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.