Corner

 Corner

We’ve rounded the Covid corner 

But we’re not yet home and dry

It’s only one step at a time

But it’s clear where salvation lies. 

The view as we’re turning the corner

Lifts our heart and quickens our step

As we walk towards the finishing line

Let’s not get out of our depth! 

Remembering those who won’t make it

Those we had to bury in silence

Those who died nursing the sick 

And all who are sadly departed. 

With thanks for those in white gowns

In laboratories up and down

Who worked night and day

To bring a bright future to save us. 

We have to pinch ourselves often 

As we stumble out of darkness 

And into light that we may 

Luxuriate in the ordinary. 

Never will we take for granted

What we have missed and yearned for

A hug, a hold, a clasp, a touch, 

To embrace another pounding heart. 

We shall count each single hug 

And then forget completely to count

As we submerge into ecstasy

Of the company of those we love. 

No ordinary day will ever be the same

We will honor and cherish every name

We will value each hour and each moment 

Now we see and never will be blind again. 

Rain

 Rain

The rain is gentle and persistent

Washing black roof slates now glistening,

More a mist than a downpour

Almost invisible on this soft summer day. 

The blackbird is singing on the lawn

Despite the mizzle that wets his feathers

Happy to be singing in the soft rain

A Baptism song for birds. 

As the rain recedes the choirs in hedges

Pick up the same tune as steam arises 

From the dark tarmac lying in front 

On a clammy and muggy, dark afternoon. 

Not for us the typhoon showers 

Of tropical lands far away

Just the steady drum of gentle rain

On windows facing west today. 

The grasses proudly carry crowns

Of silver raindrops like jewels

The leaves lying lush in the hedges

Bow their soft heads in mild adoration. 

The God of rain made his home

In Ireland of Atlantic mists

And we are but tourists on this land

Green before and after man’s arrival. 

Holidays.

 Summer Holidays 

Summer holidays when the rain

Came rolling in from the ocean

The familiar sweet smell of damp

That lived with us for days on end. 

Walking into the mist 

That cooled our face

That warmed our spirit

On a Sligo afternoon. 

Fierce Strandhill waves

Like mountains crashing

On a beach being stripped

Of sand with pebbles in exchange. 

The fine spray above Glencar

Whose torrent rushes into the stream

That feeds the Drumcliffe river

Beneath Ben Bulben’s shadow. 

Taking shelter from the rain

In the shop in Castle Street 

McDonaghs Dairy with the smell

Of tea and milk and butter. 

Ever patient Uncle Packie

Behind the counter with a smile

For every person and a discreet hand

For Sligo’s poor still dressed in black. 

Times that passed but not forgotten

Come rolling back like summer mists

Just as gently wash the soul

With whispers of eternity. 

 

Easter

 Easter ceremonies 

The altar boys meeting 

Every Friday at five

Preceded by scuffles

With the locals from Nutgrove

Who vanished when Father Hyland

Walked up from his garden

To the sacristy in Churchtown’s

Good Shepherd church.

He assigned every mass

In copper plate writing. 

Two boys for a mass

And seven for a blessing. 

Benediction was special 

With candles and bells

Incense and chasubles. 

Weddings meant two shillings

Christenings somewhat less

But the best of the best 

Was the call to serve at Easter

In Mount Carmel convent

Where spoiled by the nuns 

With food that was heavenly 

The clean polished floors

The aroma of incense

The purity and innocence

The dream of the fifties. 

The drama of ritual

Not lost as we prayed 

In surplices ironed

By mothers each day. 

Black shiny shoes 

And gelled tousled  hair

The call of the Spirit

The smells from the kitchen

The long Easter Vigil

Followed by a feast 

To hail the resurrection.   

Forgive

 Forgive me

Forgive me for the things I bought

And hid and didn’t need

Forgive me all the hungry mouths

I just forgot to feed. 

To be buried in a coffin

With no money only proof

Of humble giving to the poor

Right throughout a life. 

To die with large deposits

Failing miserably 

To spread and share

What life gives us for free. 

We plan to sell this house

Bought forty years ago

The house is not the problem

The clutter brings us woe. 

Unopened wedding presents 

Cupboards clogged with stuff

Things we never knew we bought

The forgotten word ‘enough’

Hope still remains

Old age will bring a change

Instead of hoarding

We’ll open hearts and presses. 

Let him with two coats

Give to him with none

That as days shorten 

Arms will lengthen. 

Hopefully. 

Lies

 Brexiteer Lies

The Brexiteers are busy writing history

As fast as they can manage 

But they should remember some lying rules, 

It’s not as if they’re plenty. 

Say them loud, say them often

Say what people want to hear

The bigger the lie you get to tell

The louder comes the cheer. 

Here’s a few history changes

To get your mind in gear -

The Germans won the First World War

They won it eight goals to three. 

In extra time, if I remember 

These details seem important

And the Nazis won the replay

In nineteen forty three. 

The US joined the game

Long after it was over 

But that doesn’t count as fair

For fairness is what we stand for. 

And Leicester won the Premier League 

By twenty points last week - 

Don’t mind the Labour lies 

Or their commie friends in Sky. 

If you can lie my son

And cannot tell the difference 

Between night and day, black and white 

The world shall be your oyster. 

Oh, and by the way 

You’re welcome to our Party. 

Falling

 Falling then rising

Jesus says the just man falls

Seven times a day and calls

Us to rise up from where 

We find ourselves and proclaim

We shall lift ourselves again. 

Each new day, a new beginning

To go beyond ourselves and sinning. 

But when we fall as we must surely do

We’ll return in time to remember you. 

The dead

 The dead

The dead remain alive to me

I remember them and try to see

Their faces through the mists of time 

And hear their voices in a quiet space. 

Their deeds live on, their words

Still ring clear as yesterday. 

Their love as strong for they belong

Inside of us and time will never part

What lies buried deep inside the heart. 

They hold my hand on life’s long path

They point the way through sadness

Sharing joy along a way

With footprints in the sand 

That show me where goodness lies,

On a pilgrimage full of adventure

Filled with friends and noisy laughter. 

We embrace our luck take this chance

To lose ourselves in song and dance. 

For the times remembered are the merry.   

All that endures is the warm light

Of love and kindness of their journey. 

Meaning

 Meaning

There is meaning in this precious life

If we really want it

There is something that can follow death

If we really hope it

Bright galaxies and stars can shine

Or disappear in blackest holes

The universe is full of dark and light 

Depending which we’re choosing.  

Sun tan lotion

 Sun tan lotion 

My bichon frise is not a fan

Of expensive sun tan lotion 

For she licks it off my legs -

Where did she get this notion?

I’m sure she has no malice

My best intents her reason

It’s an act of love and care

A sign of her devotion. 

My dry old skin needs some help

Survive another summer

To keep the Wexford wind at bay

I’ll wear each cream and potion

The sun-house warms my blood

With its views across the sea

While lobster boats and ferries

Speak industry and ecstasy. 

Volvo

 V is for Volvo

I lock the doors and look back fondly 

At my car, how well it’s aging 

Its timeless charm, its rugged looks

Its classic lines and sleek profile. 

Fourteen years we’ve been together

Up and down the Irish roads

On motorways and rough boreens

Winter, summer, wind and rain. 

Volvo number ten if we exclude

The motors bought by mum

Forty years is longer far

Than marriages I know. 

Bought for safety, kept for comfort 

With the turbo when speed is needed

Like sitting in your favorite chair

At sixty miles an hour. 

She’s coping well with aging pains

Little niggles, nothing serious 

In better nick than her owner

That’s saying little sadly. 

The company now the prize 

Of wealthy Chinese owners 

But still the Scandic charm

Pervades the corporate aura. 

About to click one hundred thousand

Miles November coming 

And then the aim is five more years

To celebrate being twenty. 

Happy to leave behind me

The four year company car

Happy to be still driving

The very best so far. 

The time will come when bikes take over 

And public transport becomes a mantra

Until then I’ll sit right back

Enjoying style and comfort. 

Ferry

 Ferry

The ferry sails out on a silver sea

Early this golden morning

While the wind in Wexford’s asleep

We listen to news on the radio. 

This ferry has kept us alive 

For fourteen months over Covid

While we slept under blankets in bed

It bravely faced the elements. 

Sail on fair ferry and carry

What we need to live without worry 

Plough the blue sea with our blessing

Protecting your crew and passengers. 

Head south with our dearest dreams 

To join you some day on your stern

Looking back at Ireland with hope

As we travel once more on holidays. 

The thought of breathing fresh air

Examining our maps of the motorways

On the table of a bar on the port side

The excitement of travel like the old days. 

We dare not believe or raise hopes

That we will return to the ocean

That we will escape bunkers and homes

That our time in plague prison is over.  

Five

 Five a.m. 

It’s five a.m. on May twelfth 

A half an hour before dawn

The birds are busily singing 

This is their time on their own. 

The early sky is brightening 

It’s the black and white time of day

When the colors are washed and

The world sleeps soundly away. 

Folks cherish dreams while turning

In tossed sheets on different beds

That vary by only a foot or two 

Despite different fortunes of men. . 

But back to the birds who have

Laid claim to this year of plague 

Theirs the voice of courage

When others have lost their way. 

Different voices from different choirs 

Call out a matins hymn

Ahead of the monks in the abbeys

The teachers and children at school.   

The bird songs honoring God 

Despite the terror of Covid

Rallying folk to believe 

The Promised Land we’ll achieve. . 

The light in the East’s growing stronger

The birds are now heading home

Their job’s done this Wednesday morning    

The kettle starts to boil in the kitchen 

The coffee tastes good at this hour

And so I will toast a new morning 

Grateful for another dawn breaking 

For the gentle folk of Dun Leary

When

 When 

When you are one of three hundred

Meditating in silence on Sundays 

In bright Quaker Halls all around Ireland 

And the other seven million 

Are happy elsewhere 

At times you question your purpose

And doubt your own sanity

For while numbers should never be taken

As Gospel but still you will wonder

Who’s right and who’s wrong. 

Is this lonely path for the few and

Not the many? For surely our God

Has called everybody?

But maybe our God is fragmented

With different colors like a prism 

Maybe all paths come together

And arrive at a point we call home. 

Perhaps it’s not really important

That we all sit down at an hour

In one room in a holy tower

God will find us wherever we are

Whether looking below or staring at stars. 

Seventy

 Seventy 

I’ve seventy in my sights

A very special birthday

I thought I mightn’t reach

And often did my best

To avoid this special feast. 

Especially when younger

I tempted all the fates

Fell off some boundary walls

Bounced my head off gates

And concrete pavements too. 

But the danger really came

With a license and a car

When the faster that I drove

Brought me nearer to God

In ways I hadn’t thought. 

When not behind a wheel

Then propped up at a bar

And nearly killed myself

With wine and beer and more. 

Burning candles at both ends

Became my favorite habit

And then I wondered 

Why my health ran down 

Aged merely fifty one. 

These decades fill with pills

Exams and more procedures 

I keep the medics busy

We’re running out of lives 

Seven gone and counting. 

I’m thankful and I’m planning

To enjoy the years remaining

Embracing life more sensibly 

I’ll start the daily training. 

 Today. 

Memories

 Memories

Memories that come flooding back

Of half forgotten afternoons

In sunny Churchtown of the sixties

Happy we and didn’t know it

Healthy we and didn’t show it

Time we lavished just like water 

Slipping softly through our fingers

Unconcerned about a future 

When time grew tight and water rationed

On a landscape truly altered. 

Memories these that lay submerged 

But a foot below the surface 

Lying still for half a century 

Til the haze this afternoon 

Til summer heat in the garden

Brought back the sounds and smells

Of the times we thought forgotten

The ‘temps perdus’ no longer lost

But seen obliquely as through a gauze 

That stops our heart and makes us pause. 

Back we journey a generation

Mingling with dear folk now long dead 

But alive to us and living still

Within our heart and imagination. 

These memories that are part of us 

The ground of being that lifts the spirit

That clothes our soul, suggesting old songs

As we fall back in nodding slumber

This afternoon in striped deck chairs

To the hymn of bees in a warm back garden. 

Kingdom

 May our Kingdom come 

A kingdom without borders

That stretches sea to sea

Where every man’s a member

And every woman too

A kingdom where the king

Hangs washing on the line 

And greets the folk with cheery wave

Who meets them all the time

A kingdom that has no army

For the world is but one country 

No ‘other people’ but only us

One single happy family. 

A kingdom with a living wage

So each man has enough each day

And each man has a role to play

Time to work and time to pray. 

This kingdom’s not a kingdom

In the well known way

No border guards, no refugees 

With each one here to live and stay. 

Every man a citizen 

And every woman too

No minister for justice

Rights for all, it’s true. 

Front doors have keys left in them 

For years and generations 

Most doors lack locks and keys 

It’s a free and open nation. 

At night when coming home

Young women travel freely

Children play in schoolyards

Returning when they’re hungry. 

For no one’s hungry here

In a country where we share

No one hoards for there’s no need

When food and love is guaranteed. 

This kingdom sounds a long way off

But hard as it may seem

This kingdom will arrive the day

We live within our means.