RETURN VISIT

I see the Past
happen before my eyes

( here a not too bright
Cabbage White )

hides among the coal

my sister’s laugh

decorating a June night
so bright it’s almost light

my mother’s hands blue with cold
singing to her washing

the graceful notes
freeze as they leave her lips

birds like staff notation
sketching the gist of the tune

on telegraph wires
every now and then

moving up & down
a note

us in Spring
spinning ‘round ‘n’ ‘round

falling dizzy
to the ground

feeling like we’re falling
off the earth

pinning ourselves
to the ground

with sheer will power

as the blue sky
washes over us

&  our senses
drown

memories
scattered upon

the sands of time

like seashells
clutched in children’s hands.

THE BEAUTY OF THE WORLD

The city inches towards
the dawn.

Most of it is still
( not awake )

but sleep
has disowned me.

I stand and stare
as this world

comes into being
as it dresses itself

in sunlight
the new moment

as it glistens
translating the now

into the song
of a passing bird

so beautiful
I call out

your lost name
amazed

that this world
moving through space and time

does not contain
you.

You who have gone
beyond even

the great silence

and my tears fail
to bring you back again.

"The beauty of the world
hath made me sad. . ."

I tell my reflection
gazing through glass

a startled bird
flying through my face.

*

The title is taken from The Wayfarer by Padraic Pearse ...a poem from my long long ago Irish childhood. My brother would have learnt this poem at school as well. Now its sadness has become my sadness.

The Wayfarer
by Padraic Pearse

The beauty of the world hath made me sad,
This beauty that will pass;
Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy
To see a leaping squirrel in a tree,
Or a red lady-bird upon a stalk,
Or little rabbits in a field at evening,
Lit by a slanting sun,
Or some green hill where shadows drifted by
Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown
And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven;
Or children with bare feet upon the sands
Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets
Of little towns in Connacht,
Things young and happy.
And then my heart hath told me:
These will pass,
Will pass and change, will die and be no more,
Things bright and green, things young and happy;
And I have gone upon my way
Sorrowful.

. . .WHILE THE MUSIC LASTS. . .

"Music heard so deeply
That is not heard at all, but you are
The music While the music lasts."

T. S. Eliot: The Dry Salvages - V

*

The door appears
before her

as if hey presto
out of thin air.

I have to sing it to her for her
to know it is there....is a door.

"Open the door Suzie!"

The Dylan and her name
activates its fact and function.

She is always amazed that
the world waits outside.

" A little bit of magic!"
she always coos.

"It's like the sky...the bird and trees
have been made...just for me!"

And each time she
carelessly loses the world

it is made anew
shiny as the first Creation.

She basks in the sheer
pleasure of me

brushing brushing
her hair her hair.

But seeing how much
comes off on the brush

she panics:
"I'm losing me!"

As if she were shedding
her self.

"You're losing it...you're losing it!"
I sing with great gusto.

She laughs and joyfully
joins in

with the corruption of
Blake.

Out on the street she
starts to take off her clothes

thinking she is
at home.

"Oh oh Suzie we
don't do that  'round here!"

But now it's time for
biscuits and tea.

She knows it because
I whistle some capriccio

of Zelenka's
whatever comes to mind.

She admits that I music her
back into being but

"...you can't whistle for toffee
or sing for nuts and your voice

is a bit too harsh and Irish!"

I do my best to
sing her through

the day's comings and goings
music taking her by the hand

leading her back
into a world

she no longer lives in
most of the time.

"Open the door Suzie!
But I ain't gonna hear it said no more.

I IS SMILING

Everything always is:

'I is...'

As in:

'I is...happy! '

'I...is...tired! '

Even to negate it, is:

'I is...not tired! '

'I is...not go bed! '

(with Churchillian scowl

& foot stamp for emphasis) .

I used to love

your construction

the simple syntax of your

sentences:

'Tilly & Mummy...is girl! '

'Dónall Dónall is...not girl? '

Now I is

remembering you

just as

you was

recall your words

just as

they is

& I

...is smiling.

IT'S A LONG LONG ROAD

You the proud
horseman of my shoulders.

My curls
your reins.

The sky dripping with
pure happiness.

The horizon a sheer line
of nothing

but joy.

I gallop off
into the infinity

of this one
and only moment.

The centaur of
my little brother's world.



Now you
are in your pudgy phase

and I can only carry
you on my back.

I tell you
you are my koala bear.

You like the sound
of that.

"I'm a Coca Cola bear!"
you chant.

"Yeah..." I huff.
"...right!" I puff.

You are too heavy.

You ask me if you
are "...too heavy?"

"Not a bit!"
I lie.

Field after field I
carry you through that summer.

"Huffpuffhuffpuffhuffpuff!"
I turn my breath into song.
"Huffpuffhuffpuffhuffpuff!"

"You ain't heavy...
...your'e my brother!"



Now I    carry you
within me

as the living must
carry their dead.

Your memory
light as a feather

resting upon the soul.

Your death too hard
for me to bear.

I carry you through
fields of summer

you will never see.

"Am I
too heavy for you?"

Your voice
echoes inside my mind.

"No...!" I lie.

You smile.

Knowing now...I lie.

"You ain't heavy...."
I feel his little hands

tugging on the reins
of my curls.

". . .you are
my Brian!"

LIFE CHANGES

I had 2 boy fishes
Bubble & Squeak
(but they croaked it) .
I cried when they died.

Now I’ve got 2 girl fishes
Kisses & Cuddles
(& they swim real neat) .
Sweet!

I lost my teeth
& Mum meets

her new boyfriend Trev.

Mum & Dad - split.

Dad got engaged.

My sister had her first kid
at 15.

I had my hair cut short
& was sad.

I think poetry...puberty’s
a bit of a change

because you grow tall

grow spots

grow more hairs

in private...
...places.

I got a lot older & I kissed my first girl.

Girls have changes in their chests
becoming outstanding.

Testicles get bigger.

Both sexes change emotions.

The way I feel ‘bout growing up is

...I’m scared!
I got shingles because I was depressed.

I got foot & mouth for humans.

I got something wrong with my legs.

I don’t want to grow up but

I will have to just

...deal with it!

I swam with dolphins.

This is the Snakes ‘n’ Ladders

of my life.

* * *

These are not my words...I just strung them together on a string to see where it would take them. I was marking essays for the little ones who had just left the secure world of primary and were now floating around lost in secondary. They were given the essay title LIFE CHANGES and these are the words and life stories of 32 little people and how they see the world and themselves. I didn't change anything just collected and collated and put them together to make this pattern. This is their individual/collective poem. Their voices and view of the world is unmistakably their own!

AGENTS OF FORTUNE

Mr. & Mrs.
Death
lying side by side

in a morning that
has not as yet
made itself up

Mr. Death is snoring
waking Mrs. Death
it's always the same

Death is dreaming
he is living
inside his dream

"Fred. . .Fred!"
hisses Mrs. Death
but he dreams on

who would have guessed
that Mr. Death's first name
would be of all things "Fred"

"Fred!" she shouts
finally managing
to drag him from his dream

"Wot...wot!"
snaps Mr. Death
"It's time!" Mrs. Death says

Mr. Death mumbles
gets up unwillingly
grumbles

brings Mrs. Death
her breakfast
"Thanks love!" she smiles

"Well I must be off!"
Mr. Death sighs
"Got a busy day today!"

Death had been dreaming
that he had been alive
that he wore flesh

but the War
drags on and
always a war

he's wanted at the Front
Mr. Death so tired of it
all

"See you soon!" Mr. Death  yawns
but Mrs. Death has turned over
gone back to sleep

snoring she dreams
that Mr. Death doesn't
have to go to work

that they could be
just for once
ordinary folk

Mr. Death
closes the door
as quietly as he can

hums to himself
Blue Oyster Cult's
"(Don't fear) the Reaper"