Friday, February 26, 2021

Night terrors

 Terror of the night


He stayed awake in terror

Of the dreams that might visit

If he slept and so each hour

Became familiar sadly. 


Three in the morning

Merged with early dawn

And so the night was

Marked with failed attempts. 


False dawns came and went 

As relieving sleep escaped. 

His worst fears magnified

In the silence and the solitude. 


When dawn arrived exhausted he

Stumbled down the stairs 

To find his favorite chair 

And spend the day recouping. 


Asleep by day, awake by night

He lived his life full back to front

Dozing through the morning 

Alert and buzzing in the  evening. 


What baby fall, what early terror 

Had turned his life upside down?

What bad luck had caused this state

So simple yet so terrible. 


He tried the drugs

He tried the potions

He tried the bloody lot

Without success.  


The more he tried 

The worse it got 

He tried not to try -

Anything to make it stop. 


His mind a minefield 

Where deadly ordnance lay

Unsure where to place a foot

Uncertain what to say


The doctors and consultants 

Who achieved not a single thing

But to send out the bills

And reminders if required. 


Til at last he met the special one 

Half mother, sister, lover

Who had the magic touch 

Who brought him peace and sleep. 


Aged fifty five but better,

Better late than never

The past a blurry land 

The future bright at last. 


Thursday, February 25, 2021

Measuring Minutes

 I measure every minute


I measure every minute

I’m counting every second 

I’m jealous of the time

That’s left to me as long

As I am spared. 


Fifteen years or so

According to the actuary

And even if he’s right

Who can possibly measure

The quality of life?


So it’s time to put to paper 

The bucket list and plan

For journeys far and near

The best joy is in tracing

Journeys on the atlas. 


Surely anticipation ever is

The best part of the journey

The sailing times

And choosing airlines

Will pass the winter hours. 


When springtime comes

And shadows shorten

Out with the passport

The factor fifty

And the Ray Bans. 

Tuesday, February 23, 2021

No good deed.

 No good deed 


He often said and often smiled

That no good deed goes unpunished 

But behind the smile one felt

That he felt troubled 

That his good God 

True and loyal in the good

And in the bad times

Might go missing when most needed. 


He tried to banish all the questions 

That confronted his adherence 

That challenged faith 

That questioned hope

That could undo his sanity

And lose his grip 

On all that kept him

Loyal through the strange times. 


‘All good things come in time

To those who love Him’

Saint Paul said in the Bible

And so it seemed most of the time

That was the case

And so he rested on it. 


Til it was tested with the death

Of his young daughter 

Three years old and innocent

That caused him grief

And to question 

All matters that lay before him. 


What can we say?

How can we argue 

With cruel facts 

That confound our faith?

Yet pick up we must

Our broken lives 

And shattered hopes 

Til the sun turns round again. 


And turn it does

On most days 

Even in the winter

With shadows long

And daylight short

Always the promise 

Of an Easter Spring. 

Monday, February 22, 2021

Mid February.

 It’s the middle of February 


It’s the middle of February

But it well could be in June

Far down on the beach in Killiney

Where swimmers are swimming

And walkers are walking 

Women are talking

Young dogs are barking

As the tide surges in 

And the brilliant sunlight

Sparkles and shines

Past Angelus time. 


We could be in Spain

On a morning like this

When the waves are breaking

Their white crests are streaking

All the way to Bray strand 

And around Dalkey Bay. 


Sitting in sunlight

Warming old bones 

How the soul surges

When the surf rises

The waves are now roaring

Above daily sorrows. 


On a day like this 

We regain happy hope

And try to remember

How it used to be

And try to imagine 

How the future might be

When we run free

Barefoot to the sea

When we exile the masks

And inhale again

Then exhale our anguish

And place in the ocean 

Our terror and dread. 


Come awake now in Dublin

Breathe in and breathe out 

The tide is a turning

The bay is a brimming 

With with laughter and shouts. 

The year of why?

 The year of why?


My car goes nought to sixty

In under seven seconds

My car has four exhausts 

All wonderful but why?


My house has seven bedrooms

For the four of us 

And many bathrooms too

All wonderful but why?


I’ve got this marvelous watch

That tells the lunar time

It cost but fourteen grand

All wonderful but why?


I’m running fifteen companies

I’m aiming to run more

I’ve lost the count of what I own

All wonderful but why?


I’ve got a vineyard in the south

I see it once a year

If I’m not busy in the north

All wonderful but why?


I had a life when I was young

I could touch and taste and feel

Now I’m skimming over life

Above a misty sea. 


I wonder what it’s like to pause

And ease the race and stop the noise 

To  center down, to clear the fog

Excuse me now, I can’t be late. 


I’m on my deathbed now

With a million in the bank 

And cars and watches too

All wonderful but why?

Wednesday, February 17, 2021

The Voice

 He has a voice


He has a voice just made for talking

Loudly in suburban bars

Just like a foghorn resonating

Above the clamor induced by jars. 


He drives a car that once had seen

Some better times and parking fines

When he picked up girls and left off mates

In early morn from late late dates. 


His rugby played he now continues

To share opinions with his followers

In Donnybrook and far off Greystones

Wherever lager is available. 


The game has changed but not his speeches 

Delivered to a dwindling crew

For many souls bailed out to marriage 

Defiant he among the resolute few. 


The new season beckons in September 

On with the blazer and rugby tie

Honor among players creates a rule

On weekend nights to down a few. 


She has a voice that matches his

Honed in smoky bars with vodka tonic

They have been together on and off

For five and twenty years but hey 


No wedding fair, no fairy tale

No wedding veil, no married bliss

No regrets but tons of memories

We each will choose our happiness.

Tuesday, February 16, 2021

Young Lovers

 Young lovers


Young lovers hold hands on park benches

Early spring round Merrion Square

The sap is rising in branches

New growth thrusting each day. 


Old ladies walk old dogs round in circles

It’s time to catch some fresh air

The city is returned to its people

Now that Covid is everywhere. 


The Square is awash with fresh bird song

Rising above handsome Georgian houses

Holles Hospital sits neath the white clouds 

Where new babes turn in their sleep. 


Number seventy five Merrion Square

Beside the Catholic Library

Home to Grassland Fertilizers

Where we worked through nineteen eighty 


Parking the old Triumph at seven thirty

Across the road with accounting books 

Preparing for exams each half year

Forty years on now back to where we worked. 


Dublin is quiet this Tuesday

It’s vigor subdued for a year

But its life will come back to normal

Of that I no longer have fear. 

Monday, February 15, 2021

Facts

 Do you believe in facts?


Do you believe in facts my friend?

Without the facts we both are lost

Our paths shall never cross 

We cannot meet when we cannot pass. 


It’s a sickness not of the eyes

Its not being able to see

But a spirit unwilling

To face reality. 


A sickness of spirit 

Spreads through any nation 

Brought up on garish colors

Loud sounds and acclamation. 


Any race that chooses money 

Over health and family 

Led blindly  by the nose

By preachers on tv. 


By their Gospels you shall know them

Gospels of prosperity and false hopes

Buying tickets to heaven like a lottery

Time for Luther to nail his commentary. 


These craven preachers who fly in jets

Funded by the widows mite

These sun tanned faces on Sunday morns

Silly hair and expensive teeth. 


Christ has always been I guess

With the poor and humble

Hidden in plain sight among the facts

Time my friend to change our tracks. 

Savings

 Expensive savings 


Lily and Kevin worked hard

And so when it came to choosing

A seminary to enter

I chose the cheaper. 


Aged barely eighteen

I really meant well

My head turned by the glamour

Of a brand new Mexican order. 


Wiser heads would have counseled 

To stay with the college

I had signed up for at Easter

In neighboring Kimmage. 


The Holy Ghost Fathers 

Were a much better bet

Than a young Congregation

Making it up on the trot. 


Eight long years later with 

Nothing to show

A few foreign languages  

Eight lost years somehow. 


And it’s fate that decided that

First I would work for Deminex

An oil firm exploring 

In Irish sea basins. 


I think it’s probable

In fact I’m certain

Had I  studied in Kimmage

I’d have traveled some day


To dark deepest Africa

To a country of light 

To teach kids in Nairobi 

And preach in the bush. 


Would I have stayed?

Would I have left?

Would my journey to God

Have taken a turn?


Hard to know now

Hard to know then 

What God has in store

Aged eight years and ten. 


War

 The rules of war


First rule of war is don’t get shot

Keep down your silly head

Whether hair is combed or not

The bullet doesn’t discriminate. 


Rule number two suggests

This war belongs to someone else

Though it’s true that if you’re killed

The war has come to you. 


Rule number three says the war is lethal

Til the bitter end so don’t be fooled

By news promising the contrary

Bullets don’t read news summaries. 


When the fog of war is lifted

We can see who has acted wisely

Where the courage lies

And the selfish stupidity. 


We can sing songs for the nurses

Take care of long Covid wounded

Mourn those we buried in the fields 

We could not properly salute or grieve. 


Beware of fools promising early peace

This enemy like Dracula

Only dies when a silver stake 

Is driven through its evil heart. 


So patience friend while help arrives

The sound of horses in far off hills

Comes closer as vaccines come into sight

And we can sleep easily at night. 


Peace will come, of that I’m certain

I just want all my friends at the table

No vacant seats if I’m able

When we toast the final victory. 

Ninety days

 Three months from now


Three months from now we’ll open up 

Throw back the curtains, let in the sun

It’s been long but it’s been worth it

No stopping then, we’ll carry on. 


We’ll have friends around not seen in ages 

We’ll have a pint or cup of tea 

It doesn’t matter what we’re drinking

It only matters that we’re free. 


Are ninety days too long to wait

To avoid a visit to the Covid ward?

Is three months more just worth the wait

To stretch our backs and stand up straight?


We’re nearly there, I can almost smell it

Like the dogs when after rain

Their noses quiver with excitement 

Happy to be out and about again. 


We’ll make some plans and then some more

It’s good to have plans all the same

Three months to wonder and to imagine 

When life comes rushing back again. 


Walks in mountains, swims in rivers

The bucket list comes whittling down 

Enjoying nature, embracing people

Catching buses, painting the town. 


But most of all we’ll think of nurses

Cleaners, drivers and the crew 

We’ll have to find a way to thank them

With more than money in a world that’s new. 


St. Valentines Day. 2021. 

Sunday, February 14, 2021

Sunday Windows

 The Sunday windows stained by rain


The Sunday windows stained by rain

The angry clouds are blowing

Inhospitable, wet and cold

This icy February morning. 


This winter has been long

God help us in our misery

And hope seems as far away as ever -

How we wish for certainty. 


The dogs are happy in their beds

It seems a day for sleep 

Beside a heater that’s never off

A day for half-read books and strong tea. 


I suppose we should be grateful

For seasons that are truly different 

But how I yearn for winter sun

Why did I sell in Tenerife? 


Where blue skies greet my breakfast bowl

Sitting on the terrace looking out to sea

Not wishing days and weeks away

But relishing every second given to me. 


It was I guess to save a planet

From the flights to there and back

To be present for a grandmother 

Who does what grannies do. 


To bring back home

The proceeds that can change 

For better the lives of others 

Virtue is it’s own reward, I hope.

A woman of the stars

 A woman of the stars 


I gave a lift to an ancient woman

Who was hitching on the road

From Santiago del Teide 

To Tamaimo in Tenerife. 


Hard to put an age

On the bluest eyes I’ve ever seen

With darkened skin

Under sunny skies. 


She must have lived 

In the caves I guessed

Like the Guanches

Many years ago.


Her leather skin

Ravaged by years exposed 

To the unrelenting sun

Above a barren land. 


Hard to place her really

A German maybe 

Who had arrived 

Fifty years ago or so. 


She eked a living

On the edges

Under the stars 

Outside the village. 


A journey of only

Twenty minutes or so

But those blue eyes

Burnt in my memory

Twenty years ago. 


What has become 

I often wonder

Of the lady of the stars

Who declined our offers and 

So remain independent and alone