Homeward

To those of us who have strolled through fertile corridors,
And wondered how this world came to be,
Her sounds of freshness greet each passing action,
The sweet air restores lustre to my being,
As animal world springs to life to remind us of her glory.

Hindered by another world that waits impatiently to consume me,
Tainted; burdened by mankind’s greed and folly.
Tired and exhausted am I from frantic urban pace,
Its squalid queues, smells and other crimes,
Lead thee to yet more broken hearts.

Like lemmings bruising down the highway,
Only for yet more wasteful starts.
From that Monday-Friday drudgery they call modern ‘living’,
Thereof breed hedged cities, malls and urban sprawl,
Nurturing city satellites for headless urbanites to brawl.

Uproot them for rural splendour,
So once again, creatures of God can freely crawl.

December 1995

Sky Fire

Part I

Sheets of fire
Rolled red across the sky.
Shrouding a sparkled ceiling; blue.
Nautical landscape; inverted.
The winter moon is hers,
Not the Zodiac’s; terse.
Red ribbons of moistened light,
Streak across the cold horizon.
A bitter light, bold and brazen.

Part II

Stars to throw
Up into the sky,
Falling around me.
Making me dizzy,
And the night mist; sparkly.
Colour festival,
Exploding light, into the night.
My face beams a smile,
Brimming with delight.
Like party glitter,
Against a chill; bitter.
I spend and fritter.
Angel of the dark,
She ignites a dormant spark.

Part III

Stars in my hand,
As I glide on gold sand.
Those stars, like gel.
Keep me from hell.
Because you’re up there,
I know I’m here.
Wide horizons beckon,
They birth dreams
I have slept on.
Heaven sheds a tear
Into my mortal sphere.

Dublin, December 1998

Winter Bay

Gallery

This gallery contains 1 photo.

Shadows streak across rippled sand, Etching patterns on the land. Palm trees dance as silhouettes, Led by a mild winter breeze Carved by what the journeyman sees. In a storm, he lets out a howl And the bayside dogs Can … Continue reading

Cry of the Ocean

Do you remember the beach?
Exploring the shoreline for treasure.
You picked up a seashell
And through its cavernous opening
You were invited to explore the ocean’s mystery.

Its dreams unravel a mythical journey
Exciting the infant’s imagination.
This magical story unfolds in your palm
As you gazed out at its vastness.
At that precise moment;
There you are.

Have you ever listened to the voice of the ocean?
Today, her cries grow louder.
Tormented echoes are being sent
Through rising currents
And her aquatic kin;
The dolphin and the whale.
Their ancient and peaceful rhythms disturbed.

From the depths of the ocean
Comes a message
Vociferous in emotion.
On those gallant white horses
Rides a pseudo exclamation.

Toxicity slithers in the ether
Poisoning the soul within her.
Carried by her majestic waves
Sent to overpower prosperity’s slaves.

Trading madness for stillness
We add to her illness.
In man’s haste to consume
Our homelands,
She will slowly subsume.

Humanity and insanity
An approach we must trade
Else the portent of Armageddon
Will be horrifically played.

Deafened by greed,
Man is hurtling
Toward death and destruction.
Do not be deceived.
‘Prosperity’ is a seductive dark cloak
Worn by the devil.

Rising tide of danger.

Swollen by melting ice.
Extinction will be the price.

The planet is in pain
Through drought and rain,
Let us pray
For her watery spirit.
And that those cries
Don’t grow too faint.

Should icy blood drip from her poles
The ocean’s new chorus to the cosmos
Will resonate
Please God
Save all Our Souls.

When you cannot listen to the ocean
You are not.

7th December 2000

Ashridge

A place in my heart,
Where common land marks the start.
The lone beech tree almost hidden,
Around it, tracks have been ridden.
The bank of trees standing nearby,
And dappled light from the summer sky.
From the roadside to the field,
A good many memories does this track yield.
My dog’s musings still echo.
As do picnics, walks and other assorted capers.
I can still walk lightly through the glade,
From the dawn of spring
through mid winter and evening shade.

 

22nd February 1998

Bluebells in Ashridge Forest

The Pilgrimage

the-spirit-of-glendalough

Part I – Darkness

On the little shimmering lake,
I met my demons,
Not by mistake.
An echo of shattering calm,
As fresh water caressed my palm.
Cold on my face,
But new light I embrace.
Along the seeker’s green road,
Emotional baggage I sought to offload.
Encircling a Celtic shrine,
Somehow drawn towards the divine.

Summoned by the mountains’ spirits
During a dream of early summer,
I recall its peak and vibrant colour.
In the valley of the light,
Dreams flow out of the night.
The bitter wind pierces me,
Leaving me cold and exposed.
The winter chill snakes through the hills,
Taking the edge off a visual thrill.
Descending through the valley,
I count the crosses I must carry.
Against nature’s brute force,
I struggle for my own inner source.
A fountain of well-being,
What my dreams are seeing?
An angel to fall out of the sky,
How that would catch my romantic eye.

Up to the cell of Saint Kevin,
Eyes lifted up to heaven.
In this peaceful place,
I felt the presence of God’s grace.
The oak circle draws energy in,
Casting out my pain and sin.
The black lake I visited before,
But with guardians
Who kept me safe and secure.
The blackness left me disturbed,
Imagined depths that were absurd.
But from the Saint’s glade,
The dream’s message was played.
And of this irrational fear,
I now embrace the lake
Like the babe I hold so dear.

On the dark side of the lake,
There was a warmth, a welcome break.
A green enclosure and a cavern bed
For a saint; made to measure.
How the volumnous waters descend
They effortlessly glide down
Every crevice and bend.

Ancient rocks alter the flow.
In winter sun, the crystal waters glow.
In the forest, soft soil lies underfoot,
Autumn colours decorate the route.
Rustic reds, bronze and brown,
Warm the face and disperse a cold frown.
Shades enriched by a moist orange sky,
Colouring the carpet where fallen leaves lie.
On this hallowed ground,
Celtic treasures can be found.
Under this sky,
I keep the dream in my mind’s eye.

In a simple visualisation,
I can add to this creation.
In the darkness of the womb,
My own growth was given room.
A watery existence, one can assume.
In this cavernous domain,
I was warmed not in vain.
But upon the first light ray,
Comes the cold light of day!
This moment of birth,
We sub-consciously carry.
Until we revisit
Our own special valley.
Through the wisdom, this poetry sends,
A deeper message soon transcends.


Part II – Retreat House

As the sun crept across the window,
A ray of gentle light streaked across my page.
As if to animate
The beast in my cage!
That same light hugged the mountains,
Just as water filled up fountains.
The colours of earth illuminated,
Just as my dream illustrated.


Part III – Monastic City

On the mountain slopes, a rich carnival of colour.
Green, purple, yellow, red, orange and brown.
The spectrum of seasons
Project on its daunting incline.
How I will cherish this sweet moment of mine.

To the round tower, lofting skyward
Half dressed in shadow.
Its upper body exposed.
As the sun’s rays sweep across the holy city,
Protecting the graves that many so pity.
Celtic souls rest in its looming shadow.
At peace with themselves.
But of some, their lives I poise to ponder.
A thirty month old infant,
Buried with her elderly mother.
Barely a harvest did that babe grow,
But amongst so many,
Her little soul radiates a magnificent glow.

Part IV – Light

The sun’s rays bring out the blue,
And positive thoughts
That have been too few.
Upon the fast-flowing waters,
An explosion of light.
Winter’s mist shines so bright.
As I ascend the forest,
The Goddess moves through its shadows.
The tree spirits cheerfully whisper
To their descendants in stone.
Including those that children have thrown.
I sit aghast, as light pours on water,
And as water travels down the valley.
Down the old mountain,
To a well,
Or perhaps through a fountain.

At noon,
On the lower lake, blue meets green.
And the demons can now be seen!!

The elegant pines point majestically
Towards the blue sky.
A leafy green surface over which,
Birds only fly.
As I continue my ascent,
The forest’s light show
Luminates my lament.
Light trickles through,
Thoughts and colours imbue.

Back to the lower lake
And a rock for a perch.
Where I can admire
The ‘lady of the forest’, the silver birch.
A tree’s roots pierce the ground,
Like the veins of a wise old woman,
They hold a certain wisdom; profound.
Only when my energies flow,
Can my own spirit
Flourish and grow.

 

Glendalough,
Co. Wicklow,
Ireland.
14th-16th November 1998.

The Farm Children

Lights, camera, bloody action.
Dark faces mistakenly victimised,
To drugs, lies and stereotypes.
His children aimlessly loiter a sixties project.

An aftermath bolts before its war-horse,
Broad-sheets drag themselves through the gutter,
As lightweight reaction populates its clutter.
Root cause lucidly skirted,
of course.

They leave a semi-orphaned community,
Coveting their premature latchkey.
Led backward by the mid-century architect.
Urban urchins stalk the rat runs in his wake,
Abandoned by helpless guardians.

Showmanship runs riot…” The cameras are coming!”
Their acts portrayed for peak-time view,
Leaving the marsh folk shell-shocked and through.

A reflection of the Marsh Farm riots in Luton, England during the summer of ’95.

Cry of the Ocean

Do you remember the beach?
Exploring the shoreline for treasure.
You picked up a seashell
And through its cavernous opening,
You were invited to explore the ocean’s mystery.

Its dreams unravel a mythical journey,
Exciting the infant’s imagination.
This magical story unfolds in your palm
As you gazed out at its vastness.
At that moment;
There you are.

Have you ever listened to the voice of the ocean?
Today, her cries grow louder.
Tormented echoes are being sent
Through rising currents
And her aquatic kin;
The dolphin and the whale.
Their ancient and peaceful rhythms disturbed.

From the depths of the ocean
Comes a message,
Vociferous in emotion.
On those gallant white horses,
Rides a pseudo exclamation.

Toxicity slithers in the ether,
Poisoning the soul within her.
Carried by her majestic waves,
Sent to overpower prosperity’s slaves.

Trading madness for stillness,
We add to her illness.
In man’s haste to consume
Our homelands,
She will slowly subsume.

Humanity and insanity;
An approach we must trade,
Else the portent of Armageddon
Will be tragically played.

Deafened by greed,
Man is hurtling
Towards death and destruction.
Do not be deceived.
‘Prosperity’ wears a seductive dark cloak
Worn by the Devil himself.

Rising tide of danger.

Swollen by melting ice;
Extinction will be the price.

The planet is in pain,
Through drought and rain.
Let us pray
For her watery spirit.
And that those cries,
Do not grow too faint.

Should icy blood drip from her poles,
The ocean’s new chorus to the cosmos
Will resonate.
Please God,
Save all our souls.

When you cannot listen to the ocean;
You are not.

Written December, 2000.

New adventure

This is the start of my adventure into the blogosphere. In my enthusiasm to find an original site and username, not to mention an attractive skin, I now feel too weary to write anything of note. So here is daring to be different. Let the journey begin.