STORYTELLER
I paint the scene with my pen,
Branches lie under a blanket of snow,
Giving birth,
White fingers,
Filled with dripping diamonds,
Swans drift like tiny boats
In the calm waters,
Suddenly they take flight,
Turning the still into havoc,
I hear the sound of flutter,
As they climb over Abbey Bridge;
Small birds dig for food,
The wood is covered with white footprints
Two girls walk by,
Talking of a good night out,
Do they see what I see?
I KNOW MORE
UNDER THE GROUND THAN OVER
PUTTING FACES ON NAMES
MOMENTS OF SHOCK
A SCHOOL MATE
WE HEAR THEIR NAMES AT SUNDAY MASS
WE WERE CHILDREN TOGETHER
AND NOW THEY ARE NO MORE
POPE JOHN PAUL
ON HIS VISIT TO IRELAND
ADDRESSING THE ONE MILLION PEOPLE IN THE PHOENIX PARK———–
I heard him call
The million crowd
As they were hushed
Without a sound
And listening childlike
Two each word
That seemed to come
From far above
His path was hard
His road was long
Yet we would follow
With this song
He spoke of truth
But truth is hard
For only truth can give
You guard
So hushed the crowd
So silent be
As he called
to you
And me
I fill my poems
With the rhythm of the river
The music of the Eternal Giver
I can stand long and long
Watching a thrush coax a blackbird
Into song
I MET A ROBIN
At the outskirts of his territory
Then with a flash of his tail
And a swipe of his wings
Bade me Godspeed.
I WALKED THE GREEN WOOD
A robin blessed my steps
Taking me to his front door
Blessing me
And saying goodbye
A swallow
Dives through
A gap in the hedge
Testing his wings
A blackbird
With a maggot
Dangling in his beak
Landed on my path
He looked at me
Dropped the maggot
Dived into the hedge
Leaving desperate screeches
Behind.
A THIEF STEALS INTO MY MIND
LEAVES ME IN A STATE OF CONFUSION
THE SAME RITUAL EVERY YEAR
IT IS DECEMBER
YOUNG BROWN SWAN
BEING KICKED OUT
HE WON’T LEAVE
HIS COMFORT IS YESTERDAY
HE HAS TO GO
NO MUSIC CHARTS HIS GOING
BITTEN
PUSHED
ROARS FROM HIS PARENTS
SKID ADLE
GO
DON’T COME BACK
WE LOVED YOU YESTERDAY
YESTERDAY IS NOT TODAY
THIS DOOR IS CLOSED
BOLTED