A new chapter

  Destruction The Lord broke silence to proclaim That man had messed up to his shame The pristine world had lasted fine Til man evolved with calling time On coral reefs and grizzly bears.  The Lord would not punish man Nor intervene to save him Thoughts and prayers are useless now But polluting less just might.  Besides the Lord had other worlds And Galaxies to think about  There is no Savior in the sky Changing lives might get us by.  Don’t look up but down instead  To the ground we need to nurture Metanoia needed now And well into the future. 

  Escape A poem once written now escapes And the meaning is what the reader makes What the poet meant matters not a jot The lines now freed are no longer his.  The poet's poems are his children Now leaving home for good Not ungrateful but called  To plough a brand new furrow.  The words no longer his belong To the wide world and the reader Must make of it his own Embrace what speaks to him.  Beauty is in the mouth of the speaker  For it only lives in others not on pages It lives in the minds and hearts of readers  Or it doesn’t live at all.  

  Veni creator spiritus   Come Holy Spirit and invade our souls On winter mornings when the sun is low When Easter and salvation seem so far When we cannot see beyond the wars When we rise from sleep and attempt To raise our eyes and spirits to the stars.  The strength of Gregorian chant  Will lift our souls and remind us Of the mornings spent in holy prayer  In modest churches at break of day  While all the while a troubled world  Wound its busy, harried way.  To this day in smaller numbers  The faithful gather in cold naves  To give thanks and show wonder At the Spirit that inhabits stone And the hearts of the humble  Who have found and kept the faith. 

  Modest November Modest November slides in without notice No fanfare, no sirens, no hoopla.  October has gone with a Halloween bang Witches on sticks and all carry-on.  Deep autumn trees now shed their leaves The weekend saw the hour fall back The quiet days seem much shorter And dark nights seem even longer.  In this month of compressed hours  We will seek sunshine that is ours We will stride on piers along the bay For every old dog has his day.  We forage sunshine where we can Beneath the lighthouse facing south On Dun Leary pier beyond the yachts Tied up ahead of winter storms.  Should we batten down the hatches  Or open sails on choppy waters Ride the tide as far as Bailey Try our luck and ride our chances? Is life too short to hide in dark cupboards To avoid all risks and to hunker down? Or should we welcome November Leave safe harbor in search of winter sun?

  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...