October Odes Twenty Twenty
Be Gentle
Be gentle with yourself, not cruel
Be generous with yourself, not mean
Love yourself in a wholesome way
As God has always loved you.
And yes, we will mess up and trip
Like brother Jesus on the cruel path
Our cross will fall on the desert road
It’s not in falling but in rising
Forgive yourself and leave the fall behind
Do not embrace it or let it curdle
Move up and on and face the sun
A new hope, the gift of every dawn.
Dance with joy and abandon
The waltz of life and the tango
Forget the crowd, dance for joy
Become again a carefree boy.
Dance, dance to nature and to love.
Judge no one and least yourself
All that He created was good and true
Dance til we drop and the night turns blue.
Murrisk, County Mayo.
It was in Murrisk, Mayo,
Where the love affair begun
A love for sea and mountains
In July fifty one.
May I be remembered
In the shadow of the Reek
Where Patrick stayed and prayed
Fifteen hundred years ago
Remembered to this day.
Croagh Patrick is the name
The Irish give his mountain
That overlooks Clew Bay
Three hundred isles and counting. .
And so began my first love
Of sea and sky and where they meet
Where heaven and earth embrace
So gently and softly weep
For souls who left this shore
For far off lands
And those who stayed to till
The fields encircled by the stones.
And so I finally return
To the village whence I came
Down by the Atlantic Coast
Now so different but the same.
Quakers praying at an angle
Quakers praying at an angle
Eyes half closed in meditation
Silence fills the simple structure
Cleanly built without a steeple.
An hour may pass without a mention
Without a hymn or prayer to God
Then perhaps a small reflection
On a bird we heard en route to Meeting.
The stories told are close and personal
Not borrowed from a book or breviary
Testimony to God’s presence
In the simple and the ordinary.
It’s an invitation not a summons
A silent call not a triumphal hymn
That leads the soul down chambers
To the truth that lies within.
It’s a form of worship not given to many
It’s quiet discernment without a choir
It’s almost invisible yet unyielding
Leading us forward, inviting us higher.
It’s the eighth of October
It’s the eighth of October
And the sun is now setting
Slowly but surely over Dun Laoghaire pier
While bravely the swimmers
Clamber pink skinned
Across the cold steps
Down at the deep Forty Foot.
Around in the Harbour
The sun is still smiling
As children and dogs
Brave a stiff northern Breeze
Across in the city
Now quiet with virus
The tall buildings are catching
The last rays of the evening.
A season now parked
Between summer and winter
Extending the leisure
For walkers and swimmers.
We need courage for winter
Even experts are puzzled
And the first call of life
Is to survive if we can.
Our nerves are all shredded
Our daydreams are haunted
By a plague that’s relentless
And strikes if we taunt it.
The Harbour is filling
With women a bobbing
Hair in a bun
Laughing while swimming.
Blond hair in a bun
Parting the water
Heading into the sunset
Proclaiming a victory
Over death and the virus
Over newsfeeds and papers
Striking a blow
With a maritime show.
Adeline Fagan
I’m weeping for a girl I never met
The Belle of Lafayette
Aged only twenty eight
She gave her young life
While seeing in young lives
Under the blue Texan skies.
A world away from friends and family
Dying slowly in a Covid bed
She who worked the wards
To help the new babes
And the grateful moms.
Anger and sadness wrestle and compete
As I try to understand
How an angels wings were shorn
As she ministered lovingly
Around the cribs of the newly born.
Adeline Fagan, your name sounds Irish
So we’ll adopt you anyway
We’ll keep you a place in the Emerald Isle
Where your memory shall be kept alive
Where we cherish your sweet smile.
Advent 2020
Advent has come early in Ireland
As leaves still fall from the trees
October dressed orange and russet
The Summer clock still reigns
And the year feels oddly strange
Preparing for a finish not a birth
A season that ends in the unknown
The fairy lights of Christmas
Are promised but may prove a mirage
In our autumn Advent desert.
The promise of deliverance next Spring
Seems vague, an act of faith
While we practice patience and restraint
In a world that has suddenly rebelled
As we swim to heaven from hell.
Wise men argue among themselves
Leaving us mere mortals unsure
Where to follow, when to hide
And yet the answer lies meekly
Within our grasp and reach.
Time for courage though unsure
Where the sea of life will bring us
Hoping more than knowing
Feeling more than proving
That Advent may bring us closer.
Happy those who have seen
The distant Christmas lights
Happier still those who see
Round the corner in the night
Choosing courage over fright.
It’s late in October
It’s late in October and we’ve reached level five
A strange accolade, but at least we’re alive
Bravely the sun tries hard to shine on the Bay
That stretches from Dalkey to the station in Bray.
Sitting on steps that are warmed by a sun
That peers through the clouds and then it’s gone
We panic and fret it will never return
Till winter has come and winter has gone.
Panic early, panic often is what we normally do
Now faced with a plague that’s tormenting too
On a track up above the train whistles and creaks
As it enters the tunnel to posh Dalkey shops
The same train will whistle when next summer comes round
When we’ve grown older and wiser under a frown
When children are taller and their legs have turned brown
By a sun that holds firm, whatever the sound
Made by papers and media, TV and tablet
The fizzing of twitter and the echoing chambers
Metal on metal, a consoling hymn
To the steady accord between heaven and men.
Three narrow months
Three narrow months lie ahead
Beginning now til January ends
When the sun lies tight and low
When the heart beats short and slow.
Three narrow months with tiny days
That often end at lunch
When sullen mist and soaking rain
Steal what’s left of limpid light.
The rays of sun are struggling now
To clear the hedge and garden wall
While longer shadows linger
Around a pool of light so small.
Flowers softly go to sleep
Sleeping through the winter darkness
Should we also copy them
Wake up a season later?
The time has come to drop a gear
A time to mend old shoes and sweaters
An opportunity to change and steer
The boat towards clearer waters.
To greet the New Year feeling fresh
Dumping cobwebs and old prejudice
Facing February with a hopeful eye
Feeling grateful, aiming high.
