The dark ship

 The dark ship.

The dark ship cuts across the restless sea,
I miss it more than words could ever show,
The waves that break, the lantern’s ghostly glow,
The cabins small that once held you and me.

In dreams I cross those waters endlessly,
A captive soul with nowhere else to go,
I stand on deck where only night winds blow,
And hear the crash repeat its memory.

I wonder when I’ll find that ship once more,
To cross again that sea from home to home,
To stand with you as we had stood before -
Or drift alone, condemned again to roam.

Will I not see those lights along the shore,
Nor hear the hull resound against the foam?
Are dreams now lost, or do we wait in store,
For calmer tides that call our ship back home?

End the Story

 I'm doing boring rhyme instead of poetry. 

This took 5 minutes as I'm busy.

End the Story.

It's nearly over but what is next? 

Where will the road go? 

When this endless wait is over 

and it's off to pastures new

What will the future hold

when I break out of this prison cold

and into the sunlight of a new day

what will the signposts say? 

the relief and fear are equal

what will be the sequel? 

As we end the story true 

and start again anew.

Easter Memories - repost of Monaleen Church

 Waiting for the Easter Vigil, having done way too much this Easter already. My poem, Monaleen Church isn't in for a competition at the moment so I'm putting it here to remind us of Easters gone by. This poem resounds with me more than any other, apart from 'Lough Foyle'. Some of it could be based on the fictional characters of Angela and Nollaig in my manuscript 'My arms are holding you'. It's still dedicated to Andrew.

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, the beauty, the ache of it all.

So here I am.
Home.

A ghost made of ice crystals and fire embers,
soaring above Monaleen and Castletroy—
and in her, in her music,
in her dance with life...

I came home.