Conor Ross: ‘scholia 70’ and ‘Possible cacophony’

scholia 70

When I wake
I let go of everything I know
and stake it all on the moment,
on the now now passing by.
It takes all day to build up the courage
to write, to read,
to become the genius of each night,
and wake each morning morning’s fool.

Possible cacophony

In some shaded cloister of my soul now mapped by memory,
I once agreed to let real love slip through my fingers
so that I could better see, through a crack in the wall,
Juliet’s limp body in the arms of Romeo.

At which point you find God and lose him,
so give yourself to crying.
And make sure you enjoy it while you can
because what comes after is worse.

At which point silence becomes preferable to music,
hyposmia to shit, and,
in your last confession;
carte blanche to logos, because

All that might-of love
by the bye
has turned bitter before your eye, because

All the buckets of tar
and crying wives of the world
cannot equal the drama of smoke exhaled, because

All my worrying, which I engage in too much and not enough,
has brought me to realise what a tragedy it is,
to know the happiest day of your life.

Conor Ross