John O'Donnell, Barrister, Poet and Author
Icarus Sees His Father Fly
A wounded star. Crabs in battledress.
Salt chorus of a thousand shells. Slumped
Blancmange of jellyfish on ochre beach.
A slatted crate that once held oranges. A ball
Kicked brightly out of reach. Whale Songs.
Kitchen suds. Bladderwrack laid out
in Sunday duds. A ribboned hat,
sunny gust from First Class Deck.
An unnamed bundle in a fertiliser sack.
– John O’Donnell