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 

Showing 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.