The crisp dew of
Jubilant is their ring.
The soft gentle breeze of
Leave tickles of tease.
The blazing heat of
Defiant in their fight.
The strong gale of
Woeful is their tale.
The cold depth of
Deadening in their sound.
Throat itches and scratches,
raspiness of an otherworldly quality.
Lips miming the words,
their echoes silent.
From deep within,
the surges pulsating,
desperately attempting to blast into the atmosphere.
A concerted effort,
both messenger and vessel
willing, wishing, wanting
the ripples to meet the surface.
Flows and ebbs of lapping dialogue,
sparkling glistening leaps of innocent,
lulls of serenity and quiet contemplation
all in a blink of the mind’s eye.
Each page turning as if courtesy of a fast-forward button.
Slipping, falling, fading,
thugs of resistance futile.
The stark realisation,
this is coldness,
this is acceptance.
Your resting place
The glistening Shannon,
a magnificent twinkling curtain
rolled out smoothly,
a veil is drawn over the valley below.
Rosary in unison
to the grating of the clay
back and forth the swings,
only momentarily disrupted
by the exchange of hands.
A new crew lies in wait
to take up the chorus.
The many gatherers scattered
witnesses to the careful descent
into your resting place
A quilt of roses adorns you,
Each petal precious and sweet
Keep warm my love.
Tumbling tresses of auburn,
slender, lithe and graceful frame
Bambi eyes – a depth of beauty
Beaming, effortless smile
finely crafted hands which have
penned many a touching message,
prepared many a loving meal,
reached for many a tender embrace,
and now act as protectrice to
your very own High King of Ireland.
Youth marked by boundless energy,
instant engagement, rebellious spirit, insatiable curiosity.
inquisitive student, keen linguist,
Cuisinière de résistance –
tasting and delighting in the delectable delicacies
of this glorious multicultural world.
mindful of the lessons of our elders,
firm and steadfast in convictions,
hopeful, driven to forge a better
Ireland for those to come.
Attuned to the voices of many,
considerate and considered in rhetoric
the consummate politician
a fusion of past, present and future.
Life ignites, infuses, thrills,
courageous in pursuits
standing strong, upright and resolute
climbing every mountain
with an indomitable spirit,
there is something about this maiden.
As your wedding day approaches,
your chieftain awaits
on the mountain top –
Cnoc na Teamhrach
This particular climb sees
you ascend assuredly,
with each step to the summit,
you are brought home.
Proud to call you friend
treasures in the recesses of my mind,
the pounding of tennis balls on the tarmac
during the hot Summer days.
Both as equally eager to smash it with a formidable forehand,
the dual recorders in sync (well most of the time),
we were after all the instrumental saving grace
of each year’s Nativity play!
The dreaded own goal
You poised for a glorious save,
I, oblivious to your cries
dealt the fatal blow
I tested your patience that day,
you the model of decorum never let it show.
Teenage years brought a keen interest in historical pursuits.
Con Air showings back to back,
fabulous Super Mac extravaganzas,
Infinite ripples of laughter and giggles
bringing comfort and company
when I needed it most.
Never mind Tipperary
it’s a longer way to Letterkenny,
such was the legal route
but boy was it worth the journey
Success, Freedom, Fun
not forgetting Cupid
you never once looked back.
Eyes blue and gentle,
the small contented smile
you’ve navigated the peaks and troughs,
I can see
you’re happy with your lot.
This is your moment,
bask in the joy,
feel the excitement.
I’m privileged to witness the triumph,
but most undoubtedly
proud to call you friend.
Strength is in our past
Do not mourn me my love
I am near you still,
notice me in the Autumn leaves
lining the roadside
in your honour.
Each leaf that falls
memories we shared
gliding to their peaceful slumber.
My time has arrived
so has theirs
swirls of multicolour
our befitting final dance,
The day will come
when the leaves will fade.
strength is in our past.
Snug, at ease
the fireside warmth
a fitting forum for festive cheer.
Verses of old time classics
and one hit wonders
giving way to ripples of merriment
savouring the delight.
A shadowing possibility
this occasion might be our last
Reminding ourselves to make it count
holding it tight as a precious jewel –
delicate, fragile, magnetic.
a murmur, a mutter,
falling indifferently, clumsily, irreverently from parted lips.
Sometimes a habit, a courtesy, an afterthought,
always a marker of our hard-won freedom.
Seemingly innocuous word, a nod to our ancestors,
ingrained in our bruised dialect,
woven through the beaten tapestry of our history,
stirring the ghosts, the troubled sod,
foremost in our legacy.
‘Sorry’ for suffering eight hundred years of oppression,
‘sorry’ for having our native tongue ripped out,
‘sorry’ for building another nation with our blood, wood, sweat and tears,
‘sorry’ for being denied the right to toil on our own soil.
Let us not lament further sacrifice.