Poetry in Motion ~ Gatherings from Ireland # 67

Spring Buds on Rose ‘Poetry in Motion’

I remember talking to someone years ago about ‘Love’s young dream’  and being caught on the hop with her response, ‘Oh, you mean Love’s old hat …..’   I certainly realised then that  Love has different guises and I’ve been keeping an eye out for them ever since as well as being rocked all over the place by many of them as I’ve travelled through life.

So, that’s the background to the theme of a Poetry Gathering which I was initiated on my poetry thread on the Linkedin Group: TED ~ Ideas Worth Spreading. The thread has been weaving since September 2011 and I’ve written about it here before:


This Love Gathering ran from midnight on Valentine’s Day to midnight last night.

I wondered was I kinda stretching it by extending it beyond the confines of Valentine’s Day and running it beyond rather than before the day that is so associated with Love.

Well, let me tell you, it was quite an experience with love of all descriptions being raised by people from all round the world through the works of published poets who have been writing about love forever, it seems.

This morning, though, there a sense of being totally buoyed up by the power and passion of the whole thing but also severe withdrawals.  So, let me bring you one of the poems that  emerged in the course of the few days. It’s by the wonderfully talented Michael Donaghy (1954-2004), who was born into an Irish family in New York and later moved to Britain where he was a key part of the poetry scene and of a number of Irish music groups:

 The Present 


Michael Donaghy 

For the present there is just one moon, 
though every level pond gives back another. 

But the bright disc shining in the black lagoon 
perceived by astrophysicist and lover, 

is milliseconds old. And even that light’s 
seven minutes older than its source. 

And the stars we think we see on moonless nights 
are long extinguished. And, of course, 

this very moment, as you read this line, 
is literally gone before you know it. 

Forget the here-and-now. We have no time 
but this device of wantonness and wit. 

Make me this present then: your hand in mine, 
and we’ll live out our lives in it.