By Dick Jones


I saw Eternity the other night
Like a great ring of pure and endless light…

A dark treat, this doorway brush with death.

Expecting the shadow-flicker in his neck,

the guttering fuse, she saw that he lay still

and that fine silver dust hung in the air.


Silence boomed in her blood.  She forgot

to breathe.  She stared into the hole in time

through which he’d slipped.  She saw dark wings

that beat too fast for angels’, saw


the broken place where bones come from

and where bones return.  All this in a heartbeat.

Wiser than scripture, swifter than light:

a destination on the other side of grief.




Initially wooed by the First World War poets & then seduced by the Beats, Dick Jones has been exploring the vast territories in between since the age of 15.  Fitfully published in a variety of magazines throughout the years of rambling, grand plans for the meisterwerk have been undermined constantly either by a Much Better Idea or a sort of Chekhovian inertia. So Dick Jones has no prize collection to his name; he has masterminded no radical creative writing programmes in a cutting edge university department; he has edited no recherché poetry magazines with lower case titles.  However, work has been published in a number of magazines, print and online, including Orbis, The Interpreter’s House, Poetry Ireland Review, Qarrtsiluni, Westwords, Mipoesias, Three Candles, Other Poetry, Rattlesnake and Ouroboros Review.

As daily occupation he does the school run, the shopping and the cleaning while his partner earns the money. And for fun and modest profit he plays bass guitar and percussion in a folk roots-and-shoots trio.


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