silence.
The boom of emerging tides, the yearning
For land.
Salt lash of waves on rocks of resistance
And then
The final push, the rush towards sand,
Over the beach,
Scaling the sea wall, a tidal surge
Of desire.
She is the damp freckled sands of opportunity,
The spit of land
At his journeys end, her heart the sea wall
Breached. She stands mesmerized
By his hard uncompromising nakedness,
Empowered by attraction.
She steps towards him closing the gap between
Need and want.
Holds out her arms and he peels the clothes
From her flesh,
Strips the flesh from her bones, a breathless
Parting of the waves,
The frantic undressing of her soul.
***
Urban Atmospheric
A maudlin day of fallen leafs and a sibilant
Sinister wind
Two doors down a dog is barking a raw
Ominous sound
That rattles the gate and shatters
The windows
Roof tops merge darken under an ensemble
Of cloud
And the first rain falls slowly a soft tickle
In the drainpipes
That soon becomes exploding knuckles
Of angry fists
Pounding the pavements to fragments
Of bone
And over the top the wind comes shrieking
Throttling the trees
Turning them upside down inside out
Tearing
A few remaining leafs from the groaning
Branches
Swallowing a final bark the dog whimpers
Cowering in the porch
And in the back yard a dustbin lid strikes
The hour.
***
Maternal Day
Damp earth, wood smoke in the valley,
The air thick
And pungent as marijuana,
Late winter
Droplets of rain grafting their buds
Onto early spring branches
And footsteps on a nearby path, the
Grey crackle of static.
Grounded birds, silent birds, hedgerows
Bulging like a larynx
Swollen with a song too damp to sing.
A tractor on the hillside
Crooning, painfully out of tune.
Ducks like characters
From an old black and white film stutter
On the shapeless water,
A slash of colour, mallard drakes engraved
On hammered pewter.
And the morning, out here with me, going
In search of it’s maternal day.
Dennis I love this selection of your work. In fact I've never yet read anything by you that I didn't like. Bravo, my friend, keep up the good work! Thank you!
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