Another, then another

 We’ll have another

We are a nation, oft a stranger 

To moderation and to restraint

We’ll give it holly, and if we’re sorry

We’ll repent tomorrow and pay our way. 

We’ll have another, then another 

What’s your hurry? We’ll leave no bottle 

Half empty for the morning. 

What’s the point in wondering?

Not for us the half pint of bitter

Or the tiny glass of table wine

No, fill that glass til overflowing

Birds don’t fly on one wing after all.

Not a race of small half measures 

Empty and full we understand 

Time in the wee hours spent sleeping

Is time wasted when a raging party 

Flows freely in the kitchen. 

Then time for songs sung with eyes half-shut. 

These winter nights will pass more swiftly

When no one’s a stranger and all are kin

In the wee hours in the kitchen. 

Regrets are passed round in a parcel 

To be opened on the morrow

But for now we’ll raise the rafters

Exiling sadness, forgetting sorrow. 

Response to Cop 26

 Hope for the best

The climate is changing

We hope for the best

Being serious people

We’ll prepare for the worst. 

We’ll pull out the stops

We’ll cut down our travel

We’ll live far more simply

Our footprint will shrivel. 

But we have to assume

Not all share our goal

Some talking the talk

But shirking the walk. 

Most people will wait

Til the water is lapping

Filling our gardens

Coming in our front doors. 

Then the slowest will move

As fast as they can

Straight out the door

From pot into the pan. 

We humans will change 

Not before options killed

What ethics fails to move

Necessity will enforce. 

I look to the future 

Without hope or despair

Interesting feelings

If afforded somewhere. 

I'll put my hand to the plough

And drive straight on

We can only mow lawns

As Voltaire once said*

*il faut cultiver notre jardin

Candide by Voltaire 1759

Precious hours

 In the precious hours 

In the precious hours 

Before the soul has left the body

After the heart stops beating

As the flesh grows colder. 

The soul looks round 

At friends and family gathered

Warmed by prayers and thoughts

Moist from tears. 

The soul is first in limbo

Caught between the worlds

Unwilling and unable 

To bid its farewell yet. 

But soon it must release its grip

Fly away as the coffin’s dropped

Taking note of plot and number 

Of the body’s deep eternal slumber. 

Then off it peels into the galaxies

As cosmic dust from where we started 

In a spiral that grows forever

Encased in memories like a lover. 

Don’t pray for me for I’ll be fine

Keep me in your heart, that’s all

Harvesting the better bits

We had some fun you may recall. 

I’ll think of you on your journey

That all men make to the stars

Do not fear the final furlong

Into the Light and blinding glory. 

Keep dear Teilhard in your pocket 

De Chardin’s vision in your shroud

His sweeping arc of goodness

Enfolding an eternal promise. 

Embracing all the universe

Covog

 Covog

The fog from Covid dulls my brain

My grey cells turn to mulch

I don’t make sense half the time

Not even to myself. 

My better half is much the same

We often lose the plot 

Our fondest hope is half plus half 

Makes one and sense wins out. 

It’s mostly so but sometimes

Half plus half makes nothing

Then back to the drawing board

To check the careful adding. 

We’ve all gone just a little mad

These eighteen months of hell

Have put us on the edge

We’re holding on until

The remedy will surely come

When normal programs play

When embraces and the feel of skin

Will save us from this plague. 

The time will come

 The time will come

The time will come when we are neither christian nor pagan

Neither believer nor unbeliever

For it will be a time of knowledge, not belief,

When distinctions fade. 

As Jesus said so wisely

There will be neither married nor single

Male or female

English or Irish. 

It will not matter in what plot we’re buried,

In simple Quaker graveyard or in polished stone,

Young or old, plain or handsome, 

Nothing to distinguish in eternity. 

The low autumn sun

 The low autumn sun

The low autumn sun caresses the fields

Where busy the cattle graze at their leisure

With the coming of winter and the longer cold nights

Like the birds in the Bible, each is sufficient. 

The wind turbines throb and pulse with great power

The west winds are driving them further and faster

The lights in Kilmore will burn brightly this evening 

The table lamps glowing behind the lace curtains. 

The sun is now setting beyond the far Saltees

The ocean awaits with arms far apart

While down on the rocks the waves are exploding

Washing the shore on the incoming tide. 

Our shadows have lengthened 

We have become giants

Walking the path, skirting the coast

Warm hands in our pockets, our backs to the wind. 

The ferries are coming from Wales and from France

On the horizon twixt the sea and the sky

Gleaming and steaming towards the safe harbor

Tonight they’ll eat supper in fair Rosslare port. 

Over in Glasgow they’re talking a great deal

To save this poor planet, to give it a chance

To bargain some minutes from the clock that is ticking

Implacably moving towards midnight in winter. 

1st of November.

 The first of November 

It’s the first of November

The clocks have gone back

The glorious morning heralds a day

Full of promise 

We’re sitting in deck chairs

Eyes closed to the sun

That warms the cream flagstones

Our troubles have gone. 

Only birds break the silence 

Of this glorious noon 

The boats are tied up

The tractors are resting

A second coffee sipped

Then a third - but who’s counting

At this time of year?

A day gifted from heaven

Unexpected, undeserved

But we’ll enjoy it all the same

The shadows are creeping

Across the green lawn

Cut for the last time

Yesterday morning. 

We’ll soon move our chairs

Back into the sun 

Though low in the sky

Welcome and wan.   

What tomorrow shall bring

We simply don’t know

We’ll drink back our coffee

And enjoy today’s show.