Bumper to Bumper

Bumper to bumper

Bumper to bumper they inch along slowly 

Idling in neutral on the Stillorgan Road

Mothers with toddlers collecting  school children 

High up in their luxury magnificent motor cars.   

While over in China they clog seven lane highways 

Hurtling to join us who are stuck in a jam

Racing to standstill rushing to nowhere

This car induced craziness must come to an end. 

The car that gave freedom has come to enslave us

Captured in soft seats in luxury leather 

Oblivious to cyclists unaware of us walking

Below the high bonnets of dear MPV’s. 

Release us from slavery and craven fast fashion

Allow us walk freely hand in hand with our children

Along leafy streets below winter colors

Breathing fresh air and freed from car seats. 

Micheál Ryan UN

 Micheál Ryan UN

The tenth of March was a fateful day

When a plane took off then hit the clay

And claimed the lives of all on board

The story of every life should be told.  

Among the dead was Micheál Ryan

Who had worked and served in the UN. 

He haled from Lahinch in County Clare

Where he surfed the Atlantic waves 

Where he golfed on the courses 

And married his college sweetheart 

Proud dad of two with darling Naoise. 

Just two weeks from reaching forty

While flying from Addis Abba to Kenya

The plane stalled on its takeoff

The pilots fought an unfair battle 

To save the passengers and crew 

Numbering one fifty seven 

In a Boeing Max thirty seven 

That should never have flown 

Were it not for blindness and greed 

When safety should have trumped speed. 

There’s a road that Mick built

In far Bangladesh called after him

There’s a pride in the work that he did

But there’s a hole in the heart of his family 

No body to give for a funeral

So mother and wife have to grieve for him

Just holding each other and his memory. 

We will keep them all in our hearts

Proudly recalling his humanity 

That drove him to travel and work

For the poorest in the human family. 

Doing county and country proud

Now honored this year of Covid

The Irish Red Cross marked our hero

Who inspired all those that he met

For his work to be exalted in death. 

Micheál Ryan 1989-2019. 

Micheál, Gaelic for Michael, pronounced me-haul. 

Naoise, also from the Gaelic meaning warrior, pronounced knee-sha. 

Year end 2020

 There is a truth

There is a truth that only poetry can spell

While solemn theology rests in silence. 

God and dogma sit uneasily

In the library corner

Til politely God gets up

And slowly takes his leave 

To drink coffee with the poets 

And the dreamers in the corner.  

We find God later with the busy mummies

Attending babies in the changing stall 

And later still in the smokey pubs

With epic whiskies on the ancient walls

While old men’s eyes grow bright again

Remembering tales both short and tall. 

Tonight God sits with lorry drivers 

Leaving ferries in far off ports

Heading along the lonely roads

Bisecting France, bisecting night. 

He joins men in their cabins

When they pull off to catch some sleep

In cold laybys on foreign soil 

As hauliers pass them until dawn. 

Then God assists an ancient priest 

To open weathered doors of an older church

In central France while nearby on the motorway 

The lorry driver runs his solo run

As a handful of the faithful

Come stooped and bowed

To answer Gods other call. 

The call to stand where time and history merge

And gaze into stained glass and see

The eternal and the almighty 

Coming to a point above the altar

Seen better from afar

From the entrance to the vestry. 

The Laneway snakes down to the sea 

The Laneway snakes down to the sea

Between bushes jostling for light

It’s a fine free for all in the country

On the old road that ends at the coast. 

Nettles and thistles in combat

With tall grass and sallies as well

With each year that passes 

The bushes grow taller

As natures reclaims her lair. 

A laneway once busy with workers 

Now rarely sees a soul

Sea breezes gambol and run

Along the green corridor for fun. 

Away in the distance a cottage

Pretends not to notice or care

The kettle is boiling 

The WiFi is working

With hardly a moment to spare 

Their voices 

Their voices lay silent

Under the carpet of snow

In the silence of winter

Even as snowdrops grow

While peeking up from below

The crocus will try to show

Hope is arriving at last

Longer days lie stretching ahead 

Earlier dawns tiptoeing past. 

How long do we lie in a grave 

Til we hear the call to revive?

To rise up from the coffin we made

Home for the years and the centuries?

Until at last we come back

Some silent January morning

When the world which long has forgotten 

Is witness to our returning. 

Returning like Christ after three days 

No less surprising, no less surreal

That the good God should continue to care

To gift just another rising today

If not in body but it spirit 

Revealed on a springlike day. 

The laneway

 The Laneway snakes down to the sea 

The Laneway snakes down to the sea

Between bushes jostling for light

It’s a fine free for all in the country

On the old road that ends at the coast. 

Nettles and thistles in combat

With tall grass and sallies as well

With each year that passes 

The bushes grow taller

As natures reclaims her lair. 

A laneway once busy with workers 

Now rarely sees a soul

Sea breezes gambol and run

Along the green corridor for fun. 

Away in the distance a cottage

Pretends not to notice or care

The kettle is boiling 

The WiFi is working

With hardly a moment to spare 

Peace Pilgrim

  Peace Pilgrim, Mildred Lisette Norman. 1908/81

Pilgrim sister, on the road 

To a nations heart

On a path to lasting peace 

Shod with runners lasting

A thousand miles or so. 

Pilgrim sister, bringing peace

Along the paths in sun

And dust across a dry land

Parched and thirsting for a tear

Of kindness and of love. 

Pilgrim sister, dressing simply 

Walking freely without a care

Sleeping oft  beneath the stars

Never begging just receiving

What decent people share. 

Pilgrim sister, seeing God

In every man you meet

Disarming every passer-by

With simple innocence 

An empty purse and a happy heart. 

Pilgrim sister you cross a land

That craves more peace 

More love and gentleness

To shed the skin of evening greed

To blossom in the morning. 

Pilgrim sister, thirty years

Of walking sea to sea

Pressed by a vow

Til war had ceased

You would sue for peace. 

Dressed in a tee shirt,

Proclaiming peace 

Your journey ended on the road

In nineteen eighty one

Your walk not finished

But your work was done. 

Born Mildred Lisette Norman in 1908 in New Jersey to a family of German immigrants, in 1953 she determined to devote her life to peace and took the name ‘peace pilgrim’ She took a vow to walk across the United States from sea to sea until peace came. She walked alone without possessions, never begging but accepting what food and shelter strangers might offer. Her message was simple. God lives in every person no matter how deeply buried. God shone in her and through her. Her tee shirt proclaimed she had walked 25,000 miles but in truth she had walked many many more. Her life and thoughts are available on www.peacepilgrim.org

 

August Hymns

 August Hymns

August 22nd

The fresh winds blow strongly 

All the way from Americay

The high waves crash soundly

On beaches by the bay. 

The sea birds rise and fall

With noisy shrieks and calls

In a sky that’s powder blue

On a weekend that’s unsure

What the coming week will bring. 

A lot of anger and annoyance

Sadly solve but little

The journalists may type and scream

And the politicians prattle. 

Time perhaps to take time out

To reflect on what it’s all about

To take a breather

Turn off the phone

Watch the waves

Breathe the ozone. 

Storm Helen August 2020

Storm Helen whips the waves

Along the beach by Carnsore Pier

While nervous swimmers ponder

On the strand uncertain. 

Although it’s August

This is ireland and the camper vans

Head home with mountain bikes

Attached on racks along their backs. 

The narrow summer season

Is shrunken by a deadly virus

That keeps appearing at the party Intervening when least invited. 

We thought the topic had moved on

Because we had moved on, despairing

That this year might disappear 

As if we never wore it. 

Down on the beach the south wind runs

Along the sand, between the dunes,

The blue skies pretend last night’s a dream

When Helen shook the creaking eaves. 

South Wexford is a windy place

Even at the best of times 

Where the ocean meets the Irish Sea

And silent shipwrecks bear witness. 

Storm Helen has come so far

From the balmy tropics

Her journey not yet over

Time for a final story. 

21/8/2020

Let us pray

Let us pray for those we love

And maybe more for those we hate

Let us make this dear world

A loving, caring, gentler place. 

We think of those who live beside us

Of those in countries far away

We think of those who have departed

As clear as the day we last saw them. 

We think of sick ones in the wards 

We think of those who die at home 

We pray for babies and for mummies

Their first day in the nurseries. 

We think of Beirut 

And all in Syria

In war torn Yemen

And in New York too. 

We who have too much

We pray for them 

For those lying hungry

As they try to sleep. 

We pray for Mother Earth  

That she might shield us

As we shield her

From greed and menace. 

Irish summer holidays 

The mist is a milk 

That comes up from the sea

As soft as silk

Or the breath of a baby. 

The buckets and spades

Lie hidden indoors 

It’s out with the wellies

It’s down to the stores

To buy stuff for the kids

To pay weather’s ransom

On a soft day in August

When a jigsaw’s the answer. 

The plants and flowers 

May not actually smile

But they’re pleased as hell

With this celestial favor.  

The birds hide for cover 

To keep their wings dry

The rain drums on the roof

Sweet sounds of the summer 

I remember with fondness 

Days spent with my cousins

In a converted old school bus

In a house called The Elms. 

It was time for a tramp

For a walk in the rain

To smell the full incense 

Of nature in train. 

It was a gentle wee sport

To walk in the puddles

With boots and our rain-hats

Tied under our chin. 

Then home to aunt Ita

And sit by the fire

Eating mountains of toast

Toasting marshmallows. 

August Sunday Morning Stroll

It’s the quiet time of morning

With the god fearing sleeping

The dew lies wet on grass

That sits in the middle of paths

That are lesser worn. 

Out at sea a tiny boat

Putters on a silver sea

That sparkles in the early sun

The tide is out this morn

The sand stretches out a mile or so. 

On Clougheast Castle the flag is flying

Saluting Mayo and the Atlantic coast

Here at Carnsore point the seas 

Merge and mingle, no loner single 

The Irish Sea snd Atlantic Ocean are married.  

We salute and pass, stop and start

Past early walkers with their dogs 

Breeds compared, stories shared

With perfect strangers but no ones strange 

In Wexford on a sunny summer morning. 

Let us pray

 Let us pray

Let us pray for those we love

And maybe more for those we hate

Let us make this dear world of ours

A more loving, caring, gentler place. 

We think of those who live beside us

Of those in countries far away

We think of those who have departed

As clear as the day we last saw them. 

We think of sick ones in the wards 

We think of those who die at home 

We pray for babies and for mummies

And their first day in the nurseries. 

We think of Beirut 

And all in Syria

In war torn Yemen

And New York too. 

We who have too much

We pray for them 

For those in hunger

While they try to sleep. 

We pray for Mother Earth  

That she might shield us

As we shield her

From greed and menace. 

Amen 

Mary, Mary

 Mary, Mary

Mary, Mary how contrary

Do your paper’s lines appear

To contradict your husband dear

It’s poor eyesight I hear. 

Mary, Mary how extraordinary

To be both ill and well

To travel England up and down

With neither sight nor smell. 

Mary, Mary it’s a miracle 

More miraculous than the birth

Of a cockeyed story

So sad it’s bringing mirth. 

Mary, Mary it’s exciting

To be writing and reviewing 

To be history making

Not just Spectating. 

Mary, Mary, if you’ve got a shovel

I’d lay it down right now 

Or else you’ll dig a grave 

For Boris Johnson too. 

Peace Pilgrim

 Peace Pilgrim, Mildred Lisette Norman. 1908/81

Pilgrim sister, on the road 

To a nations heart

On a path to lasting peace 

Shod with runners lasting

A thousand miles or so. 

Pilgrim sister, bringing peace

Along the paths in sun

And dust across a dry land

Parched and thirsting for a tear

Of kindness and of love. 

Pilgrim sister, dressing simply 

Walking freely without a care

Sleeping oft  beneath the stars

Never begging just receiving

What decent people share. 

Pilgrim sister, seeing God

In every man you meet

Disarming every passer-by

With simple innocence 

An empty purse and a happy heart. 

Pilgrim sister you cross a land

That craves more peace 

More love and gentleness

To shed the skin of evening greed

To blossom in the morning. 

Pilgrim sister, thirty years

Of walking sea to sea

Pressed by a vow

Til war had ceased

You would sue for peace. 

Dressed in a tee shirt,

Proclaiming peace 

Your journey ended on the road

In nineteen eighty one

Your walk not finished

But your work was done. 

Born Mildred Lisette Norman in 1908 in New Jersey to a family of German immigrants, in 1953 she determined to devote her life to peace and took the name ‘peace pilgrim’ She took a vow to walk across the United States from sea to sea until peace came. She walked alone without possessions, never begging but accepting what food and shelter strangers might offer. Her message was simple. God lives in every person no matter how deeply buried. God shone in her and through her. Her tee shirt proclaimed she had walked 25,000 miles but in truth she had walked many many more. Her life and thoughts are available on www.peacepilgrim.org

 

September Psalms

 September psalms 2020

Last morning in August

Paint a pink morning

With the finger of God

The last dawn in August

Lights up a bright sky

The stars have abandoned 

Their place in the heavens 

Making way for a day

That bookends the summer. 

Last night the camp closed

On a sad, shortened year

As families returned

To schools that had opened

In Crumlin and Tallaght

In Artane and Dundrum.  

Gone are the children

With their buckets and spades. 

They’ll return the next year

A few inches taller

Refusing to wish our short lives away

Without holding our breath

Til this virus has gone. 

Breathing in, breathing out

The soft breath accepting 

Feeling the peace, grateful throughout. 

Embracing September 

Like a middle aged lover

Holding tight to the moment 

Lest it escape. 

Hoarding each morning

Each second is precious

In a well that runs dry

One drop at a time. 

I shall not wish this day to end

I shall not wish this day to end

Or to skip a single season.  

A brave attempt to jump a plague

Is never reason good enough

To shorten life that’s way too short

To award the moving hand of time

An advantage round the final bend. 

No! Life’s race must run its course

Till we break the tape and cross the line.   

These precious seconds shall be safely stored 

Wrapped with care and none ignored

Of greater value than all the gold

In all the world if truth be told. 

Every day demands attention

It passes once and then moves on

Leaving us before we’ve noticed

For this ship has no return. 

Grasp it, feel it and embrace it,

Squeeze it hard, have no regrets

Living life to the fullest

Loving life before it wanes. 

I won’t rage at life, I’ll just whisper 

Songs of love and songs of sorrow

Across a rainbow in a valley

Some days to lead and some to follow. 

It is a war

It is a war, let’s not forget it,

We’re in a fight with a foe

That never sleeps but stays awake

Never resting on its oar 

We may feel weary, at times sleepy

We may wish for old familiar things

It strikes from hiding in the corner 

Of the bedroom or the larder. 

It’s watching, spying, waiting

For a crack to open up

For it to enter and takeover

When we tire and drop our guard. 

It’s busy as hell because it’s clever

It knows the cavalry will come

In the form of meds and vaccines

That first will wound and then will slay him. 

So stay the course and don’t get trampled

Don’t be a number on a graveyard wall

Keep down the head from all the bullets

We’ll have that hug a year from now. 

Stay prepared.  

17/9/20

It’s a soft September day

It’s a soft September day

The summer has been gracious 

The plague so far has spared us. 

Wild flowers compete for autumn sun. 

Blackberries ripen lazily along a lane

That zig zags to a quiet beach. 

Birds chirp out among the brambles 

They break the silence of the drowsy noon

Mourning a summer that’s left too soon. 

The wind has died and the heat is cozy

It’s an afternoon to lie dozing

On the deck chair in the garden. 

Where the grass lies half mown

Awaiting tomorrow when’s it’s overcast. 

Meanwhile we’ll harvest golden moments. 

For Mother ireland can change her mind 

And  within an hour play a different tune. 

As for now time sits still. 

Reclining in the meadows bereft of hay

These hours could last a lifetime

Perhaps they even will. 

Waiting 

Waiting, waiting in the waiting room

To go to surgery this afternoon 

We’ve become a little band

With our name tags and our slippers 

Our common concerns and worries. 

The cheery nurses putter in and out

They run the show of that no doubt

Firm and pleasant they know the ropes

How to get us in and then out

On up to surgery then post op

Then cups of tea and toast. 

It’s a little village of compassion

For life’s weak and wounded 

A tiny world that lives apart

From busy streets and the ordinary

Cut and thrust of daily life

Until chance makes a summons. 

Rich or poor we all must answer

And present ourselves in dressing gowns

That keep us warm and keep us modest 

Till the surgeon comes and calls our turn. 

Then it’s down to the bowels 

Of the building to get the jab

That knocks us out

To wake up thirsty hours later 

Unaware of what’s given 

Or what’s been taken. 

Life in Hospital is not life as we know it

For death can hide behind any door 

Beneath the calm the stakes are higher

With concern and caring at its core.