Category: poems

All Hallows Eve

All Hallows Eve

And as the clocks go back

The darkness descends

Prepare for long nights and shorter days

Samhain, Samhain, when the veil is thin

And the ghosts of the dead attempt to seep in

And try to spy to perhaps say hi 

Don’t be afraid of the ghosts we laid

In the deep dark earth, biding time to portray

reveal and expose, what we already know

love is the key and will unlock for sure

And the sinners and saints, may bang on your door

on All Hallows Eve they’ll be witches and ghouls 

But don’t be a fool to fall for the trick, for the treat

Is much sweeter so welcome them in

the ones with lost souls are not always so grim

we reap what we sow, tread lightly there now

look out, look within, pray, listen and bow

Lost and found

Lost and found

And there he was, frozen, still, eyes wide, teeth shining, tail erect, holding my gaze, waiting, both of us, for the other to make a move.

Not what I expected to see at the bottom of the garden, my sanctuary, sweet smell of honeysuckle, boxed in with the structured walled hedge.  My get away from the noise of the house, the chaos, and now, each of us startled, lost in our thoughts and fears. The wolf cub and me, wondering what next? Is each of us friend or foe?

My gaze softened, I smiled and slowly held out my hand as I bent down, to beckon him and to my surprise, he yielded and together we sat, quiet amongst the honeysuckle, knowing we’d been found.

For national poetry day across the pond in the UK…..

The Long Sleep

Sad times can evoke and trigger such good times through memories. I count myself lucky that I have so many happy memories of a life lived and shared with loved ones…..

Photo by Daria Shevtsova on Pexels.com

It was strange passing by the doorway

Knowing you no longer occupied the room

The first time I went in, after you died

I cried

I looked around at the remnants of you

The hospital bag, clean pyjamas, slippers and

Unwrapped sweets

Wurthers originals, your favourite,

The same initials as your name W. O

William O’Reilly

all I could do was stare at it all

The picture on the bedside cabinet of padre pio

Your ‘pal’, sure didn’t he always look after you

Your holy medals, always kept in your breast pocket

Next to your heart, to keep you safe

and your easy start, the ‘inhaler’ has given you  

your Last breath, its last puff

and now all this stuff in this 10 ft. sq. room

will no longer will be touched by you

But you cannot be wiped clean from them

You are engrained and sustained in it all

and the holy Medals, in the palm of my hand

will still withstand life and death and I will never forget

your laugh, your smile, your funny ways, you.

They come with me on my journey

And I keep them safe and they keep me safe

Knowing you are at the heart of them

The smell of cigarettes filled the air and the stub in box

Of your cardigan pocket, a lasting legacy of your last

Kiss, where your lips wrapped around its filter

And you drew in the nectar of your addiction

No contrition or remorse or feeling bad

They were your comfort, your solace, and I get that

I loved them too, before I finally gave them up.

Now, more than two months on since you passed

as I stand in your room

No sign of you, no sight nor smell,

the paint and paste swallowed it up

but my mind can recall it all

the ghosts of this room

once my own, spent teenage years in a new life,

a new house, a new bedroom, and yours

was down the hall then

almost 40 years have passed since

I last slept in there

I remember it so well

Me and Jackie, giggling and talking

All night, until morning broke

when sleep finally muffled our chatter

and found us

So much joy and laughter contained

Within the walls

Yet so much sorrow, but

Now, as I slip in between the sheets

And darkness falls on the room

I remember the ghosts of both you and her

I drift and dream of great times

Good and happy memories

and as the long sleep takes me

on a sea of peace and calm

happily, I sail away with the

ghosts in my heart

Jubilant

Hunters & Gatherers come in many forms. It began as a need to survive, then when you look at the imbalance in the modern world, it just became greed

Photo by Francesco Ungaro on Pexels.com

I hear them scuffling, scurrying

through the long grass

hunting, gathering

and overhead, singing

the tunes for the dead

ducking and diving they wait

and watch

then, in a flurry

they swoop down

and like those before them

they too scuffle & scurry

poke and peck

Juilant

their feast tucked tightly in their beak

they scarper, in a flap

like a guilty thief

back to their lair

Poison

Too good to be true…The laburnum tree is truly beautiful and I loved mine but we learned first hand, its toxicity….. Be cautious of it and things that seem too good to be true…..

authors own… Laburnum

She is beautiful

striking in her full splender

unwittingly, she commands attention

Spectacular specimen that she is

she knows no bounds

she will trick you, invite you, entice you

to touch her

beware, be warned

She will cause more harm than good

for she is poison

Her beauty short lived

do not be fooled

golden pendulum

hypnotic

toxic

Golden rain

Months mind thoughts….

Authors own

Hello God, remember me
I used to write you, when i was wee
A little child so innocent,
I write to thank you, and to vent.
You were my friend when i felt afraid,
You kept me going whenever i strayed
I couldnt see you, but knew you were there
Listening and watching and answering my prayers.
So now dear God ive a favour to ask,
Take special care of my dear dad,
He’s left us now, gone back to you and its hard to feel happy when I feel so blue.
I know i miss the sound of his voice
And all the times that we’ve enjoyed
Please dont let him feel afraid
And tell him that the love has stayed.
Thank you dear God, for always being there
Even when life,, just doesn’t seem fair…..

Traditions

victims of circumstance, born by chance into the family, the county, the colour, the culture, the life that we live. Promises, rituals, beliefs are not, necessarily, set in stone….

Photo by cottonbro on Pexels.com

Traditions….

Traditions of times gone by

Propelled to a future unknown

Baptism, communion, 21st, marriage

Symbols of becoming

An admission to a way of life

a cleansing of the past from where we came

a reminder of greatness, responsibility, hope

a journey to follow and participate

in the future that, has now arrived

the landscape unrecognisable

from when the tradition had been set

yet, here we are accepting, expecting, ritualising

and deciding which part of the responsibility and hope

we will participate in

and which we will discard….

authors own photo

Jackdaw

Creatures of habit, the birds build in any chimney, nook an cranny and return year after year., until someone or something gets in their way, it creates a loss and a gain for all involved.

gathering…. authors own

Persistent in the building, the jackdaw

Searched and found

The twigs, the moss, the leaves and tuft

All settled on the ground

He swooped and gathered and up he flew

To place them in the pot

Chirping merrily and proudly

Preparing to weave his lot

His stash, lined bricks and mortar

A home to build his nest

Only to find he’d been locked out

When off he went to rest

The cowl they placed upon the pot

His access had been denied

Not merrily chirping any more

His dreams for ‘home’ had died

No more the morning singing

Inside the house could be heard

Now only a strange quietness

Oh how they’ll miss this intelligent bird

But off he flew, quite undeterred to build

Another nest

A home, a house a habitat

Of where his chicks can rest

authors own

Resilient is this little bird, he’ll seek and he will find

a tree, or steeple, a nook or cranny

he will not be confined

for he is ever working, with tenacity and grit

he will not be deterred, he will just get on with it

and so the chirping will stay with him as he sings

his sweet sweet tune

and where the chimney has been blocked

no twittering lifts the gloom……