Some poems

There's something beyond us
Yet living between us
An invisible thread
Through the Milky Way
That gathers and scatters
That joins and divides us.

The pattern of God
So near and so reaching
Beyond touching and seeing
At the pit of our being.

Asleep yet awake
Mute, still conversing
Immobile, still coursing
Each second, every day.

We see him in children
The blind and the aged
In joy and in anguish
Through love and through care.

He's here and he's nowhere
Both now and forever
The gate is marked 'hope'
Past the wall of despair.


Surge raging surf


Surge raging surf
A tempest through the sea
White caps break and crash
Upon the lava shore
Of blessed Tenerife.

Roar, surf roar
Come roaring home ashore
Gurgling o'er the rocks
Streaming through the cracks
In ancient battened stone.

The blue sea's stricken
With silver heaving furrows
From a jagged plough
That charges and retreats
To a distant beat

Drumming and destroying
Crushing and creating
An ageless pattern far
outlasting and sustaining
The life forms on dry land.





Sunday evening in sleepy Alcala

The midday sun has gone away
The children now spill out to play
The evening breeze blows softly now
In the age-old Canarian way

Grandmothers in ancient shawls
Children laughing,
Come for supper
A mother calls.

A life that's lived all outside
The noisy street's a playground
Where the children run
Old men smoke and dream on.

A chat that goes till evening comes
And dusk takes prisoners of us all
Now captured by the tele
With soaps and noisy football

The cars pass slowly by
Along the  tree-lined lane
Where neighbours wave
And no one's strange.

The richness of a local tribe
Lived close together
With young and old
A seamless simple life.

Life and death are here
Discussed and parsed each year
Love and loneliness that's torn
The human condition is reborn

Stones


If stones could speak
What would they say?
Of homes and houses
Now in decay
In long abandoned fields.

Can you hear forgotten sounds
Of children going to school
The bedtime stories by the fire
As father fetches fuel
With shadows on the wall?

Can you feel and touch the table
Where the family sat?
When times were stable
Free of news of war
And time stood still.

Is there another world out there
Where Sunday lunch is spread?
And long forgotten loved ones
Make sweet returns instead?
Or is it time to bid farewell?


Feared missing, now found.

They found her body
As we had feared so
Lifeless at the bottom
Of the dry ravine.

Barely fifty, yet looking older
Still quite handsome
Once the object
Of men's glances.

Now a victim
Of the chemist
And the doctor
And the bloody pills

To help her wake
Then help her sleep
A twilight life
Of chemistry.

Had she no mother,
Father, sister, brother?
Jealous boyfriend
Or young lover

To pick her up
When she had fallen
To kiss those lips
Now blue and swollen?

What a waste
That one so young
So should exit life
To enter death alone

For every heart
There is a lover
For every breast
A warm embrace

There is no reason
For no affection
There must be someone
Now waiting for your touch.




The risen Christ

Pity me, of little faith
Who can but follow slowly
Along the path below
The footsteps of the sandals
That walked the Holy Land

Pardon me for failing
To follow you on High.
For me your rising's shielded
By centuries of time.

Sufficient for me therefore
To join you at the table
Where all are eating, chatting
Lacking written invitation.

Your message lives untarnished
Ungarnished by a story
That few of us can capture -
Ours to follow, not adore.

There's surely something out there
But devil if we can
Put words on something wordless
Beyond the ken of man.




An old lady atop the 46A bus from Dun Laoghaire

She drove the bus from stop to stop
And anguished from upstairs atop
And braked for cyclists and for more,
While knitting on the second floor

She willed the lights remain on green
And prayed to traffic gods unseen
She blanched as her behemoth
Whizzed past cars without a thought.

Her knuckles clenched and her feet dug in
When driver failed to see the truck she'd seen
She gripped the seat in holy terror
The trip to town to buy a mirror.

For forty years she'd done her lips
By the window in the porch
Now she'd paint her face
In her bedroom with so much grace.

She pulled her rain hat round her neck
And left the bus seat with a check
She slowly clambered down the stairs
Alone, competing with young shopping pairs.

49 degrees

It's hot as hell here
In boiling Tenerife.
The gauge's just cracked
At forty nine degrees
And people round the pool
Expose their peeling skin
To a blazing sun.

While meanwhile on our deck
The Saharan sand breathes heat
And hell's furnace fumes;
Lovely girls in skimpy tops
Rub sun cream along their legs
As listless boyfriends
Take cover under caps
Bizarrely back to front.

It's not as easy as you think
To relax all day in heat
While all the while wondering
What you're going to eat
And drink and wear with friends tonight
In the Italian restaurant.

Relaxing here's hard work,
Though little sympathy from home
Where locals shiver in the sleet
And fight through traffic jams.

It's a crazy world of halves
Where some are blessed and some lack breaks
Don't look for logic in this tale
It's not your effort, it's just your luck.


A final smile



A final smile before we die
That's how we stay till time is nigh
A peaceful and a happy death
Ends this life and starts he next.

As our atoms spill out into space
Twixt good and evil it's a race
To claim a prize that's binary
Accepted or rejected heartily.

Eternity is only there
For those who crave and those who care
Others far prefer honestly
To sleep in silence eternally.



Quiet Quaker Meeting

The meeting is slowly centring down
Sunday morning in leafy Monkstown
A silence fills the quiet void
My eyes wander towards the tree outside
That frames the window with the sky

Sitting and waiting for the Spirit to whisper
At times it's wonderful but it's mostly littler
But it's honest and equal and ever so caring
At times quite somber yet oft entertaining.

We come here to worship
And pray without knowing
What effect it will have
On a world that is growing
Apart every day.

Whatever about prayers
The actions speak louder
It's the social justice
Of which we are prouder.

With an eye for the poor,
The distressed and the maimed
With a passion for causes
That receive no acclaim.
But humble and worthy
All the same.

Then comes the coffee
The tea and the chat
The friendly smile
And occasional pat.

With always an eye
For those who are absent
Though illness or old age
It's uncommonly decent.

Slowly the room drains
All that remains
Is the sudsy wash up
By the regular crew
Always the reliable few.

Come to me you who washed and dried
You who catered and you who served
The coffee and the tea
For in feeding them
You were feeding me.

We are the luck bastards

We are the lucky bastards
And that I say for starters
The fact you're hungry never
Is not because you're clever.

It's just because the stork that brought
Your little self without a thought
Could just as easily arrived next door
Or to the lady on the upper floor.

It's all to do with Lady Luck
Who with a blindfold stuck
A pin that happened to be you
Let's just admit we've not a clue.

Forget this nonsense about hard work
Appraise the lad who cannot walk
Or see or touch or talk
Born with aids or polio.

If there is a God, he's long forgot
Mislaid the plan or lost the plot
Let's just be grateful and sincere
Thankful for the food and beer.

End of the holidays

The sunburnt we assemble
In the airport hall
Sporting bleached straw hats
Before more shopping in the mall.

We're swapping  tales of days
Spent in the Spanish sun
And evenings full of fun
Singing songs of Dancing Queens
And winners taking all.

Feeling no shame, just happy
To be still alive, reliving
Times that are old and happy
When life was fresh and moving.

We danced between the aisles
We danced on top of tables
Kicking off the shoes
Forgetting all the years
Exiling tears and fears.

I held her closely in my arms
Like that first date in Dublin
Wiser now but more grateful
For what life has shared and spared.

Our arms are wrinkled now
Her smile of folds and creases
Of joy and love and laughter
It doesn't  matter how
We lose ourselves in moments
When time no longer matters.

We board the busy plane
And stow our hats above
'We'll do this trip again?" she asks
"Of course we will, my love""


A cloistered life

She lived a life of stoic cheer
Rising in the early morn
To praise the Lord and greet the dawn
In a granite convent on a green hillside.

Not for her a man or bairn
Though she often wished for all the same
The little comforts that ease the pain
Along this pilgrim way.

Always with a cheerful smile
Always with a word of hope
Even when her heart was broke
When God was distant and she forlorn.

What inspired this life of service?
To undertake this Via Crucis?
To deny her loves and suppress her wishes
All to support her silent Sisters?

Soldiers brave who die in wars
Die but once in a blaze of glory
But to die each day a thousand times
Is an entirely different story.

An heroic life, misunderstood
By the great majority of men
A life that spans life and death
The present and all eternity.

Quietly


Quietly it's done
Without great fuss or problem
The words are left unspoken
The deeds do all the talking.

A smile, a touch, a hug is all
It takes for simple transformation
The spirit shines and the soul accepts
When dialogue has failed.

Some poems 2


Father I lost you.

Father I lost you to a cruel stroke
That left you half there
And half gone.

Able to talk
But unable to meet
Across the table.

Now over thirty years on
And the prodigal son
Returns to square one


What if Jesus were partly mistaken?

What if Jesus were partly mistaken
Two thousand years are shaken
Is it a waste or a wonder
That so many followed faithfully.

Was it the beginning or the end
Or perhaps just the middle
Of a complex tale of chaos
That struggles along a road

Who knows if the road to heaven
Is a single furrow
Or a Milky Way that absorbs all
With all of creation traveling

To a common goal
The end? No there is no end
It's an eternal journey
An infinite pilgrimage

Where the walk is the way
And the companionship of the path
Is our common coronation
And our eternal treasure travels
As we do.



Smiling Jesus

If Buddha and Jesus were friends
They would smile upon meeting
Exchange a man hug greeting
Share a meal as the day ends.


Rising early next morning
Jesus is praying while Buddha is sitting
Awaiting the dawning

Both in love with mankind
Sharing compassion with healing
Feasting and fasting in turns

Sadly the friendship is cut short
By a death Jesus would want to abort
No pleasure for him in the pain
Or the agony of the cross.

But happy their deaths do not define
Their teaching of love and of care
Far outlives the mortal coil they shared.

So when I think of Jesus at table
Through his broad smile I am able
To see his friend Buddha
And his humanity.

Though he died on a cross
He lived smiling and most
Of his time was spent laughing with friends
On the winding paths of Galilee.

So people of God in your chapel
Along with cross put the table
Where Jesus broke bread every evening
Loving the good world that god gave him.



Many people wrote the Bible

Many people wrote the Bible
Some were busy, some were idle
Caring God managed the odd look in
Too many though were obsessed with sin.

Some were happy, some were sad
A few were sane but most were mad
It wasn't easy for a God
Who gave men freedom and allowed
The freedom to describe the indescribable.

He must have smiled and laughed at times
When we described in terms of human
The infinite and the eternal.

Some humbly closed their books and prayed
At the awesome world that God
had made
While others faked the drawing plans
With silly stories that were man's.

Why would authors go to trouble
Describing God in a bubble?
When all that's needed to encounter
Is sea or sky or solemn mountain ?


Lazy September noon on Our Lady's Lake

The early autumn breeze rinses the rushes
That guard the isle to Our Lady's crown
The Sunday faithful have melted
And the silence enters again.

A shrunken lady with a tiny dog
Walks the pilgrim path in peace.
The ugly loudspeakers fallen quiet
No need for loud calls to prayer
For it has gently landed on our hearts.

And still the Sunday breeze makes ripples on the lake
That whisper of summer dreams
And keep away for another day
Cold thoughts of coming winter.

At this time in our lives days rattle
And whole weeks disappear
We accelerate on the final lap around the island
awaiting the winter shadow of death
And holy deliverance.


September morning

The schools have opened
The anxious children sit in benches
And still the September sun
Says welcome to a lonely beach

Gone are the shrieks and cries of little ones
In one small weekend the world turns
But not the sea or tide.

Waves Crashing gently on the shore
With dappled sunshine dancing on the eddies
And little birds sing in parting chorus
Ahead of travels south to milder climes

And here I sit in silence
Pensioned off and welcomed in
To natures treasure
Always here for all our pleasure.



Wexford Buddha

Buddha's looking in the kitchen window
And I am looking out
He's fat and he's smiling
He's jolly and content.

There's a nasty piece of ivy
Climbing up his face
He doesn't seem concerned
But I'll clean him all the same.

Peace permeates
And quietness overcomes
The city stress and lassitude.

Peace envelops silently
As cares drift away quietly
Unnoticed the salving balm
Of sea and countryside take hold.

The August evening sunshine
Slants along the sandy Wexford beach
From between the woolly clouds
The vesper rays run racing o're the shore
Sparkling on the ebbing tide that rears and sighs.
The hardy swimmers cast a lengthy shadow
And paddle in the shortened evening of departing summer.

The ocean air smells pungent from the foam
The seabirds squawk their evening song
On stubborn rocks above the swirling sea.
Hard to believe what science makes pure chance
The odds to me seem just too long
It seems more likely to be something else, beyond our dreams
Than an algorithm on a blackboard wall,
What decent, simple souls call God.

The airportees

The migrant ants scuttle through the airport lounges
Bearing the scars of far too much and far too little
Too much sun and sangria
Too little rest and composure.

Men with big bellies and women with low chemises
Ravaged eyes destroyed by wine and beerses
Sunken sockets from neon lights
No promised rest just a shocking sight.

Around the duty free they wander
Passing everyone while seeing no one
Shabby self interest clouds their tired eyes
The remaining euro spent on best buys.

The miracle of air travel no longer amazes
We have this ability to take for granted
Appreciate only what we stand to lose
When it's gone or going.

Salute instead the men and women
Who keep us safe tween earth 'n heaven
Appreciate the staff who clean and cleanse
The earth below  we share.

The virgins of Dalkey

The virgins of Dalkey
Are mothers to me
The old and infirm
They care by the sea.

The sisters of Bulloch
Rise early, retire late
Leading the old by the hand
To the pearly gate.

No families, no sons
No lovers, no daughters
In the battle above
Like lambs to the slaughter.

Yet maybe it's true that some day
The meek and gentle will have their day
The  fearsome lion lying neath the lamb
In eternal peace that claims the calm.

Insane

Only the insane
Are the truly sane
In this mad savage world
Of contradictions.

At the end of a bough
Not knowing how
A friend saws the branch
Just imagine our surprise.

We come tumbling down
Like a silly old clown
We couldn't doubt our fate
Just a question of how late

So it's not if - but when
This world we borrowed
Comes crashing below.
Tomorrow's no show.

We've locked them all up
Lest we half hear the truth
That we're wearing the world thin
On these old tyres  unfit for our spin.


Family grave in Deans Grange.

Sitting hunkered on the granite surround
Along the grave of mother, father and dear sister
Lives once laughing breathing loving
Now speaking wordless love and memories

Remembering the windhover
How it sailed and soared
Far above souls in a quiet graveyard
Forever still, forever eloquent

Sail on dear hearts
Deeper into the Milky Way
Further, closer, deeper
Forever on a maiden day in May.

Slow down

Slow down, you're going to die
Why then make the hours fly
What's the hurry, what's the rush?
You'll  get to die, no need to push.

Why not saunter? Why not stroll?
Looking forward never round
You'll miss the beauty that is found
Stress and hurry takes its toll.

Stop a moment, gently linger
Absorb the magic in your finger
The simple things are the best
To see a miracle at rest

The heaven's stooping down to kiss the shore
Where time and eternity conspire
To weave a seamless cloak
Visible only to those who stop and care.

You're in the car, he's up your tail
Wave him on for he'll be there
And you enjoy the extra moment
Some day


Where trees embrace the sky

Along his woodland walk
Enjoyed the birdy talk
Feathered friends on the wing
Knowing much more than him
'Bout trees 'n things.
They taught him how to sing
The silent forest chant
Lifting spirits in a dance
A trance of mystical delight
With wordless hymns
And soaring leafy chords
To high infinity
And far beyond.



Grave words and graver thoughts

Sitting hunkered on the granite surround
Along the grave of mother, father and dear sister
Lives once laughing breathing loving
Now speaking wordless love and memories

Remembering the windhover
How it sailed and soared
Far above souls in a quiet graveyard
Forever still, forever eloquent

Sail on dear hearts
Deeper into the Milky Way
Further closer deeper
Forever on a maiden day in May.

Slow down, you're going to die
Why then make the hours fly
What's the hurry, what's the rush?
You'll  get to die, no need to push.

Why not saunter? Why not stroll?
Looking forward never round
You'll miss the beauty that is found
Stress and hurry takes its toll.

Stop a moment, gently linger
Absorb the magic in your finger
The simple things are the best
To see a miracle at rest

The heaven's stooping down to kiss the shore
Where time and eternity conspire
To weave a seamless cloak
Visible only to those who stop and care.

You're in the car, he's up your tail
Wave him on for he'll be there
And you enjoy the extra moment
Some day


Sacred autumn sun

Sacred autumn sun
All the sweeter as you're fleeting
From another year that's seen
It's share of joy and keening.

Smiling warmly o'er the gentle fields
Of Carne in Southern Wexford.
The autumn lands lie quiet
But the sea breaks soundly on the shore
As foreign birds squawk and wheel
Towards African skies and warmer days
Than we can offer.

And yet and yet
The warm rays linger
Out-promising their span
Delicious though
The gentle heat
More welcome
Than a summer blaze.

These northern lands
Shiver at the prospect
Of a coming sunless season
Devoid of heat or light.

The snowy prospects of cribs
And Christmas fare
Fall short and we dearly yearn
This day may ever last.

Thank you for the now

Thank you for the now
Tomorrow's but a dream
And last night's past.

Just to enjoy the now
The here and now
It's sweet and lovely.
Future woes are banished
To future days
And all bad memories
Are filed and locked away.

Why not just enjoy this present moment
So special it could last a lifetime
And so it should
For good moments have immortal souls
Embrace them as a teenage lover would.

Blessed are the depressed
Who struggle daily
For you will receive peace and quiet rest at last.

Blessed are you if you have received electro shock treatment
For you shall be released from every pain and shackle

Blessed are you on medication
For you will be set free

Bless all with mental illness
For you shall enjoy the face of God
And your happiness will be multiplied
A hundred fold.

Your hunger for peace will be satisfied
And your thirst for joy will be rewarded
And your cup of contentment will flow over

Because the universe will not forget your suffering
But will salute your daily heroism.
Your daily Everest scaled with courage and good humor.

God has prepared an eternity
Where pills and sadness are forgotten
And where you will see through the happy and contented eyes of God

Where your soul and inner core will know delight beyond description

For this is your certain destiny.

Amen.


We who can only guess at your pain and struggle salute you!

Pmm. 22/11/15

The heart is beating

The heart is beating
Don't assume it
Beating all the time.

The day will come
No more assuming
It beats a final turn.

Thump thump, it beats
Once every second,
Ignored and jilted
Till last wilted.

Oh faithful servant,
Oh toiling friend,
From early start
To evening end.

The seat of vigor,
The whole of health,
Abused, forgotten
Ignored and ill spent.

Let's embrace you
And protect you;
If not for you, for us.

Let's find a cure
With love and will
To make a heart that's pure.

12/1/16

The Golden Goose

We hatched a clever devilish plan
We'd cook the goose
And eat it fat and bone
And soon as can
We'd steal our neighbors  goose
Quickly bring it home
Treating it like our own.
We would of course
Join our neighbor's curse
Of thieves and wasters
Making sure to hide
His goose when visiting he came
We even offered to share
Our roasted Easter goose
Breathing relief when he declined
Fearing he might recognize in death
What he failed to see in life
His beloved family pet.

God bless his trusting nature
And innocent ways
Blinded to the cunning bastards
His So-called friends and neighbors.

And so the story ended happily
Or near so - but
Our greedy son whose eyes
Exceeded his growing belly
Choked upon a bone
Was dead as a falling stone
His well fed corpse
Sliding to the wooden floor
His flaccid soul so far
From heaven's door.
He cooked his goose
Now neither's here no more

Land of luscious light

Land of luscious light
Where early mornings
Steal from yielding night
An hour before the dawn

It's hardly five o'clock
And yet the garden
Appears in limpid hue
Late April morning painted

The dogs are anxious
To sniff the morning
And smell the incense
Of their private world

While babe and burglar
Sleep in coils of sleep
An innocent  bleary sun
Peaks over Dublin Bay

The birds now own this time
Their little calls ring clear
And fill the ear with
With grateful wonder

Most precious time of all
Blessed with gentle promise
Of better deeds and truer words
Gifts of the dawning day

Some day all this will fade
For me but not for you
The daily miracle of resurrection
Resumes its modest run

As darkness yields once more
To pastel colors of the morn
An innocent hour reminds
The promise of each new-born.

PMM 21/4/16

It's Original Win
Not Sin
(an apology from God).


Dear people of God, I'm very sorry
That a typo of mine has caused you to worry
The 's'and the 'w'are sadly stored
Closely together on the querty keyboard.

I'll blame it on Genesis,
The book, not the band
The next bible I write
Will be slowly,  by hand.

The chapter on Adam
Was written by Eve
In a moment of anger
But never by me.

I thought you were clever
You'd soon spot my error.
To me it's abundantly clear
Unlike a dark Guinness
More like a Weiss beer

All I created
Is good and is true
Including all people
And certainly you
The glass on the counter
is more than half full.

Just ask yourself, silly head
Your intentions as you get out of bed
Is it to kill and maim?
Or head to work and take the train?

The world I made is clearly good
I just presumed it would be understood.

All this talk of sin and death
It's just bad logic and worse math
Open your eyes and smell the tea


What a typo, silly me!!





He drank every flower

He drank every flower
He savored every bird call
And siphoned every silence.

She grew drowsy on the summer wind
Intoxicated by the sunny shimmer
Below the yellow furze

The commuter train trundled
Through the rock hewn tunnels
Carriage to a foreign busy world

Sea green and blue
Breaks in white surf
On the grey granite shore.

The crested waves fall gently
In the grateful shore
And bees busily make their store.

The maidens crunch the gravel
With expensive shoes
Eyes fixed upon the sky

Pony tails bobbing
Chatting laughing pointing
Suffused in late May's charm

Tomorrow June returns
Hardly twelve months
Since last embraced in haste

Joy of joys mixed with sweet sorrow
As days and week and months
Rush headlong never to return

Where once the world moved slowly
And summer dreamily lingered
Time wheels down the drain.


Take the shorter path

Take the shorter path my dear
Enjoy the shorter stride
Tarry here a while my love
Await the evening tide.

Feel the earth beneath your heels
Beneath a summer sky
Embrace the moment drink the juice
Our date to leave draws nigh.

Hand in hand for now
Soon to be departing
Once we cross that stream
We enter heavens garden.

Apology to the millennials

Sadly he drove and sat
He drunk and shat
Never happy he
Forever giving out
'Bout this 'n that.

Never a word of thanks
For those who grew
His food or served his meals
Unhappy he

Smiling yet complaining
'Bout a world that owed him all
Not a generous fellow
Of spirit squat and small.

And on and off he trails
Knowing that poor health prevails
At the end there's none
To mourn the unhappy one.

Bray to Greystones.

The screechy awkward gulls clamber along the coastal rocks
Below the path that winds beneath the granite cliff
Joining the middle class and leafy gardens
Of suburban Bray and bohemian Greystones.

Then with a glorious sweep they climb
And wheel above the foam
With flapping clamor
Gracefully swooping o'er the rippled sea
Ease and grace inhabit every glorious move
On this sultry day in June

In another planet altogether
Pale students toil and study
For state exams that begin tomorrow.
Buying a ticket for the commuter train that will daily escort them to their light starved offices
Until, God willing, they retire at last
Free to walk again and watch the gulls
That harbor memories of  happy days long passed.


The gravel path wends its way
Along Killiney Hill
With birdy chirps in stereo
And shafts of sunlight
Lighting up the purple  gifts of Spring.

Couples holding hands
Mothers steering toddlers


I stop
And listen.

Competing calls
From busy birds
As early evening
Welcomes the daily choir.

An old man shuffles
With a crooked stick
Passing trendy mums
With sun glasses
Perched on dyed hair
Speak in loud tones
As much for us as them.

The bichon stops
It's nose a twitching
Catching scents and smells
Quivering from signals
Hidden to humans.

The beach lies naked
From the ebbing tide
Grey stones revealed
Along the waters edge

The commuter train
Winds its weary way
Along a shadowy shore
Worried men in blue suits
And texting girls in black tights
Close the working day
On their way home to Bray.

Clouds come and go
Above the Dublin Hills
And bring the eye
Along the Wicklow Way


A mile above high Taucho

Sitting on the stony wall
Of a deserted  house once home
A mile above high Taucho
In the misty morning mountains.

What were the vanished dreams
Of families who called this village home?
For centuries perhaps
What domestic joys and sorrows?

The volcanic stones whisper silently
To tourist and hill walker as they pass
The quiet monument to hope and loss
Once host to babes and departing brides.

Too many days of funerals and sad goodbyes
From homesteads abandoned
With a view that would wipe your eye
Wild flowers reclaim the land once farmed.

All the years of clearing land for what?
Re conquering nature laughs
At our puny efforts over many sweaty days
To tame what will not be tamed.

And yet it seems a noble call
To have fought and farmed
To have toiled and loved and lost
Better than no heartache at all.

Fearing rejection

Fearing rejection, she married the lad
He, Ugly and silent it was ever so sad
That a girl who had everything you sensed
Having looks and charm still lacked confidence.

Yet still the marriage lasted till at fifty three
She met an old flame and felt weak at the knees
Why didn't you save me from this life of hell?
you could always have knocked or rung on the bell.

And so life was spent far off the main way
By taking the first exit she felt that it would pay,
Have courage young lovers showing no fears
Following you heart though many the years.


You've merely borrowed what I've borrowed.

Amazed they, the poet smiled
Naked he without strong copyright.
Worried by his insouciance
His innocent embrace of life.

How would he feed his hungry kids?
How would he pay the mortgage?
No one could doubt their sincerity
Their concern for his security.

He did not think of filling pockets
Of his shroud with published books
Of unread poetry  but releasing words
Like nesting pigeons would find a home
In hearts that shared the meter
And the rhythm of his heart.


For everything comes early in Ireland

Autumn arrived today tho' barely August
Announced by rolling mists
Lumbering up from Dublin Bay
Before coolly kissing Killiney Hill
Whose shrouded woods and trees
Exhaled a  late summer sigh
Yielding early to the clammy rain.


For everything comes early in Ireland
Spring oft crashes the Christmas party
And through the January frosts peep
The sleepy heads of curious snow drops.

The soft submission of suburban  summer
Early to the party and early to leave
Has taught it's gentle native folk
To leave its host mid protest
While still wildly welcome.


Better this a thousand times
Than waved away with weary gaze
Leaving late a sleeping household
As postman whistles cheerily
An early morning air.


Where trees embrace the sky

Along his woodland walk
Enjoyed the birdy talk
Feathered friends on the wing
Knowing much more than him
'Bout trees 'n things.
They taught him how to sing
The silent forest chant
Lifting spirits in a dance
A trance of mystical delight
With wordless hymns
And soaring leafy chords
To high infinity
And far beyond.

Mankind Unkind

Mankind unkind
You don't need an angry God
To end a world you're
Daily killing.

No need when unheeded
Greed and stupidity
Destroy each tree
And soil the virgin sea.

Once I worried for you, man
Now my anger understands
Creation will be relieved
When you're well and truly gone.

It's sad for those who cared
But how can we be spared
When all we did
Was moan and pray?

Slow down!

Tarry here a while my friend
Slacken your hurried pace,
postpone the evil end
Withdraw your life from haste.

The faster the days
The sooner you die
Step off the thread mill
Go on, give it a try!

You be the master
Of time if not money
Gold can't  buy time
In life or thereafter.


Ive heard the thunder of the sea

I've heard the thunder of the sea
And the stammer of the surf
But sound most sublime  for me
Is summer silence of the trees.

They make a tall and sacred space
For little birds that chatter
And busy things on whirring wings
And welcome shade

They find their voices in the fall
When winds whip down from Teide
And fall silent then again
When winter snows their garment.


The virgins of Dalkey

The virgins of Dalkey
Are mothers to me
The old and infirm
They care by the sea.

The sisters of Bulloch
Rise early, retire late
Leading the old by the hand
To the pearly gate.

No families, no sons
No lovers, no daughters
In the battle above
Like lambs to the slaughter.

Yet maybe it's true that some day
The meek and gentle will have their way
The fearsome lion beside the lamb
In eternal peace that claims the calm.