A new chapter

  Layers of clouds   Layers of clouds unfold across the sky That’s grey and soft and wintry They bunch where they meet the sea And greet the far horizon.   Beyond Dun Leary piers and spires  Where man’s presence melts And nature rises higher Inviting bunched clouds to hover  On this middling Monday of no import Saved by Grace of God from breaking news And breathless mindless Sky reports Shielded in our little seaside resort.  The clouds advancing from the East  Grey against a pastel white Framed by bare trees of shorn leaves Exposed and nude to winters storms.  Leaner and best prepared for gales That shake our roofs and attics Natures way to die and rise again To confound our science and despair. 

  The time   The time has come to give away The items hoarded over fifty years No longer buying or accumulating But dispensing freely to those who need.  This change has come a little sudden But better late than never And better live than dead To spare the folk who follow.  Years roll on and less is needed Passion’s flame has now subsided All is well, the earth provided What we required and much more.  The Sunday train trundles slowly Along the quays in Wexford Centre  Making its way in November shadows All the way to Connolly Station.  We proceed at walking pace And pass onlookers as they stroll On the quayside quaffing coffee Babes in arms, mums in scarves.  A group of ladies board the train Laughing, chatting from their trip Past singers from a Dublin choir Now deepen bonds of friendship.  The hours pass,  the sullen evening Surrounds the train while stations  Empty to fill each seat with tourists In defiance of the winter rains....

  The velux window The velux window grants a view Between the roofs across the Bay The bare winter trees revealing The Hill of Howth and Dun Leary.  St. Michael’s spire pierces a blue sky On a crisp November morning  A weak golden sun shining On the leaves that are remaining Like soldiers after battle Rustling in a garden corner, Below a grey squirrel running Sure footed on timber fences.   Clamor rises from the school yard Where pupils take their break The cries unchanged in sixty years Since we played in primary.  Down below the bustle Of the morning coffee shops We residents are buzzing With their tiny major chores.  Leafless trees raise bare arms In earnest prayer to heaven That seems so close today Their branches nearly touch it.  

  Art had lost its heart Art had lost its heart And eyes and ears and soul Selling out to the Emperor Who lost his mind and clothes.  Vanished was its mind And sense and sensibility Looking for assurances From art’s high nobility.  A century that lost its way Right from the very start Artists without panache  Sold their trash for cash.  No one could explain The value of an object And hid their naked nonsense In full sight of the populace.  People voting with their feet Now choosing with their wallet Turn their backs and noses  On last years withered roses.  The classic look is back People seeking talent  Things they like and understand That feed the soul and spirit.   

  November trees November trees are shedding leaves Red and brown and golden yellow With the maple shedding purple With joy and sadness mingled.  Our summer privacy is shorn And twinkling lights nearby Light up the terrace beyond the garden  Handsome houses of a bygone vintage.  The town below us now reveals The spires of solemn churches And beyond them all the sea Stretching all the way to Howth.  To the south the view extends Above the roofs to Sandycove Where on the sea sail the ships Project a mystery of their own.  The branches dancing in the wind Coming from the sea to hills Here I sit in my rocking chair Peaceful, mellow and contented. 

  Travel warning Do not travel unless it’s needed Please ensure this warning’s heeded Stay at home if you can manage  Or the poor earth you will ravage With useless trips to here and there Pushing up your carbon share Don’t be stupid but take the hint The world is burning, it’s not fair On future generations yet to come Who will suffer from what we’ve done Don’t kid yourself, don’t hide the truth  From yourself for travel hurts.  The weekend break to Paris seems A harmless venture but will be seen In future years as quite careless As adding to the eco mess.  It’s not a sin to stay at home To welcome neighbors for a chat To celebrate the beauty that’s around  Without long journeys can be found.  The ancient friars took the vow To stay in the self same monastery  To live in the same community Until they traveled to eternity.  Stability is what they called it It has a certain noble ring These simple men steeped in prayer Showed us a simple way t...