Primarily a humorous poet, Peter Goulding rails at the world from the comfort of his suburban home in Dublin, Ireland. Selected for the Poetry Ireland Introductions series in 2010, he has somehow managed to convince editors in four continents to publish his more serious poetry, usually by promising to go away if they do. He works in a warehouse and wishes he didn't.
Like an angry lion, tossing its mane
and roaring in the dark,
the storm around the mountain
raged throughout the night.
Great flashsnaps of photography
caught the village church,
frozen in pale shock and
rattled the shutters and decreed that
no man should sleep tonight.
We stared upwards through the blurred panes,
like penitents at the Day of Judgment,
paralysed by the beauty of fear.
The next day, the weatherman
explained the reasons for the storm
but not the malevolence behind it.