Limerick / Last Stop
My ritual on Sarsfield Bridge,
watching The Strand in sun and ridge.
The stubborn chimney looms ahead,
the Cleeves factory where laughter led.
I stand not in longing but in memory,
what you offered wasn’t real, yet brought me here—
to Limerick, my last stop, my sanctuary.
That night in rain I landed on O’Connell,
the people of Limerick, gentle, personal.
During homelessness, Limerick became home,
from Annacotty to Raheen, Caherdavin to Ballysimon.
This town held me steady as I fell,
became family, hope, life to tell.
The friends I made because people cared,
as I sat cold in snow, in doorways, unprepared.
Those friends still linger as life moves on,
but I’ve never forgotten who left me alone.
This town I didn’t know is now mine,
from Meelick and Shannon to Adare and the Salmon Leap.
Limerick caught me as I fell,
breathed new life, made my heart swell.
Limerick, my last stop, my final gate,
yet I return to the start, contemplate.
I look at the apartments on the Strand,
and remember you, and understand.
At least you brought me home,
to Limerick, my last stop, where I roam.
It’s Not Far to Tipperary
It’s not far to Tipperary,
it’s not far, just up the N24 if you’re careful.
Gerry’s got the kettle on,
so get yourselves here, stay a while.
Beautiful Tipp, with the Galtees behind,
the skins lorry passing, wheels unwinding,
and the Rogue car waking the town,
rumbling past with a distant sound.
We can talk about the ploughing,
and who speaks Irish among us,
and the grim abbey with long shadows cast,
and why it’s raining now, but not a minute ago,
clouds shifting as the minutes go.
Michael's Garden (4 line prose)
The garden is green and alive
and the flowers are in bloom
and there's a nice wooden bench
and so I leave you there.
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