Between the dark and the soft grey light
of the slowly waking day
I dream of life among the trees
in tall forests, far away.
On knuckled branch and balanced cling
sweet vertigo relief
I scrutinise horizons
and scan for life beneath
Continue reading The Fading Forest.
On the shadowed grey of this wet autumn day
when our family has gathered in solemn pray.
We’ve dressed in respectful cloth of black,
to engrave farewell in granite plaque.
Warm shakes wring hand of autumn cold,
where sorrow’s linked, through solemn fold.
We share remembered tales of joy
of the friend we’ve loved, both man and boy. Continue reading THE MARINER’S RETURN
Between the dark and the soft grey light
of the slowly waking day
I dream of life among the trees
in tall forests, far away.
On knuckled branch and balanced cling
sweet vertigo relief
I scrutinise horizons
and scan for life beneath
Continue reading DARK DREAMS
Hurry you up, hurry you up, hurry you up.
No call for that.
How much is that John?
I’ve no stockings on.
Take them wee shoes off Mammy.
Run on, run on, run on, run on.
Gimme them.
Where’s the scissors?
Here they’re up here.
Wait a wee minute.
Mammy Mammy.
We’re bad pennies.
I don’t know what it is.
Gimme that.
Go out and take it, go out, go out.
I’ll red you out of it, I don’t care.
Now that’s it all
Run out and tell her she’s not watching the wanes right.
Come on in, come on in, come on in a wee while
Throw that there.
Come on you now and tidy up.
Come on now see, come on now.
Where’s the stockings ?
They’re soaking Mammy.
We’ll have to change that now.
Frances, Frances, Frances, Frances.
My daughter Morna married Mike, her boyfriend of 8 years on Aug 3rd in Castlegrove House. I wrote and read the reading for the service.
your tree has grown and swayed aside
to hide our sun at dawn
its leaves of brown, cracked and dried
when your ray of life was drawn.
your stream of hope has reached its tide
replaced with earthly lawn
a salt of tears now long dry eyed
where once your sun had shone.
your flower book-pressed and slowly dried
your essence drifting on
it makes me ponder since you died,
where have the years all gone?
In time, there’ll just be shadows,
contoured prints on layered dry dust,
glasses bent on yesterday’s news,
your walking stick rested, un-walked, unused.
In time, there’ll just be darkness,
cracked light on curtain pulls.
An empty glass of Paddy downed, where
time stands still, your watch unwound.
Nothing had never been noticed
when old John did disappear
He’d been cussing and singing rebel songs
When he got throwed out on his ear.
No one there had missed him
or his stinked of piss odour.
He’d rarely broke horizons
Laid flat back drunk upon the floor. Continue reading ODD SOX
The old bee bumbled,
like a cold engine in winter,
choke pulled and sputtering,
bumping her black head
In drunken dance against the glass cage.
Her flight of fluttered chaos
scattering a trail of dusted pollen
in her yellow wake.
Her honey, sweet from flower scented,
fresh, since Pharaohs sate on her gold
in pyramids of mere stone.
Sliding, buzzing below, stealing
one closing glance though striped reflection,
at man’s last waltz for freedom.
Shorts 