Two Poems by Damien Healy

Summer

 

Stifling heat subdues even the firefly.

Lime greens sucked dry by the inferno.
Stems weakly bent over like a centenarian.
High pitched buzzing cicadas notched down an octave or two.
Hot air rippling up from the tarmacadam.
A cacophony of air conditioning hums.
Sweat dripping from knuckles.
The psychological cooler chimes now and then.
The bamboo beat of the water trough.
All life secluded in shadows.
Nothing to do but wait for dusk’s reprieve.

The winter morning

The rush of wind like an icy blanket.

The visible exhalations of breath.
The faint traces of dawn on the horizon.
The damp carpet of dying foliage underfoot.
The distant rumbling of moving trucks.
The reflection of street lights on the dirty grey road.
The rustling of wind through the naked branches.
The smell of freshness in the air.
The taste of coldness in the back of your throat.
The rhythmic spatter of raindrops from the bus shelter roof.
The expectation of things to come.

Damien Healy was born in Dublin, Ireland but has been living in Osaka, Japan for the past 20 years. He holds an MA in Applied Linguistics and teaches English language at a Japanese university. He has written three textbooks for Japanese university students and has published several papers on language teaching. He has recently found the time and energy to start writing poetry again. He has had poems published in "The Weekenders" and "Ofipress".