Last Week

I visited a friend from 1965 in Ireland
who built himself a stark, half-million euro/dollar
mansion which looks like an old Police Barracks,
the windows too high, the bleak rooms mostly too large;
ugly and shapeless outside, the inside comfortless
with random, clashing clutter. 

Over the years he had cadged over 15 of my paintings
which look like sore thumbs where they've been placed
on walls.  Some had long since been put in the loft.  I asked
for one to include in a small show in my French village. 
Titled Lecale Landscape, The Ulster Way,
it features a derelict cottage (long since demolished),
a modern bungaloid monstrosity,
the Mountains of Mourne under cloud - and a crucifixion
of a refugee wearing a crown of horns.

He declined.

Not my best painting, I would, of course have improved it
as I have done with many I have kept.  Only yesterday
I made little alterations to one I painted in 1989...

Here is a seascape of mine that he has, entitled The Fall of Icarus.

And the portrait of another friend at breakfast.