The mother is the architect
Gently sculpting the loom
Patiently weaving life.
Generously she offers
Every kind of sustenance
Bountifully for all
But the garden is too small
Overgrown and heavy
The scaffolding buckles
Sighing beneath the weight
Of her prodigious ripe fruit
The trellis is in transition
Vines grow wild,
Fruit falls to the ground
The children lament
Weary worn gardeners
retire worn gloves
The apprentices bloom
ambitious botanists
Fresh faced youth
dreamy-eyed and hopeful
as they extend the lattice
mindfully making room—
for what the great mother
will birth next.

Lights up a smoke
Takes in a draw
Laughs with a rasp
Chokes with a cough

Lives for the sensation
Of smoke in her lungs
On the ladder of life
She skips a few rungs

Prefers the menthol
Says it freshens her breath
With little regard
The rest smells like death

Side of the pack reads
They bring on disease
Smiles at that fact
Behind yellow teeth

The very same ones
She's lying through
When she says she can quit
Any time she wants to

Fires another one up
Takes in a deep drag
With what little lung
She seems to have left

Laughs with a rasp
Chokes with a cough
Never once wonders
At the sense of it all

There are so many clouds I can ignore,

There are so many rains I can make invisible, like
Tears that never get a chance to touch the air,

There are so many shadows I can **** like a samurai,
Without blinking a tiny bit,
Without sneezing, a queasy-dizzy,

But I ignore you,

You, I ignore,
                      -cause you are the one I must put in the Blind Spot

PÚCA ULCHABHÁN( GHOST OWL)

"So, it's afraid of the dark y'are?"
Uncle Mikey squints at me.

I give a nod hoping
the dark doesn't hear me.

This is not just dark
but country dark.

Unable to even catch sight of
my own hand in front of my face.

As if the darkness
had solidified around me.

My body melted away
and I only a tangle of thoughts

floating through the air
being both there and not there.

"Sure don't ya know
your grandfather was born a ghost!"

Uncle Mikey attempts to
comfort my six year old self

"And sure wasn't your grandmother
a banshee for over a century or more!"

Granny in her chair
turns up her eyes.

I sit stunned at
all these revelations.

"And your grandfather
had a terrible habit of

turning into
an owl!"

I can hardly believe
what I am hearing.

"So if the dark
ever comes after ya..."

"Yes...yes...!"
I wait with baited breath.

"Then your grandfather
will give a hoot and

no one not even the dark will argue
with a  a natural born ghost!"

Outside an owl hoots.
Uncle smiles to himself.

After that the dark can't
lay a finger on me.

*

Nyctophobia struck deep into the heart of my six year old self. I was a townie and the dark never touched me until I experienced Cork country dark which was terrifying...you simply vanished into it as if it had consumed you and you were in the belly of the beast. Uncle Mikey had a unique way of dissolving the dark for me and did a good impression of an owl as well.

It was a strange sort of comforting but it worked...after that I always thought the dark was afraid of me and didn't want to argue with a natural born ghost!

Brings new opportunities,
Gives you a second chance,
Don't miss it.
19/7/2025