3 poems by Megan McManus


Your face is so definite
it can speak with no mouth.
Though when your mouth talks, it
converses with your eyes
who respond
with remarkable glances
up and down
there are no vacant stairs,
up or down.
The staircases and rooms
of your eyes are well fed,
satisfied and busy
with a thought for
every life
you might lead or could,
for every desert
and rainforest
every empire, every
sonnet for every, sweetheart
I appreciate you.


Ode to W. B. Yeats

Languid, yellow stars
falling through blank staircases
of meridian blue
flute my dreams within
their graceful plummet
as metallic tinnitus
sounds above an atmosphere
of grey evaporation and
glitter fluid tides.
They fall further,
next to me they land.
To him I said

“tread softly because

you tread on my dreams”.



And from my morphine stupor
I heard noise from new lungs
and saw small bones
ensconced safely in warm
soft skin.
And a pair of eyes,
the sweetest and most searching.
Nursing her heat,
gentle innocence
feeling something so immeasurable
and lovely
and pure
that I had little idea what to do.
All light was effervescent and
all sound musical and
now all year
would be a Sunday morning
in June.


By Megan McManus

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