71. Killiney Beach January
At Whiterock in Killiney Bay
A lonesome saxophonist
Plays the blues on the beach
Early on a sunny winter morning
In giving we're living
Making, not taking
Leaving home we return
Leaving self we arrive
In reaching out
We touch inside.
The ecstasy of giving
No longer blind
Now we see.
The selfless gene
Without fear or favor
Not lending but giving
A promise, once given
Is a bond forever
And ever.
Chapter 4
72. Three in the morning
It’s three in the morning
And the world’s a baby
Sleeping in a foetal ball.
The rich and famous
The poor and homeless
Reduced to postures
Learnt in the womb.
Like dogs and donkeys
Like calves and lions
Equal in our helpless state
The hired assassin
Keeps his pistol
Under a pillow
While he snores gently,
The famous beauty
Forgets her postures
As she stretches
Unguardedly
The Kings of countries
Dream of ice cream
Their crowns are absent
Nowhere seen
The equalizing force of nature
That invades each night
Through cracks in windows
Of palaces and shelters
Reduced and tamed
Reminding us
We must start learning
We’re all just equal
Just a sleep away
Just a dream apart
Every three in the morning.
73. September morning
The schools have opened
The anxious children sit in benches
As yet the September sun
Says welcome to a lonely beach
Gone are the shrieks and cries of little ones
In one small weekend the world turns
But not the sea or tide.
Waves Crashing gently on the shore
With dappled sunshine dancing on the eddies
And little birds sing in parting chorus
Ahead of travels south to milder climes
Here I sit in silence
Pensioned off and welcomed in
To nature’s treasure
Always here for all our pleasure.
74. 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 round
You'll miss the beauty that is found
Stress and hurry takes its toll.
Stop a moment, gently linger
Absorb the magic in your finger
The simple things are the best
To see a miracle at rest
The heaven's stooping down to kiss the shore
Where time and eternity conspire
To weave a seamless cloak
Visible only to those who stop and care.
You're in the car, he's up your tail
Wave him on for he'll be there
And you’ll enjoy the extra moment
Some day.
75. For everything comes early in Ireland
Autumn arrived today tho' barely August
Announced by rolling mists
Lumbering up from Dublin Bay
Before coolly kissing Killiney Hill
Whose shrouded woods and trees
Exhaled a late summer sigh
Yielding early to the clammy rain.
For everything comes early in Ireland
Spring oft crashes the Christmas party
And through the January frosts peep
The sleepy heads of curious snow drops.
The soft submission of suburban summer
Early to the party and early to leave
Has taught its gentle native folk
To leave its host mid protest
While still warmly welcome.
Better this a thousand times
Than waved away with weary gaze
Leaving late a sleeping household
As postman whistles cheerily
An early morning air.
76. Land of luscious light
Land of luscious light
Where early mornings
Steal from yielding night
An hour before the dawn
It's hardly five o'clock
And yet the garden
Appears in limpid hue
Late April morning painted
The dogs are anxious
To sniff the morning
And smell the incense
Of their private world
While babe and burglar
Sleep in coils of sleep
An innocent bleary sun
Peaks over Dublin Bay
The birds now own this time
Their little calls ring clear
And fill the ear with
With grateful wonder
Most precious time of all
Blessed with gentle promise
Of better deeds and truer words
Gifts of the dawning day
Someday all this will fade
For me but not for you
The daily miracle of resurrection
Resumes its modest run
As darkness yields once more
To pastel colors of the morn
An innocent hour reminds
The promise of each new-born.
77. Rosary Beads
The rosary beads of life
Are moving through my fingers
That’s another decade said
Not a moment lingers.
Round and round the decades fly
Minutes and hours wind by
Round and round we cycle
In a virtuous circle.
The words stream on and up
But the words don’t mean that much
We just try to forget the words
And find the silence that words hide.
78. Let them write poetry young
Let them write poetry young
Let them make lots of mistakes.
Let them express for a new age.
Let’s not get depressed with the rest.
The worries and joys of an age
Belong to the young in first stead
They will have carry and bear
Whatever mess we have made.
But more to the point it’s the joy
That only the youth can taste
Theirs’s the passion and ardor
That can set the world aflame.
Only they have the time
Only they have the means
To set the world aright
To reach the edge of their dreams.
79. The Summer is in the hall
The summer is in the hall
But has not found his hat or coat
And conversation wanders
Tomorrow seems fine and the weekend too
Perhaps the autumn has forgotten to come
And the summer has forgotten to go.
80. September sunshine
September sunshine lingering
The longer shadows fingering
The trees on the orchard wall
An added day received gratefully
A ray of sunshine trapped hungrily
Nothing taken for granted
The children play on Sandycove beach
Four weeks after the schools reopened
Frolicking in the water as we did fifty years ago
Nothing seems changed in half a century
Time to immerse in the redemptive tide
To the sounds of swimmers in the harbor.
A bonus day, a soft surprise
A wind from the south that kisses
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