11. Bray
From Hill of Howth
‘Cross Dublin Bay
To brassy Bray
On June's longest day
More than rides and slides
And candy floss
The onioned town
Shows its many petticoats.
Stony shore and pebbled beach
Ocean smells within our reach
Picnic now on meagre kitty
No turning back, escape the city,
Working men, on workmen’s wages
Stumbling kids at different stages
Accents drawn across the sea
Wafts of Spain and Italy.
Ireland's blessing
Dublin's treasure
On a clear day
None can measure.
Suburban lung
And nature’s gate
Heathered hills
Above stony slate,
Blemished and cherished
Like a middle-aged lover
With seas for her content
And hills for her cover
Vikings and planners
You don't give a toss
They come and they go
You're still the boss.
12. Surge Raging Surf
Surge raging surf
A tempest through the sea
White caps break and crash
Upon the lava shore
Of blessed Tenerife.
Roar, surf roar
Come roaring home ashore
Gurgling o'er the rocks
Streaming through the cracks
In ancient battered stone.
The blue sea's stricken
With silver heaving furrows
From a jagged plough
That charges and retreats
To a distant beat
Drumming and destroying
Crushing and creating
An ageless pattern far
Outlasting and sustaining
The life forms on dry land.
13. Tenerife moonlit tide
The moon peers warily through black night clouds
Sorry for the rain that reflect in puddles.
Surf sucks and draws, crashes and tiptoes back,
Driven foam courses over volcanic rocks
Jagged shapes defy Atlantic waves
Long before Jesus taught in the Temple.
The mesmeric crash and rugged roar
Of white surf captured in silver moonlight
In a dark moody sky, the night has shaped
While the moon lights up the sea between the isles.
Gomera keeps her secrets in her hilly skirts
She winks her lights across an ink-black ocean.
Thunderous breakers smash on magma rocks
Where the little crabs skip and play
A game of chance that oft claims its prey
Above all a sense of peace and gratitude
That we are actually here at all
Gone the blinding sense of entitlement
That dulls the appetite.
Now the awesome scene engenders thanks
That we are here and now
And the world might mark our passing
Our coming and return
To the sea whence we came.
14. The lifeboat of Wexford 1907
Cast a tear for the lifeboat crew
Who lost their lives to save a few
They’d never met and never would
They gave their lives in a winter storm
That raged four days off the Wexford coast
In nineteen hundred and seven.
A hundred years ago
A thousand storms since
Yet we will remember them
For they battled through the waves
That crashed and smashed upon them
Thinking only of the shipwrecked crew.
Today the sea looks quiet and serene
Impossible to imagine the howl and fury
Of that last night
We shall remember them
In plaques of stone
Written in our hearts.
Sons of Wexford never forgotten,
Their sacrifice cherished
Their names live on forever.
15. The thunder of the sea
I’ve heard the thunder of the sea
And the stammer of the surf
But the sound most sublime for me
Is the rustle of the trees.
They make a tall and sacred space
For little birds that chatter
Busy things on whirring wings
And welcome shade.
They find their voices in the fall
When winds whip down from Teide
Then fall silent once again
When winter snows bring a blanket.
16. The pale blue skies of Wexford
Oh give me the pale blue skies of Wexford
The pleasant chill on a sunny spring day.
When wisps of white cloud scurry over to France
And all is well in St. Helen’s Bay.
The air is clear and the ozone cleanses
Body and soul of city streets
Bronzed lobster men head to sea
Bright fishing boats in blue and green.
A sacred corner, an ancient shore
Ruins stand a millennium old.
Saint Vogue looked out in daily prayers
God in his mercy returned his stare.
The dog goes racing to the water
Excited, rushing, breaking waves
The brids rise wheeling in an arch
Ahead of flying out to sea.
County of welcomes and the friendly wave
Hardworking and honest as the day is long
What did I do to deserve the good fortune
Of walking the lanes of Carne and Broadway?
17. Carnsore Point
Carnsore Point you bring a peace
Your tidal waters lapping on the shore
That welcomed men three thousand years ago
Who arrived by sea and land.
A land where Druids met and later monks
Prayed out to sea through chapel gaps
Looking beyond the waves to infinity.
Centuries later and the spirit’s still strong
A magnet force of nature that stays around
Undiminished by time of fashion
A testament to God’s design.
God, nature, call it what you will
This force that sustains and guides us still
A special grace that’s free to everyman
No need to pay religion’s bill.
September sunshine lingering
The longer shadows fingering
The trees on the orchard wall.
An added day received gratefully
A ray of sunshine trapped hungrily.
18. Easter in Carne 2019
The dandelions are peeking out
Their yellow heads appear
Above the lawn cut yesterday
It’s peace surrounded here.
The tide draws in and the tide draws out
It sucks and sighs from shore
And sets the tone with birdsong
This spring day yearns for more.
The peace is kind and gentle
For spring is soft in Carne
Sweet as a baby’s whisper
Embracing a misty Easter.
Cold cares left back in Dublin
Far along the motorway.
Here life comes down a gear of two
Greeting a slow Easter Sunday.
Here people greet on grass verges
As motorists slow for children
With buckets and spades heading
For a sandy day running, swimming.
Grandchildren have become grandparents
Generations change their roles
Fair hair turns quietly silver
As the Wexford tide tolls.
19. Santiago del Teide, a Saturday in spring
Santiago del Teide once surrounded by silence
Is now riven by traffic and murdered by motorbikes
Whose aggressive rumble shatters the peace
Of the spring almond blossoms.
A constant file of tourist cars and giant bikes
Fill its street and pollute its mountain air
Its scented crown of forests
Once so pure and innocent.
On and on they drive, up and up they strive
To reach the north and grab a coffee
Then head south to clog the town
In leather-clad polluting counter flow.
The sins committed in the name of tourism
Scream to the bright blue skies of Santiago
The heedless headless journey on and on
Turn the bike and travel back again.
20. Morning in Carne
The delicious gentle chill of early morn
The rising sun awakes the birds
Who chatter in the hedgerows
The kitchen smells of early coffee.
Innocent early summer hours
Before the world puts on his business suit.
When all is fresh and possible
At the leafy altar of a virgin dawn.
The sun now rises o’er the Wexford sea
That stretches all the way to France
The sun reflected in the water
Blowing kisses to infinity.
A starling and her family chatter
In their nest beneath my gable
Their morning prayer so sweet
As serene as a tall cathedral.
The breakfast sun has waxed and risen
It bathes each flower with a golden blessing
The promise of an enchanted noon
A silence broken only by the gulls.
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