A new chapter

  A chapel empty A chapel empty on a Tuesday morning Save for a lady in her weary eighties Bent over by her age and piety A sturdy walking stick beside her.  A day of Spring in old Blackrock Where outside normal life thrums on Ignoring sacred space and quiet Within the holy walls and limpid light.  The sunlight filtered by stained glass Creeps in and blesses golden stone Of creams and light browns  That bring attention to the knave.  Above the altar hangs a massive cross And lower down a cast of saints From far and wide and of course Our Lady Holding in her arms a blessed baby.  A quiet time for a Quaker Who loves the magic of a church Mindful that this cannot last The last survivor on a desert island.  The pulpit stands, a testament  To different times and ages But special all the same  It was their words that formed us.  The tabernacle glistens Adorned with Alpha and Omega Some things will forever stay Grateful for a normal weekday....

  As a youth   As a youth he could not sit still He couldn’t walk but run Though he took his time appearing in nineteen fifty one.  Beneath a holy mountain Reflected in Clew Bay With a scattering of islands For every single day.  He led the boys and girls Up to the Holy Altar On First Communion Day  Left his partner in a canter.  Nearly seventy years on And life has slowed down Sitting with a stoop Gone the days of cock a hoop.  Happy memories looking back At the years that came between The rugby fields of Churchtown  The squash courts later on.  The bracing mountain walks The stretch along the sand The pilgrims way in Spain The joy of pleasant company.  Now all left behind In the corner of the mind Happy that they happened They come alive again. 

  God shed a tear God shed a tear when the last man died That marked the end of music in the universe No more laughter, no more cheer Just an empty earth that travels on.  The sun will set and the moon will rise The tides will run and draw Over beaches with no footprints As dawn and dusk change hands.  Nature will recover and renew Concrete will yield to summer flowers Birds and bees return to no man’s land No man’s land is freed for all.  The miracle that is earth will carry on  Despite the damage wrought by greedy man Birds will return to trees  All will be well again.  There is no one in the silent universe To hear the last man’s call to God Whose creation he had destroyed  Whose innocence he had despoiled.  Maybe it’s for the best That this creature of greed and war Has left the stage to  Allow what’s left to flourish.  Wonderful planet that gave its all That man might grow and prosper Is free to breathe again  Safe again f...

  Two and a half thousand Two and a half thousand  I’m counting down The days that are remaining  If I last to eighty.  I take the beads, removing one In bed before retiring And thank the Lord for the gift That’s slow but surely shrinking.  Tomorrow as another one Makes it way and leaves me I cherish all the days I’ve left I grieve for all the days receding.  Another day, another bead Gone forever, without a heed, Slipping through my fingers Fleeting time just never lingers.  On and on the countdown runs It’s running down despite my sums Powerless to halt its progress Every person shares this process.  Til one day the hours run out For the wealthy and the poor Blinded God of time decides Nowhere for a soul to hide.  Keeping track will not bring back The days we spent asleep  The days we wasted thinking that The store was filling every morning.  Thirty thousand filled the tank  Now I’m left with eight percent The battery’s runni...