141. If only
If only we knew
The day we were dying
We would start living
Now.
If only we knew
The day we were dying
We would start loving
Now.
If only we knew
When to start living
We’d forget about dying
Now.
142. Take the shorter path
Take the shorter path, my dear
Enjoy the shorter stride
Tarry here a while my love
Await the evening tide.
Feel the earth beneath your heels
Beneath a summer sky
Embrace the moment
Our date to leave draws nigh.
Hand in hand for now
Soon to be departing
Once we cross that stream
We enter heaven’s garden.
143. School poetry
Such self-importance and self-regard
That clothes a poet’s frame
That gives him voice and lets him claim
Eternal wisdom lit from an eternal flame.
So humble a man and yet so proud
To have his verse declaimed out loud
To students in a sleepy English class
With drooping eyes and heads half-mast.
And yet forgotten lines return
In middle age when least expected
Giving shape and form to rules
An inner casing and a structure
Assembled in misremembered school.
144. Joyce’s regret
The startling clouds
Both black and gold
Sit on Dublin hills
Threatening to give joy.
What holds him back
From seeing Dublin Bay again
Written in his heart
Frozen in ancient memories.
The passing years build up the wall
And lower the rampart floor
A virtue made out of no necessity.
Quietly as vespers the familiar calls
Of sea gull and comorant.
Gone forever the three steeples
Of Glasthule and Dun Laoghaire
The handsome granite piers
Hewn from Dalkey Quarry.
All the while the clouds back up
Layer by layer over Sandymount Strand
Gone forever Dun Laoghaire of the soul
Too big a price for artistic differences?
The August sun peeps above
The clouds and hugs the gentle waters
Framed by handsome terraced houses
Who keep watch over a changing sea.
Ireland of his youth
Dublin of his dreams
But now the artist languishes
Adrift in a sea-less city.
145. Carpe Diem
Seize the day, squeeze it dry
Drink in the sun while it is high
Smell the beans, enjoy the taste
Grasp each moment, none to waste.
Embrace the person next to you
Give one last hug, it might be true
You save your money but not your time
I may be poor but now is mine.
146. Don Flamenco’s tragic ride
Drawn, (very) loosely from a Spanish children’s tale.
He rode through the forest
He rode by the sea
On a pure white stallion
And few did see.
But they heard the hard hooves
Strike the cobbles at night
When the world was asleep
With blankets gripped tight.
Never stopping or tiring
But galloping on
Till towns were distant
As the mist came down.
Ten miles from Boris
And twenty from Slane
His courage was challenged
By the dark castle gate.
With reins in one hand
He jumped over the moat
Where stood the steep walls
With towers remote.
The castle belonged
To FitzHarris FitzHenry
Tracing back to the French
Who came for a week and stayed for a century.
There in the castle, his wife Philomena
His lovely daughter, the fair Willomina
His limp-wristed nephew, wan Aubrey
And his scheming old butler from Carberry;
His mother-in-law from poshest Rathgar,
Who buried her late husband, Alfred, afar.
His cousin from Spain, Don Juan
And his wife Doña Féliz, the ugly one.
The hail drummed on the roof
Of the dark tower where
The fair Willomina drank wine every night
Fearful of never meeting her lover.
The lightning flashed in the black sky
The rain streamed down without mercy
Don Flamenco flinched as the prospect
Of returning back home empty handed.
With that he felt on his head
A rope ladder from the tower descending.
With one mighty leap he clambered
With every new step a metre heavenward.
Up and up he climbed
Higher and higher above
He clambered and scampered and rose
Far above steeples and houses
‘Til at last he appeared at the window
Of his true love, the fair Willomina
Who shrieked and cried with pure joy
At the sight of her sodden boy.
‘O darling Flamenco, you’re wet’
So she removed her blouse and she let
Him dry his fine chest and his toes
In her nicely embroidered underclothes.
With bad timing the door sprang open
And in ran her father FitzHarrisFitzHenry
Now more harassed than ever before
The poor Willomina was shocked to the core.
As for Flamenco – it’s amazing
How quickly he jumped out the window
Without saying God Bless, or Goodbye
To father or daughter, Lord save’em
His horse was found the next morning
Eating grass at the foot of the tower
Search parties came in and went out
With nary success, leaving a doubt…
There are small kids in deepest Peru
Bearing a likeness in form and in hue
To the climber Flamenco who strayed
Leaving only his dear horse who stayed.
Willomina is curbing her habit
It’s now down to a bottle a day
And a monthly meeting with the AA
A lonely spinster but for her maid.
She doesn’t throw rope ladders these days
She just lights her candles and prays
For the return of her lover Flamenco
To climb back the tower and save her!
There’s a moral here, young folk
Be careful, and don’t go for broke
Don’t think of climbing towers at night
Or you could die of a terrible fright,
Or worse.
147. Dear Marianne
Dear Marianne
With jet black hair and Spanish looks
More stunning than you ever appreciated
But lacking confidence you sold yourself short.
Found yourself high and dry
With a violent bully
Who beat you when the pubs closed.
When your guardian angel passed away
You took your life, alone –
Lonely in desperation.
Death was kinder than life;
The grave warmer than a cold home –
But what a sad and needless waste!
What a cold cruel world
For twenty years you lie in that cold grave
As the worms climb in and the worms climb out
Of that face of classic beauty –
A life so short and shorn.
Dear Marianne, your long dark hair
Luscious and falling down your back
Now rotting in a cheap coffin
Now must we staunch our hearts.
Do you hear our call across the universe
Do our prayers through time and space unheard
As yours did twenty years ago?
Tonight I will light a candle for you
In the chapel of my heart.
148. Puppy Love
Little puppy, you’re so happy
Waggy tail, so fun and bouncy
Loyal, cheerful and excusing
Curious, playful and amusing.
Innocent eyes and busy teeth
Tearing madly at pillow and sheet
Nothing’s sacred, nothing’s safe
Happy at play and happy to meet.
The world seems young again
No time for TV news
Not a care in the world
You’re my special girl.
149. Chez nous
Not another moment spent
In an airport lounge
Not another precious day
In a queue to fly
Into another country
To join another queue.
Queues to enter, queues to leave
What insanity has possessed us
To squander precious hours and days
Going from here to there?
What is wrong in staying here?
Is it a crime to stand and stare
To live and love
The ordinary, the habitual?
The nearer hills are greener
The local fields smell fresh
The age old legends resonate
In souls that never strayed.
There is some virtue staying
And keeping close to home
Saving shoe leather and air fares,
Sparing earth for another age.
Granting the planet a break
From incessant holidays.
Staying simple and stable
grounded and tethered.
Chapter 7
150. Darling I love your wrinkles
Darling I love your wrinkles
I love when your smile crinkles
The laughter lines you’ve made
Where sorrow’s creases stayed.
The lines you’ve made are yours
The product of a life of love
Of care and grief
Of sadness and belief.
Don’t smother them with talc
Don’t hide them under blusher
Be proud of them my love
They make our friendship stronger.
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