Show Day

Sadly not a winner in her latest contest, so Show Day is proudly back on the blog. This has great meaning for me and I hope you find it interesting. 

The sun shines forever on the showground,
in my dreams the scene is frozen, without a sound.
We work from four, the sunrise clear —
it’s show day, and everyone is here.

We work and sweat, preparing for the day,
aching and labouring without pay,
for the biggest day of the year —
it’s show day, and everyone is here.

Stalls to go up, parking to do,
and Alan driving his jeep through a gazebo.
Everyone’s there, familiar faces near —
it’s show day, and everyone is here.

There need to be ten of me,
setting up stalls, running errands and tea,
but I have endless strength, no fear —
it’s show day, and everyone is here.

There’s croquet and displays,
there’s shooting clays,
even a marquee for local beer —
it’s show day, and everyone’s drinking here.

As I’m handing out the tea,
someone comes running, shouting to me:
“You’ve won best in show — come to the tent!”
It’s show day, and the reporters are here.

A full set of firsts — you trained me well.
I look for you, but you’re nowhere to be found.
You and Austin, old rivals head to head —
it’s show day, and the loser sees red.

The crowds begin to melt away,
the clearing up at the close of day.
You tell me to come home and rest —
it was a great show day, the very best.

The music rings to the night sky clear
as we end another amazing year.
The barn dance packed into the tent,
the close of the whole show event.

He stands up there, his voice loud,
sharing his faith, happy and proud.
He speaks of eternal life — and so
that’s where he went, after the show.

The sunlight fades inside my dreams —
plane crash, storms, helpless screams.
I run to find you — there’s no one left.
The show is over, and I am bereft.

Still I’m with you there in my sleep,

these memories buried deep.

Then sunlight breaks — and there you stand,

smiling, reaching out your hand. 

All of you waiting in golden day,

no storms, no parting, no going away.

“It’s show day,” you laugh — and I understand:

this showground is paradise land.

There's a whale

 There's a whale in the Shannon looking rather sad,

It soaked John Moran's press conference, which was terribly bad.
The Hyde Road lads all saw it and shouted, "Dinner!"
Now they're standing soaked through, and somehow even thinner.

That whale is a mystery, adrift in a forlorn mood,
Lingering by the trolley graveyard, having a thoughtful brood.
I wonder what's turning in that great whale's mind—
Life, the universe, and what answers we might find.

Perhaps it's pondering currents, or dreams beneath the foam,
Or wondering why a creature so vast can feel so far from home.
It surfaces in silence, then slowly slips from view,
Leaving the Shannonside to wonder what it knows that we don't too.