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This poem arose out of a conversation with my friend Kate Mawn and, later, imagining myself on a Summer day in Clare, Kerry, Galway, Mayo or Donegal (anywhere along the west coast of Ireland - my favourite landscape).


Lost Idyll


In this moment

I am in harmony

With myself

And all around me.

I am in it

And it is in me.


I am walking

Through an idyll,

My body in repose,

Perfect repose,

My mind at ease,

Open, receptive


To being awestruck,

As I am,

Over and over,

By the teeming beauty,

That surrounds me.

The colour of colours!


The gentle lapping

Of Atlantic waters -

An absolute sound.

The gentle breeze

Caressing my face -

An absolute touch.


In all this perfection

I feel frustration

Because I don’t know

The names,

Common or proper,

Of some of the flowers.


How could I

Be such a fool?

It’s not as if the flowers

Give a damn

If I know

Their names or not.


It’s just me,

Silly me,

Thinking I can

Box something,

Or capture it

With words.


I can’t!

It is beyond words,

And, in my attempt

To reduce it,

I come out of it

And it is gone.


© Michael Harris

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Replies to This Discussion

Thanks Elisa. Your words capture, precisely, the motivation behind the poem. All the best, Michael


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