End of July

 The limpid light

The limpid light leaks languidly

From an early sky in late July

Behind the sleeping houses

Neath the spire of Sallynoggin church. 

This timid day, still innocent

Sinless as in early Eden 

Holds it breath, the air now cooler 

Than it’s been for weeks. 

The wind picks up and buffets attics

While sea gulls squawk announcing

The coming storm and early swimmers

Survey the choppy waters with concern. 

 

It’s an ordinary day, as simple as they come

When God in heaven has not troubled

To produce his easel or his special paints 

Content to paint a day in black and white. 

But this new day is worthy 

As worthy as any other 

This gift comes naked without wrapping

Grateful we, its proud new owners 

We’re undecided  what to do

Or how to spend these precious hours

We’ll grab just five minutes more

Before our feet shall touch the floor. 

 

70

 Seventy - the eighth decade

I’ve reached the decade in between

The sturdy sixties and the feeble eighties

The final decade before the lights grow dim

Before the engine stutters and the gears sound grim. 

Ten more years of reaping harvests 

Before the autumn stunts all growth

Ten more years swimming with the currents 

In the sea of life that keeps us afloat. 

Grandchildren come with baby cries

Before advancing into teenage years

Pushing buggies then reading stories

Grandma’s cooking while grandad’s snoring. 

Different values, different paces

One last decade to make a difference

For bad or good no one is sure

What awaits from Providence. 

We’ve reached the age our fathers never reached 

Their widows soldiered on for decades more to keep

Their memories fresh with grandchildren a joy

That nearly filled the space and nearly filled  the void. 

We’ve fought some battles 

But we skipped the war

Kept the head down from the bullets

Ducked and dived, lived on, survived. 

They say the good die young

So I’m not a special man

Neither saint nor sinner

Perhaps a timely winner. 

Covid has closed a circle 

That started in a Mexican seminary

Now ending in silence and simplicity 

Where Atlantic waters meet the Irish Sea. 

The end

 The end of times

No need to look in entrails

Or to examine signs in stars

The message is written everywhere

In melting ice and forest fires. 

No need for Scriptures or High Priests

The dogs are barking in the streets

The end is nigh for most of us

The final tide is rising high. 

Some will remain above the flood plain

Some will avoid the desert heat

But many are condemned to death

In a place of climate change. 

Don’t listen to the lunatics

Who live with poisoned minds

Don’t blame a God, who did his best

For a pristine world that we just messed. 

But what survives should prosper

And those remaining learn 

What stays small stays beautiful 

If we live within our means.  

. 

.  

Summer sounds

 Listening not seeing

I’ve closed my eyes and turned off Twitter

To focus on the summer sounds

Of voices on the wind that escape the beach

The excited cries of swimmers

The laughter of young children

Over the hedgerow choir who sing

Busy as ever even though summer has arrived. . 

The July heat has escaped from

Spain 

To turn our meadows brown. 

A sultry stillness settles on our sleepy land

While old men doze and young girls dream

Of creamy skin with Wexford tans

To bring home when school begins

In far off Dublin up the motorway

That bakes in heat while lorries travel

Near by passed towns to the ferries

That queue for space in fair Rosslare. 

Sitting in the sun-house counting 

Blessings far too numerous

But grateful for this window

Into heaven and a paradise

That lies just round the corner

When the sun arrives and shines

In ireland of a thousand shades 

Of green and blonde and brown. 

July Ferry

 July Ferry

From my bedroom  I spy the ferry

Passing on its way to France

Hiding briefly behind the sand dunes 

Then appearing on the open sea. 

This July morning is uncertain

What to do or where to turn

A milky morning full of promise

As Wexford rubs it’s sleepy eyes. 

The HSE can take some pride

Seven in ten now have a jab

And half of us are bulletproof 

Taking baby steps one at a time. 

In two short months, God willing 

If we mind our p’s and q’s

The Irish nation should be marching

Hand in hand to the Promised Land. 

Maskless Nurses can slip out

And buy some ice cream over lunch

Young lovers can embrace and kiss

Happy to taste mouth to mouth. 

Agony now yields to ecstasy 

As we rediscover how to be happy 

To banish angst and insanity

To return to how it used to be. 

Six year olds now tell their teachers

They want their lives back

Surely not too much to ask for

Before their birthdays turn to seven. 

The ferry, tiny in the distance

Leaves behind a country now 

Waking to a brighter morning

Sailing into the sunny east.