November Notes

 November leaves

Pilgrim brother on the journey 

Pilgrim brother on the journey

Through the dusty roads of Spain

Along the path that winds from France 

Through the woods and through the trees 

To the plains of wide Castile. 

Here we are a decade later

Needing hope to fill our soul

But we look with faith and love

To a time when we greet the morn 

Walking westward, faith reborn. 

The memories of the morning charm

In little towns along the way 

The cool clean air as we’re leaving

Marching down the ancient streets

That echo pilgrims through the ages. 

Still we sense our friends the angels 

To this day the bond that lasts

Across the seas, across the years

The pilgrim world that makes its journey  

Round past the planets and the stars. 

Our lonely world’s a pilgrim too

Passing through an empty space 

Nodding gently at bright stars 

That mark the way along a map

Once drawn by God, renewed each day. 

Pilgrims we along a journey 

That leads to truth and leads to love

Far and safely have we traveled

And we will travel once again

When the new year comes around. 

When shadows shorten 

And strides are lengthened 

When we greet our brothers too

Over breakfast then tie our laces 

Heading westward once again. 

It’s the third of November 

It’s the third of November 

There’s an election somewhere

But here in Killiney

The sun is still shining

On the froth and spume

Cresting the ripples, running the Bay

Pretty as Vico, Stunning today. 

The sun is so low

But dancing it seems 

Over the sea of sparkling green

The low sun is warming 

Reflecting  off waters

Doubling the dose

Of Vitamin D 

Brave swimmers enjoy

The sun on the double

Young lovers hold hands

Sitting high in the heather

Young mothers with prams

Sun kiss their toddlers 

Old men sit dozing

Their hard work long done. 

The women are chatting

As only they can

Chatting and drying

Their hair in the sun

Another day older

But the laughter still lingers

Long after they’ve left

And made their way home. 

Sun reflecting off waters

That burble on and splutter 

That crash onto the shore.

Shores that have witnessed 

The glory of summer

The beauty that comes 

With cold in the Fall. 

Other swimmers arrive

And quickly take over

Embracing the role

Embracing the sea

As they lie back and marvel 

Backs in the water

Eyes to the sky

Hardy the swimmers

Braving the cold

Drinking the sun 

Inhaling the ozone

In a world of their own 

Meshed with the infinite 

Absorbed in the timeless 

Breathing, exhaling 

Grateful to be 

At one with the sea. 

The waves are washing

The waves are washing wearily

On a cold November shore

They whish and whoosh

While high above 

The crows call noisily

An autumn evening tolls. 

The waves are washing tirelessly

Our troubles and our woes 

They rinse and clear our misery

They sound a note of hope

They cleanse our inner core. 

The hearts that terror tore. 

The Irish Sea is breathing

An ozone clear and cold

Filling with faint hope

Our worried brows and so

We’ll face the winter snow

Rejoice in Christmas glow. 

The winter birds are flying 

Above Killiney cliffs

Soaring high above a sea

Gliding in a steely sky

Calling in the evening hymn

With timeless majesty.

The holy time of Advent

Patient souls with lights

Flickering in the windows

Glowing in the night

Beyond our failing sight

For time runs slow tonight. 

The waves are making progress

Stretching up the beach

Sucking sand and pebbles

Extending with a reach

Blessing Ireland as they roar 

They crash aloud on Dalkey shore. 

October Odes

 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. 

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.