A new chapter

  Playing Sunday bowls   Playing Sunday bowls in the years before the War In the Edwardian Era, insouciant and innocent Men with caps and trousers white The world seemed civilized and permanent.  Unaware of tectonic plates Grinding between great nations The last gasp of Old Empires Who misjudged the century.  Roll on forward to Dun Leary And bowls are played this Sunday morning The clunk of balls, the idle chat Suggest we’re in a different world  To the lands of death and struggle To besieged Ukraine and Palestine The aggressors unaware their time Is over and the end coming down the line. 

  I take I take this breath and marvel That my heart is beating still I look up to the skies To the clouds above the hill.  I see the dogs reflections  In the puddles in the lane That leads down to the sea Wonder what’s ahead of me.  I think of all the friends I’ve lost along the way  I wonder at the mercy That spares me to this day.  I leave aside the worries The troubles of the hour  I celebrate surviving Longer than the others did.  I celebrate good fortune Not virtue on my part All of life is but a gift From the very start.  The path behind the dunes That guard us from the sea Is lit up by the autumn sun Golden, gentle, lovely. .  Our shadows lengthen on the lane As October bids goodbye Another year has slipped away We see another baby die In Israel or in Palestine Both their lives are worth the same We shall pray for peace today No merit seeking blame.  Peace with justice is what we need A concentration camp may seem ok But not...

  Holiday mobile homes Holiday mobile homes fan out Around the playground to the sea Each one with its picket fence Complete with aerial for kids TV.  A chance to leave the town behind To live a different life at slower pace Where boys can run and girls can play From early morning to the end of day.  To allow the young ones freedom That their parents once enjoyed  Before the gangs and drugs took over Before the kids had phones That keep an eye on them, That overlook, invigilate,  That cramp their style and navigate, A world now like a police state.  Big SUV’s parked tidily Beside each mobile immaculately  With window boxes and with swings  Each careful owner leaves his mark.  No foreign flights, no passport queues  A meander down the motorway  A hundred miles to another world A world of shorts and playgrounds.  The cries of laughter fill the park From early morning until dark The children make their own fun here Once up they ne...

  Evolution Is evolution proof that God Favors just the fittest? The weaker species  Now consigned to history.  Or is the moral au contraire That human beings for all their evil Are called to help the small   To fight for the defenseless? The solemn truth is no one knows Religion has been confused for ages The lawyers for both sides Plead equally for each plaintiff.  It seems for sure we are alone - On our own in our great galaxy So when we die so does all song All laughter in the universe The earth will last beyond our time Burnt down by our free will Far more men good than evil But the evil owned the petrol. 

  A blinding sun A blinding sun on a sparkling sea Sea waters splash against the pier Soft waves lollop on the granite stone Beneath a pale blue Autumn sky.  Sunday service is outdoors today Closer to God and the heavens above Sunday strollers breathe in the air Happy and grateful just to be there.  Peaceful the walk along a cliff path Follow the lane that the leads to the head The ancient south east of the island Half a billion years old and counting.  We pause for a moment at the ‘aeroplane field’ The site of a crash during the war Where five young Germans met their end When their Heinkel crashed above the shore.  Now past the windmills under their shadows They point to the sun and quietly turn In the distance St Vogues chapel in ruins Site of a monastery from the fifth century.  Beyond that again the watch out tower Manned in the war to identify planes Ugly as sin, built in massed concrete Proof, if needed, that progress is rare.  Dog walkers are go...

  Catholic Churches   Catholic Churches are special places For the faithful and the rest of us Who adore the peace and sanctity The feeling that we’re in communion With a higher being beyond description.  People come with different prayers Some light candles some will stare At the stained glass above the altar  Bridget, Patrick, Jesus, Mary, A silver crown upon Our Lady.  The arched blue ceiling rising high Lifts souls and spirits to the sky  This a refuge for all believers A comfort too for those unable To enjoy the faith of our fathers.  The knave is cool, the church is silent  A place of beauty, a quiet haven  Unique perhaps in all the world A gift is given to the Irish people Every day beneath the steeple Of the church designed by Pugin Paid by the pennies saved by poor Farmers' wives when times were tough   A penny is a lot when’s it’s all you’ve got And the year is eighteen sixty seven.  To this day we enjoy what they Con...