Ground, Tierra.

 This is my ground

This is my ground, my barren land

With haunting beauty by the sea

With cinder paths that skirt the ocean

That breaks on weathered rocks below me. 

The Spanish sun, like a Spanish lady

Must be treated with great care

Too much exposure is not healthy

Less is more with the Iberian one. 

The air is filled with the finest spray

As the white waves reach the shore

And the thunder of the breakers

By night and day a constant roar. 

A pleasure boat is gliding past

Dancing in a world all of its own

The sails are filling, the world is spinning

Waltzing to eternal time. 

The sea is sparkling like a mirror

The evening sun refracts the light

It spreads it’s magic so sublimely

We are transported and enraptured. 

The waves will wash us and transform us

Given time they cast their spell

Touching white clouds reaching heaven 

Forgotten now our COVID hell. 

Pebble Beach

 Pebble Beach

The gardens run down to the sea 

Like Berkshire under the Spanish sun

Tidy hedges protect well tended gardens

Where careful owners greet the morn. 

Simple, precious, second-homes 

For the snowbirds who return each March

To a Britain that has endured the rigors

Of weary winter and a Brexit chill. 

Six months they’ve passed

Soaking up the sun

Growing old together

A blessing for everyone. 

The sea breaks on the magma

At the end of every street

Which opens to the ocean wide

With inviting waters on every side. 

Ten minutes walk along the path

Brings us to the boats with sails

Cleats that tinkle in the wind

That whisper fun and sea trips. 

Or we can march along the cinders

That lead to Amarilla mountain

A place of stern and blasted beauty 

Untamed by men over centuries. 

Forty minutes to reveal the ugly beauty

That only progress makes when halted

Half finished structures cry to heaven 

Weathered signs point to what used to be. 

There seems to live a tribe who bought

But could not find resources

To keep their winter homes repaired

A tale of caution to the unprepared. 

This is an island with short memories

Progress means up with the new

Forget the old and let it fester 

No Cesar Manrique to protect them. 

Spanish Street

 A street

A street of sleepy villas

Baking in the sun

Empty of their owners

Til the summer comes.

Each one securely guarded

By glass on walls and lofty gates

Shutters shutting out the light 

No sign of life by day or night. 

Or tomorrow or last week -

Splendid in detachment 

Gleaming marble glistens

In the Spanish sun. 

Some sparkling villas cost a million

And some cost much much more

What a pity when I knock 

That nobody’s at home. 

All we need when all is said

Is a terrace and a comfy bed

A kettle to make the morning coffee

And peace will surely follow.   

A daily tonic to view a sky

Blue and cloudless and a sea

That cheers and raises spirits

Brings joy and serendipity. 

Pinching

 Pinching myself

Pinching myself to make sure it’s real 

Not a dream but the realization

Life has returned, for us at least

Lucky enough to walk Canarian beaches 

And drink cheap beer in British bars. 

Young couples strolling past in love

Holding hands with their lives ahead. Outnumbered by the elderly

Who have spent the years together. 

They walk more slowly now and carefully

Ration money to make it last the week. 

Drinking on the terrace looking out to sea

The western isle lights up as the sun goes down

Then the clouds break and the evening

Shows promise for the day that follows. 

We shall not fall back into old bad habits 

Before the COVID plague nor take for granted

Our ridiculous and tremendous luck

That still holds out against the odds. 

We are the lucky generation in a blessed land. 

Two years later is as if nothing’s happened, 

The restaurants full and the airport buzzing,

Life returns to fill the void and persuade us

The long lost months have been a wicked dream

Like Lazarus we are reborn to the sounds of Queen

That echo from the Irish Scene. 

A little madness

 There’s a time 

There is a time to drop our cares

From sunken shoulders and accept

The world will survive this week without us 

Of drinks and meals and feeble jokes. 

There is just so much the just can bear

Then comes the time when we leave

Our shoes and troubles at the door 

Sneak out in sandals out the back. 

This is the season to be silly

To drop our guard and make mistakes

Small, funny and insignificant

We overstate our self importance. 

There is a time to let it rip

To order without knowing

The cause or cost but to abandon 

Our good sense once a year. 

We all are striving for the same

Emotions except in different sizes

We are not so different when

We see beyond our prejudices. 

 

Tiny Teddy

 Thinking of Teddy

Thinking of Teddy

Born four months early

Living with tubes and leads

The only things he’s ever seen. 

Hailing from Boston

But it doesn’t matter

Where young life appears

Loved both far and near. 

Witness to a precious life

For all life means the same

Priceless and worth praying for

We pray for each by name. 

Whether in a Boston  clinic

Or in an Auschwitz chamber

In a cratered Kyiv church

Every soul we will remember. 

Bless young Teddy as he fights

For his life this Friday evening

Bless the staff and parents

Bless the healing and caring. 

The nurses hands and the parents heart

Encompass Teddy in the ICU

We wish him well with our butterfly prayers

When we wake with hope on Saturday morning. 

Auschwitz eyes

 I look into the eyes 

I look into the eyes of those who died

In the concentration camp at Auschwitz 

They seem to speak across the years

And from my little mobile screen

Their lives and death spark tears. 

Aged but thirty, twenty or even two

Brought by train to the final station where

The appetite for murder knew no bounds 

The cries of millions died without the sound

Escaping from the halls of death. 

Bless me Father for I cannot

Understand a God who shuts his ears

To the prayers of his chosen ones

No sleight of piety can erase

The suffering of their final days. 

Their young clear faces speak to me

Across the decades, across the seas,

What can we do to avoid this scene

Being repeated in our times

This lack of kindness and humanity?

We look at Kyiv overcome by horror

Disbelieving the bombs and murder

Ukraine dies before our eyes

To save us from a similar fate

We must give help, not leave it late. 

There is a chain of Ukraine cities

Twinned with Auschwitz and with Birkenau

The innocent that haunt our days

Joined in sorrow and in grief

Challenge what we all believe.