Greystones Marina

 Greystones Marina covered in concrete

Their sins cry out to the heavens

Ugly, brutal and cold hearted

Beloved by builders who hurry

To finish what they’ve started. 

Power handed down without wisdom

Upturning centuries of clear beauty

Who discard the ancient wheel 

And try design a new one. 

Greystones lying peacefully

Beneath cold cement and tiles

Exotic town they ravished you

They covered your classy style 

Along the shore the flats run on,

On and on beneath the gaze

Of whirring cameras just the same

As in a dystopian computer game. 

The emperor chose marina plans

The day he chose his tunic  

The good news is all will crumble

Years before the mountain granite 

Good luck, farewell and happy I

Never to see your face again

Nature will one day reassert

Will overcome the works of men. 

Bray Brrrr

 Bray Brrrr

Face to the sea, back to the sun

Back to front the houses run

Windows looking to the chilly East

Along the frozen shore

A country starved of sunshine

Turns it’s back and shows

Tiny windows facing south

As if we’d light to squander. 

The builders came and built them

And then packed off to Spain

They never came to see their work

Never to return again

To see how little people 

Managed in the shadows 

Bereft of warmth and light

Strive as all they might

To insulate their castles 

And keep their children cozy

All because the careless planners

Were so useless and so dozey. 

Bray you are a wondrous town

Despite your useless planning

My heart warms up every time

I cross the River Dargle. 

J Peter Andrews

 J Peter Andrews

Even though fallen, they are never forgotten

Even though buried, their memories will last 

Unable to grieve because of the plague

Their names are engraved and never are lost.

A De La Salle soul, from leafy Churchtown

Standing tall in the line-out, ahead of us all

Straight spoken and clear, never a doubt

Impatient with cant, calling it out.

J Peter Andrews, a gentleman true,

Ten months later we continue to mourn you

A candle we’ll light with a bright flame 

We’ll raise a full glass to honour your name

Book escapes

 Book escapes

Much of the novels that we read

Are pointless, useless fluff

That will be pulped in record time

Just a pity they got printed. 

Most of the good stuff sleeps the sleep

Of the just on musty shelves

Their faded beauty unrecognized

By the careless market. 

Now and again a book survives  

It’s inner truth shines through

And gives us hope that life is fair

That quality is after all eternal. 

I’ve made a promise that in future

I’ll give the glossy tomes a miss

And spend my money on the classics

That will stand the test of time. 

What my father gave me

 What my father gave me…

Like a well that has run low

It seemed the waters staunched

In my middle years as I wrestled

With the world and his memory. 

And now I’ve remembered -

How could I just forget

The ideals that he shared with me

That became my very floor-plans?

So close to me they stayed unseen

Hidden clearly for all to see

I thought I’d traveled but here I am

Where first the journey started.   

Impatient of the hypocrite

Well researched and sober

His favourite saying I recall

Love the sinner hate the sin.

A belly laugh, a howl of fun

When listening to the weekend Goons

The Sunday lunch pierced with jokes

That left him helpless with silly laughter.

Like many sons I ploughed my furrow

Broad and wide and far from home

Humbled now to discover

We are back where we belong.

Winter Wexford Sun

 Sunday morning strollers

Sunday morning strollers

Walking down the beach

Reflected in the puddles left

By a tide that’s out to sea 

November’s fast declining

As we welcome Christmas in

My shadow is extending

With the yellow sun behind me. 

The cold East wind is biting

It’s time for hats and gloves

But the senses feel a stirring

It’s so good to be alive 

I reach beach-end and turn around

The low sun reflecting in the water

Warms my face and lifts my spirits

A welcome bonus at Autumn end. 

Its a late November Sunday

With Advent round the corner

Today we’ll worship walking

Along God’s lonely shoreline. 

Johnstown Castle Wexford

 Johnstown Castle

The ducks are swimming strongly

Across the upper lake

They’re busy little fellows

They’ve hardly time to take. 

The swans watch over young ones

They look so fierce at strangers

They glide across the lower lake

The castle in the background. 

The peacocks strut their stuff

Extend their plumes in wide abandon

Proud as punch but not too proud

To eat the crumbs from tourist lunch. 

This time of year is heaven

The woodlands change their color

And spread their magic leaves

On gravel paths to charm us. 

The magic scene created

By the low sun over trees

With the garden lake behind

We sit on our wooden chairs

Soaking up late autumn sun

Reflected in the mirrored waters

Of the lake that sends the soul

Into rapture and contentment. 

For the memory of this moment

Will last the days and span the years

And remain a pleasure that the heart

Will treasure in our nursing home.