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Second Anniversary - a conversation with a church

  Two years. Two years you have stood beside me through thick and thin— through tears, through rage, through despair, through rain and cold. You were constant. When I had nowhere to go, you opened your doors. When he left me with nothing but the street beneath my feet, you gave me shelter. And so many days I sat in your light and presence— resting, dreaming, praying, wishing, hoping for better. So many days I came to you carrying what he had done to me. I cried beneath your roof. I sat in silence. I tried to gather myself piece by piece. And you saw me. You saw me in all my weathers— in the rain and the cold, in the fury and the fear, in despair, in hope, in all the broken states a person can be. You were there. For two years, you were part of my life. And I will miss you. I will miss the familiar light, the quiet, the shelter, the people who gathered around you. I will miss the feeling of having somewhere to go. But there comes a time when even a sanctuary can no longer be home. B...
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Goodnight brother

  You've gone, brother,  this world wasn't for you, you were unhappy and  we couldn't make you smile,  you know the lads will miss you, you loved them well enough,  I can't imagine how he's is feeling now, he did his best I think,  with his own challenges in the way,  would make you eat, roar at you  if you refused,  his coming in and cooking  was your best time of day,  you waited every day,  you couldn't sleep, It hurt me that I couldn't give you life force, the life force I have,  from my decision to live and suffer we couldn't raise a spark, and that makes me cry, life is precious and your suffering was too much for you to feel that, and I'm very sad, but you died knowing you were loved by your little circle of friends,  but it hurts, and people are sad, goodnight brother. 
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Racing the Storm

  Racing the Storm - short prose. I felt cheated. No storm came.  Night passed, then day,  and the heat remained relentless. As evening fell and the bus sped on,  I saw clouds rising high above Shannon,  not strong enough yet.  Then darker clouds rose above the Slieves,  I knew the two storms would meet in the middle. But would we reach Limerick first?
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Lights of Buratty

 This one has been left offline for a long time after being a contest poem:   The Lights of Bunratty  I remember the lights of Bunratty on winter evenings, home from Limerick town, or winter mornings heading in, when darkness lies heavy and hope comes down. Those lights shine brave against the cold, small beacons steady, bright and bold. In pitch-black dark they stream in colour, past quiet roads and waiting bays, where buses shelter, engines still, and magic gathers in small ways. Cushions, tinsel, warmth and cheer build a wonderland that lives right here— the heart of the village, steady and kind, the heart of Ireland, softly signed. Stand waiting there in bitter air, the lights will hold you, calm your fears. Christmas thoughts come drifting in, to warm the coldest winter years. You think of light, of home, of rest, until the finest light appears at last— the great bus rising through the night, a moving promise, burning bright. This winter Bunratty stands alone, no foo...
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The Big Guns - My four best poems

 I thought I might put my 'best collection' here as I'm not entering any contests this summer.  Monaleen Church is my all time favourite, followed by Lough Foyle, Show Day and Galtymore.  Monaleen Church I remember from childhood, the rain on the stone and earth of the walls at Castletroy. I remembered—but couldn’t tell you—the feeling: sitting in the day services, looking out at the rain. I remember you. I could read you, though you didn’t know. You meant well. I miss you. I remember Groody and Golf Links, Dublin Road, home . Music, dance, oranges. Dancing Queen . I lived for my music. I was with you when you brought her home— when you brought me home. Answering God’s call without knowing. A companion to dance, to laugh, to love the music. I remember the rain on the walls of Dublin Road, the trees drawing night in early. But most of all— the Easter Vigil at Monaleen Church, the bonfire blazing bravely. May 9th. December 25th. Monaleen Church in full bloom— the flowers, ...
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Roads

 I'm thinking about roads as I complete my manuscript 'The Road to Shannon'.  I'm thinking about roads today, Roads near and roads far away; The endless road where my life began, By the ash tree in the granite land. And then there's the dark road. That runs in silence through my heart, Where dormant feelings lie asleep. And wait their time to rise and speak. The many roads I've travelled on. Have brought me to this place, this dawn; And still before me, winding on, Are the roads I walk now, one by one. Each day I travel these roads anew And find fresh places, different views; Yet with each mile the journey weaves, The roads take me further from you.
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This one's for you

  (North Earl Street Series). It's you I miss most. Sometimes I see someone in the street who looks a little like you, and I feel a pang before I remember they are not you. You belonged to North Earl Street and Dun Laoghaire, the mixture of places, the way I am a mixture too. You fed the birds. You fed the swans. All life mattered to you. You were gentle, laid back, yet always thinking thoughts that seemed to travel somewhere I could not quite follow. You told me stories: about dogs, about people in your life, about things I never expected to hear. You said I didn't go to boarding school because I don't eat as fast as you. You said weak tea gives you fleas. The logic escaped me, but the sentence remains. We would sit in cafés, drinking tea, and I was bewildered the first time you asked me to be Mother, because I wasn't used to it, because nobody had asked before, because somehow it mattered. You liked ethnic food, strange ideas, and conversations that wandered wherever ...
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