51. Bucket list
My bucket list is fairly short
I’m very happy to report.
The places I’d love to see before I die
Are places that I’ve seen before.
To visit lightly and nearby
The Aran Islands and Cliffs of Moher.
To saunter along childhood lanes
In Connemara and in Sligo.
To drink a pint of porter black
In Murrisk’s pub beneath the reek
The mountain of my birth.
To skirt the headland in Mulloughmore
And walk across the bog to Irish school
From Camus Iochtar to Kinvara.
To sail from Cleggan to the Boffin
Inhaling Atlantic spray;
To take a boat from Rossaveel
To the bustling port of Kilronan
Where English and Gaelic are spoken
And shamelessly interwoven.
Leaving Cork city in the morning
And passing Glandore at noon,
Setting anchor in Goleen
Before traveling on to Bear Island.
On to Kerry and the lakes of Killarney
Paddling on magnificent Inch Beach
The excitement of arriving in Dingle
And touring its peninsula.
O rugged coast of Kerry
O infinite Connemara skies
Will lead me home to Stradbrook
Where identical gravestones stand
Beneath the quiet trees of Temple Hill
Disturbed by birdsong only
And the distant hum of traffic in Blackrock.
52. A life of two uneven halves
I’m running, running up life’s hill
It’s hell for leather, gong for the kill.
One day soon I’ll reach the summit
From here it’s all downhill, blast and dammit.
I’ve been looking up, straining madly
To reach the goal I want so badly
And now I reached it, so now what?
With the rest of life that god forgot
To tell me now the rules have changed
I’d better slow or I’ll be maimed
Or even worse, to meet my end
Somewhat sooner than I’d intend.
Life’s a game of unfair halves
The first is fun, but now the beach shelves
A life for spending is now for hoarding
Stashing minutes in my wardrobe.
Filled with pills and prescribed potions
To extend my life, now filled with caution.
It’s a long time since I read the ticket,
It’s one-way only and I can’t exchange it!
53. Leave outside?
Should I leave my dusty shoes outside?
Abandon pride and anger in the hall?
And enter living rooms with peace and calm?
Disarming with a quiet charm?
Seeking not to pose or press
But always strive for less
And build up broken reeds.
Trying not to trade in deeds
But in wholeness
To encourage and include
The lonely and unloved.
Radiating not challenging
Embracing not bewildering
For we are all but one
In our brokenness
And our loveliness.
Chapter 3
54. Earth’s final call
The earth is slowly losing blood,
Bleeding drop by drop.
I hear it hitting clinic floors,
Plop, plop.
Not a torrent rush
Not a pulsing gush
Just a silent trickle
Day and night.
Night and day.
So when earth dies one day
We can’t act surprised
Act stunned and say
‘We had no idea, honestly’.
And as it dies, it lets a sigh
A quiet little burble
It doesn’t want to make a scene
Or cause a tinch’ of trouble.
It leaves the room while looking back
We toil away not looking up
Just looking down, at stumbling feet
That hurry faster towards the cliff.
55. Three Degrees Warmer
It’s three o clock in the morning
It’s three degrees warmer at sea
What’s going to become of our world
In under a century?
Two degrees is a figment
There isn’t a chance in hell
That Paris or any Agreement
Will save us from climate Hell.
This makes three hells in one poem
Which doesn’t sound good at all
But then neither does three degrees
And that’s what we’re heading for.
There’s lots of numbers these days
It’s hard to remember them all,
Remember the number that matters
In eighty year’s time we’ll recall —
Its 3.
56. Greta (Thunberg)
“Your ship is on fire” said Greta
“It’s certainly time to panic
More of the same won’t cut it,
It’s time to turn the Titanic.”
“Don’t get uptight,
Dear Greta, Hey Waiter
Another gin and tonic
Don’t skimp on the ice tonight”
“Ice is the least of your problems
If people jump overboard
The fossil fuel sharks in the water
Will completely destroy your hordes.
Don’t query the weather in New York,
Our nearest port Newfoundland,
This boat will go down straight
Miles from help or dry land.
Ditching the champagne bottles now,
Too little too late my friend
The stern is rising higher
Too late to choose a choir
To sing God save the Queen
If we sink
No point in moving chairs on the deck
You would think.
The time is NOW to change course
I’ll say it again till I’m hoarse
The time has come for us to panic
If we’re ever to save the Titanic”.
57. Twelve short years
We’ve twelve short years
And I’m counting
To change our habits
And our climate.
To travel less and travel lightly
To buy some less yet live brightly
To live a life of simple pleasures
Embrace the joy of homely treasures.
Buy a rose, forget the bunch
Discard the many, choose the one
Joy rediscovered at our door
Living simply so that some
May simply live some more.
58. Lament for a poisoned world
Forgive them Father
As they waste and squander
Consume and plunder
Our world of wonder.
They know no better,
They’ve grown no wiser
They will not listen
They’re rarely sober.
The Bible told them,
They surely read it
As Lord and Master
They just owned it.
Theirs to conquer
And then enslave it,
Theirs to reap
A rich reward.
No thought of planting
Sowing or replacing
No thought for what comes
Before or after.
All that awaits is waste and desert
Poisoned lakes and empty sea floors
Perhaps they’ll listen when there’s no echo
In heavens above or valley below.
59. Where trees embrace the sky
Along his woodland walk
Enjoyed the birdy talk
Feathered friends on the wing
Knowing much more than him
'Bout trees 'n things.
They taught him how to sing
The silent forest chant
Lifting spirits in a dance
A trance of mystical delight
With wordless hymns
And soaring leafy chords
To high infinity
And far beyond.
60. Poolside Blues
We are the lucky ones
At least we know
And daily thank our lucky stars
To have been born mid century
In a country far apart
From famine and from war.
We sit in contented groups
Around the poolside bar
And drink the local wine
While trying all the while
Not to ponder or to think
How life might be
A half a century from now.
We are a generation
No better and no worse
Than those who came before
Or those who follow us behind;
But find ourselves with matches
To burn the city down.
At times like Nero we fiddle and we pray
That the fire we once started might go away.
At times we simply toast some bread
And guiltily eat and drink
While watching Rome go up in flames.
Down by the poolside bar they’re calling time
And old grey heads drink up
Uncertain what the night might bring
Or the legacy we’ve left behind.
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