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 today as when we 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 the US too. 

We pray for them 

Who have too much

For those lying hungry

As they try to sleep. 

We pray for mother 

Mother Earth to 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.