131. I told you I was sick
I told you I was sick
I've been saying it for years
But would you bloody listen?
Not a little bit!
Permit me now some salty tears
For complaining all my life
I knew t'would likely end like this
I even told the wife.
I think I'll give a miss though
To doctors visits now
They couldn't even bother
Though it's fifty years ago.
For fifty years I warned 'em
For fifty years they missed 'em
The tell-tale signs and more.
Not a bit of notice taken
Though I've suffered ev'ry sore
Known to man and more -
They're just a load of chancers
Without a single answer
I knew I wasn't feeling very well
'Bout sixty year ago
But would they bloody listen?
The simple answer's 'no'.
I'll waste away and die now
Aged tender ninety-three
I'd go and bloody sue them
If they hadn't gone and died
Some years ahead of me!!!
132. An old lady atop the 46A bus from Dun Laoghaire
She drove the bus from stop to stop
And anguished from upstairs atop
And braked for cyclists and for more,
While knitting on the second floor
She willed the lights remain on green
And prayed to traffic gods unseen
She blanched as her behemoth
Whizzed past cars without a thought.
Her knuckles clenched and her feet dug in
When driver failed to see the truck she'd seen
She gripped the seat in holy terror
The trip to town to buy a mirror.
For forty years she'd done her lips
By the window in the porch
Now she'd paint her face
In her bedroom with so much grace.
She pulled her rain hat round her neck
And left the bus seat with a check
She slowly clambered down the stairs
Alone, competing with young shopping pairs.
133. iPhones on a train platform
With their back to the sea
It's a mystery
Dublin Bay beckons
But all they reckon
Is to stare at a phone
While pushing buttons
While life goes ahead
All around them.
Blackrock train station
And the sun is shining
On the September sea
That gleams behind.
Commuters with furrowed brows
Examining screens
While pushing and swiping
Missing gulls that scream
Wheeling above furrowed waves
Stretching out to handsome Howth.
Simple beauty blows free
On a crisp autumn breeze.
Shadows lengthen as summer
Gently retreats across the Dublin hills.
Taste and touch
Grasp and feel
What is here and now
Clean, pure and free
Magic yet real.
134. Building Barns
I'm building barns till the cows come home
I'm feeling poorly but I'll keep building on
I can't bring money to heaven, they say
They could be wrong, I'll save anyway.
They could be wrong and to be sure
I'll stitch some pockets in my shroud
I'll stuff some dosh an' pills an' stuff
Surely that way I'll 'ave enough.
Besides I’m now too old to learn how
To set aside the rake and harrow
Not for me the golf or beer
I’m never happy to relax or chill.
I’ll die happy in my boots of work
With any luck using the pitch fork
To surely collect and save the hay
To be used some dark winters day.
On me grave ye can put the words
“Don’t copy me, but observe the birds
Who neither reap or so
But get along anyhow….
Little chancers.’
135. Fridge Magnets
I’ll try not to keep a cow
Inside my gleaming fridge
Alive or dead.
At times I can smell the fear
That came before the fatal blow
Its final thoughts
I’ll never know.
The cows at least, I guess,
Saw the clouds and felt the sun caress
Their backs as they ambled across a meadow
And their life, though short, was real.
Sad is the sunless prison
Where the battery chicks lie hidden
In a hell of man’s making.
The world spins daily
The earth revolves gaily
Round a central premise
That presupposes balance and mercy.
‘Mummy, mummy,
Who’s in the fridge?’
‘Let me have a look darling’.
The blood runs crimson
Across the shiny floor
Of the tidy house
Beside the abattoir.
136. Quakers and questions
I love the Quakers
They have no answers
But loads of questions
That keep us seeking
Lots of queries
That point and guide us
No Inquisition will ever
Control or rule us.
Politely stubborn
Firm and fearsome
Seeking truth
Wherever it leads us.
Truth like an eel
Slips and slithers
Black and white alone
Are not the rainbow.
137. Stepping stones
A poem is a stepping stone
That helps us cross the river
A poem is but a rung
To bring us up the ladder.
A poem gives us time and space
To join up all the silences
Beguiling with soft cadences
Suggesting with vague sentences.
It springs the inner self
It mines the deepest treasure
It scales both peaks and valleys
A constant lifelong pleasure.
138. Peace now
The fruit falls closer to the tree
In the final chapter
As it has for centuries.
The foreign shores no longer beckon
The local and routine are sweet
Are music to my ears
Now tired of strident sounds on city streets.
There comes a happy acceptance
Of the ordinary, the banal,
Of the messy state of life
Where lines are crossed
And pastel colours fudged
The chamber of confusion
We call our human condition
The marriage of convenience
The conquest of compromise
Of compassion over passion
An evening peace now
Gathers me in a simple place
At last.
139. Slow down
Slow down, you’re going to die
Why then make the hours fly?
What’s the hurry, what’s the rush?
You’ll get to die, no need to push!
Why not saunter, why not stroll
Looking forward, never around
You’ll miss the beauty that is found
When the car’s in first gear.
Stop a moment, gently linger
Absorb the magic in your finger
The simple things are the best
Miracles are seen at rest.
Heaven’s stooping down to kiss the shore
Time and eternity conspire
To weave a seamless cloak
Visible only to those stop and care.
You’re in the car, he’s up your tail
Wave him on, for he’ll be there
Ahead of you, and you enjoy
That extra moment some day.
140. What shall become of us?
Gone are the bright days and the brisk walks
Now welcome the slow saunters by the sea-shore.
The slower the better, the better to savour
The smell of the ether and the roar of the waves
The moments, once too many to count
Are now carefully counted and numbered
And each has a name and each has a number
On a list that daily grows shorter.
Beauty that deepens with each passing day.
Coffee smells better than ever has been,
Roses shine brighter than ever seen
The sun rises higher and the shadows shorten
Shall we travel out of the shadows and into the light
Shall we simply become what we desire?
Is our last dying wish just frozen in time?
And like the good thief
Rise in Christ’s time?
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