A golden heart that beats within
A gently undulating flame
That shimmers, sending light
To every cell and atom of my being.
In quiet dusk I close my eyes
To hear its words of wisdom
Advising when to write
And when to stop, suggesting
Words and lines. I do not speak
But listen, watching how it moves
And glows, always there, lighting up
The dark beneath my skin.
My eyes are filled with trees of gold
With shining, rippling water
A vibrant view that pleases all my senses
Here, I am alive, almost euphoric
Breathing . . .
I was at a bus stop in Dawson Street in Dublin when Brendan Kennelly walked past me:
Hello, the poet!
I called; he turned and smiled and
blew the sweetest kiss.
A rose, heart-stopping
red, intoxicating scent,
irony of thorns.
Child of my child, I
scoop you up and hug you, breathe
you in and keep you.
So, I have been advised by my friends on Instagram that the hippo in the Dodder river is actually a rhino. Of course it’s a rhino, that’s what I meant . . . changed the last line a little – he’s a Dublin rhino.
Oy! You on the path –
Can you bring me wellingtons?
Me hooves are freezin’.
Hey! You on the path –
Can you get me wellingtons?
My feet are freezin’.
In the darkened room
Dim lamps and candles flare
It’s time –
Push back the chairs
Leave room for all the souls
Abroad tonight to mingle and remember
Set out the meats and bread
Uncap the warming drink
Nostalgia fills the cups
They whisper tales of youth
Thin voices rustling
Around the laden table
The living leap the fires
Gather nuts and fruit and
Mirror-gaze to see the future
Bright ring of day approaches
Reluctant, trailing wraiths
Rise and fade like smoke
While weary mortals sleep.
Hello to all who are kind enough to read my posts. I’m taking a week off from all media. I really have to put more time into The Red Petticoat – my poetry collection. I want to add in photographs – where appropriate – only ones I have taken myself. And I have two novels for children I need to have a look at too. And some half-written posts to complete.
In between times I shall tackle my TBR list and watch Netflix and drink coffee and knit dolls’ clothes for my granddaughter.
Until next week so . . .
I’m happy to say I’ve had two poems published in the Qutub Minar Review, Volume 3, Issue 2. They will form part of the collection “The Red Petticoat” which I hope to publish on amazon early next year. They’re short so I’ll include them here:
Unholy Things
Your eyes have shut themselves away
I watch them glance and bounce and spin
Deeper into alien things
Alien to me, my friend
Although you think I travel with you
I shrink from where you’ve gone
But still, a sting of envy
Your head is filled with beating wings
Bearing you high, and higher yet
Above unholy things
Too far from sweat and blood
From wormy worms and fleshy flesh
I’ll let you be.
Almost Whole
The punch is spiked with glory
My senses leaping and alive
For tonight to listen is enough
And through the music of the music
Runs an old familiar voice
A thread of scarlet joy, moving
In my blood, weaving through my heart
And lungs and lights, pulling tighter
Ever tighter ‘til I scarcely breathe
Caught like a bunch of doe-eyed pansies
My eyes are dark and wild with wonder At such intensity
That I must weep for being almost whole.
