Diamonds
To look at a woman without lust
To admire a house without owning it
To take joy in the achievements of others
To celebrate the world and all thats within it.
When we have passed far into the stars
We are dust and all that remains
Is the good we have done
Only truth and beauty remain.
The riches that never will lose
Their shine or their worth over time
Like diamonds except even brighter
Tougher and harder and longer.
Shanganagh Cemetery
The cross marks the spot
In the long winter shadow
Where Kevin lies peacefully
In Saint Helen’s plot.
Above the wooden cross
Rise the Dublin hills
Crowned by the Lead Mines
Where once we walked
Thursdays on a rusticatio*
From the seminary
Fifty years ago
And more recently
With Bernie and Laura
Noah too with
Baby steps that
Lengthen every day.
Gone but not forgotten
We will return to where
The sea embraces
Dublin and Wicklow.
Kevin remains and stays
As clear as day
Looking forward to
Mary’s month of May
When flowers return
And the meadow
Hums with life
Hope and belief.
*refers to a day of leisure for the Legion of Christ Novices who were allowed a day’s walking in the Dublin foothills from their home on Leopardstown Road armed with sandwiches.
Dun Laoghaire Pier January 9th.
The sun is setting behind the hills
We proudly call our mountains
The sky is lit with a golden glow
As along the pier we come and go
The Borough’s spires stand proud
Above grey homes and offices.
Handsome granite pier from Dalkey
Hewn from an ancient quarry
The icy harbor lies empty
Of boats tied up in moorings.
The winter wind whips little waves
Upon a sheet of steely grey.
The healthy walkers dressed in hats
And scarves and gloves defeat the cold
Bear witness to a spirit
Born two centuries ago
They breathe the air and fill their lungs
Before returning to their homes.
Where Christmas lights still twinkle
In defiance of prevailing gloom
In answer to the gauntlet
Thrown down by nasty Covid
We shall stride and overcome
This brand New Year we’ll call our own.
We’re at the peak of daily cases -
That’s our fervent hope
While fallen records lay sadly broken
With every passing day we mourn
The loss of family, friends and more
And wonder when this will be over.
We reach end of pier and pause a while
To admire the view of sea and sky
That stretches all the way to Howth
Where we’ll get to visit somehow.
When tiers are lowered and once again
We travel where our whim will take us.
For now it’s back to comfy houses
Once inside we’re turning on
The heating regardless of the cost
We’ll have every radiator
As hot as in a foundry
We feel right now as if we’re worth it.
And even if we’re not.
A man who saw no evil
There was a man who saw no evil
In any soul he ever met
His life seemed simple as he toured
The corner shops of Ireland.
Selling tea and Brooke Bond Oxo
But more than that he brought a smile
To grocers who took him to their hearts
And made him stop and chat awhile.
Six thirty a.m on the first day of the year
God has called Kevin our brother home
His faithful servant has tacked back alone
Has left his station in the battle
Returning softly from the land of pain
Back to the arms of his Lord and Savior
While on the world sleeps unaware
Of a pilgrim presence no longer there.
He soldiered longtime in the trenches
And served his term with great distinction
While following God back in the Legion
The goodness that he showed back then
Outlasts the years and shines right now
It’s the chuckle and the laugh somehow
That lightened life and made us able
Find peace at times with life unstable.
Kevin was ever just the man you met
Who never changed down through the years
A family man who loved his garden
Who adored his wife and loving daughter
They held his hand when winter’s light
Grew faint and distant in the kitchen window
And so he slipped into the silence
Of a brand New Year to meet his Maker.
He leaves behind his fondest loves
But leaving too some special memories
Which are a blessing in his absence
Which will support us and sustain us
Beyond this plague and time of crisis
When once again we come together
In his back garden and drink that tea
To toast our friendship and his legacy.
Kevin Smyth. RIP 1/1/2021
Bumper to bumper
Bumper to bumper they inch along slowly
Idling in neutral on the Stillorgan Road
Mothers with toddlers collecting school children
High up in their luxury magnificent motor cars.
While over in China they clog seven lane highways
Hurtling to join us who are stuck in a jam
Racing to standstill rushing to nowhere
This car induced craziness must come to an end.
The car that gave freedom has come to enslave us
Captured in soft seats in luxury leather
Oblivious to cyclists unaware of us walking
Below the high bonnets of dear MPV’s.
Release us from slavery and craven fast fashion
Allow us walk freely hand in hand with our children
Along leafy streets below winter colors
Breathing fresh air and freed from car seats.
Micheál Ryan UN
The tenth of March was a fateful day
When a plane took off then hit the clay
And claimed the lives of all on board
The story of every life should be told.
Among the dead was Micheál Ryan
Who had worked and served in the UN.
He haled from Lahinch in County Clare
Where he surfed the Atlantic waves
Where he golfed on the courses
And married his college sweetheart
Proud dad of two with darling Naoise.
Just two weeks from reaching forty
While flying from Addis Abba to Kenya
The plane stalled on its takeoff
The pilots fought an unfair battle
To save the passengers and crew
Numbering one fifty seven
In a Boeing Max thirty seven
That should never have flown
Were it not for blindness and greed
When safety should have trumped speed.
There’s a road that Mick built
In far Bangladesh called after him
There’s a pride in the work that he did
But there’s a hole in the heart of his family
No body to give for a funeral
So mother and wife have to grieve for him
Just holding each other and his memory.
We will keep them all in our hearts
Proudly recalling his humanity
That drove him to travel and work
For the poorest in the human family.
Doing county and country proud
Now honored this year of Covid
The Irish Red Cross marked our hero
Who inspired all those that he met
For his work to be exalted in death.
Micheál Ryan 1989-2019.
Micheál, Gaelic for Michael, pronounced me-haul.
Naoise, also from the Gaelic meaning warrior, pronounced knee-sha.
There is a truth
There is a truth that only poetry can spell
While solemn theology rests in silence.
God and dogma sit uneasily
In the library corner
Til politely God gets up
And slowly takes his leave
To drink coffee with the poets
And the dreamers in the corner.
We find God later with the busy mummies
Attending babies in the changing stall
And later still in the smokey pubs
With epic whiskies on the ancient walls
While old men’s eyes grow bright again
Remembering tales both short and tall.
Tonight God sits with lorry drivers
Leaving ferries in far off ports
Heading along the lonely roads
Bisecting France, bisecting night.
He joins men in their cabins
When they pull off to catch some sleep
In cold laybys on foreign soil
As hauliers pass them until dawn.
Then God assists an ancient priest
To open weathered doors of an older church
In central France while nearby on the motorway
The lorry driver runs his solo run
As a handful of the faithful
Come stooped and bowed
To answer Gods other call.
The call to stand where time and history merge
And gaze into stained glass and see
The eternal and the almighty
Coming to a point above the altar
Seen better from afar
From the entrance to the vestry.
The Laneway snakes down to the sea
The Laneway snakes down to the sea
Between bushes jostling for light
It’s a fine free for all in the country
On the old road that ends at the coast.
Nettles and thistles in combat
With tall grass and sallies as well
With each year that passes
The bushes grow taller
As natures reclaims her lair.
A laneway once busy with workers
Now rarely sees a soul
Sea breezes gambol and run
Along the green corridor for fun.
Away in the distance a cottage
Pretends not to notice or care
The kettle is boiling
The WiFi is working
With hardly a moment to spare
Their voices
Their voices lay silent
Under the carpet of snow
In the silence of winter
Even as snowdrops grow
While peeking up from below
The crocus will try to show
Hope is arriving at last
Longer days lie stretching ahead
Earlier dawns tiptoeing past.
How long do we lie in a grave
Til we hear the call to revive?
To rise up from the coffin we made
Home for the years and the centuries?
Until at last we come back
Some silent January morning
When the world which long has forgotten
Is witness to our returning.
Returning like Christ after three days
No less surprising, no less surreal
That the good God should continue to care
To gift just another rising today
If not in body but it spirit
Revealed on a springlike day.
