Poems for All Occasions (9 page)

Humans, young, old agile, aged

Creatures, small and large,

Furry, feathered,wild and tame.

Across the world, peace reigns,

Heedless they of darkened doom,

Muffled cries and broken hearts,

Where torn fingers scrape,

With grit and might,

Their bulging eyes peering,

Ears craning, anxiously awaiting

The smallest sound,

Eyes aglow, a gleam of hope,

Tell tale of someone breathing

Beneath dark rubble far below.

They called it “THE EMERGENCY.”

I was too young to know its meaning,

But I recollect, vividly the scarcity of tea,

And my mother’s friend grating carrots,

As I watched fascinated, one October night.

She dried them slowly in a hot oven,

Which hung over red hot cinders.

The dried fragments of dark yellow carrots,

Substitutes for leaves of a plant grown

In abundance in India, China and Ceylon.

We all sampled the war time beverage.

Like the small boy, who truthfully

Judged the Emperor’s new clothes,

My mother frowned disapproval

When I tasted the new brew and announced

“It still tastes like carrots.”

My mother’s friend looked uncomfortable

I was ordered to bed immediately.

They continued sipping, as if they liked it.

They suffered diarrhoea for two days after,

I was the only one who survived ,

That sure was an emergency.

I saw a film the other night,

Superb acting, based on fact,

Showing British justice,

At its very lowest ebb,

Bare faced liars,

Confining innocent folks

To a prison life of hell,

One old and delicate

Left to die, he the father,

Spirit broken, humiliated,

Separated from the spouse

he loved and longed for.

Even now, Great Britain,

I ask of you to stop and think.

For 800 years, you and yours

Have trodded on our very dignity,

Trying to stifle our Irish spirit,

You have failed dramatically

And will fail.

Instead of foddering hatred,

We can still be friends,

If you glide gently away

From our land, our homeland,

Then and only then can

Our friendship blossom

Into everlasting comradeship.

In the name of all fathers,

God speed that day.

Evil in her diabolical onslaught.

The labours of her tongue rupture

The tender fibres of a sensitive heart

Daughter of Eve, careless, without feeling,

Creator of mental aches,

Sending pangs of psychological dismay

Into the heart’s core, cruel and numb.

Murderer of friendship’s young glow,

Destroyer of every virtue of decency.

Gossiping woman, stop and think,

Your pathway is hell’s open plain

Pause ere you drive another helpless soul

To despair, suicide and death

The aftermath of heartless gossip

Theme of the idle, thief of youth

Bitter, cunning, bitchy,sin of sins

I despise your eloquent disclosures.

I saw my grandfather’s tweed suit,

Waving violently,

Lopsidedly whirling,

Bringing memories

Crowding, twitching,

Memorandum of by gone years.

Warm tears gushed from my eyes,

At the sight

Of that woven grandeur,

Which once adorned

The well built frame

Of Granda in his prime,

Joyfully welcoming

Each beloved grandchild,

Or walking solemnly

Subdued in mourning

In the silent cortege.

Of a friend’s last journey.

To his final resting place.

Such loyalty, he displayed,

His big heart pounding

Neath the tweed suit

His hat of dark grey,

To day, carelessly

Displaying a gaping hole

Protruding dried up hay,

Falling untidily

On the drooping shoulder pads,

From the weighty burden

Of the element’s dust, and rain.

Turning I retreated slowly,

Wiping my burning eyes,

Closing their curtains,

To obliterate the view,

Of a skeleton scarecrow,

Sporting my Granda’s suit,

That windy morning,

My aching brain felt subdued.

She was scared of the graveyard,

They said long boney hands

Pulled you down and buried you

Deep in the grave holes.

One evening, returning from the shops,

She barely looked, as she ran

Past the big iron gate

Which decorated the silent graveyard.

Down the road, a big car passed her by,

And suddenly stopped,

A long hand tried to grasp

Her blue Summer bib.

She ran and ran , and when

she reached the graveyard gate,

She climbed over and fell

With a loud thud.

Inside, she hid in a hole

By the edge of a tall gravestone.

She could hear the car’s driver,

Searching, panting, running.

She felt safe in the grave’s open mouth,

Then he gave up the search,

She could hear the engine starting,

And once more, there was silence.

She ran home and her mother said,

The dead would never harm you,

It’s the living you should fear,

Mother was nearly always right.

No hand tried to grasp her

By the lonely gravestone

Her mother said “Evil sparkles

In the hearts of some men.

Hard to know what she meant

Sally was only ten.

He sang of her beauty

on Raglan road,

Her very posture

sent a warmth

through his spine,

Gliding like a fawn

O’er Autumn leaves aglow,

Man’s pain of love

Silently he pined.

But beauty fades

like Summer roses,

Tall trees decay

and tumble down,

Sweet thoughts remain,

perpetual harvest,

Enhancing love,

no one can ever drown.

Fair the mind,

remembering

youth’s wild passion,

Fickle daydreams

scurrying by,

of all the times

This love can cause

disaster, ignoring

the bending victim

waiting by the stile.

But great the mind,

superior gift,

So God- like

Combining thoughts,

some brilliant,

some unkind,

Sole possession,

nourished in

man’s brain cells,

Yesterday’s dreams,

treasure of

the human mind.

O Mummy dear, I want that toy,

I want it now, or I will cry,

I want it badly, that’s the reason why

I keep on saying, “I want that toy.”

Son, you know I can’t buy that toy,

I would if I could, but I told you why,

Your Dad is idle for two years now,

We have no money to waste on toys,

Like a real good boy,, go play with Roy.

But Mummy Dear, I need that toy,

I’LL cry and cry and sob and sigh

Write to Santa this very night,

He’s rich and kind and he can buy

Whate’er is needed by each good child.

Son, are you deaf or slow or sly,

I said last night I can’t buy that toy

Santa Claus, too, is poor, you know,

My head is aching, my heart is cold,

Go out and play in the Christmas snow.

Peace lay over the vale of renown,

All was still

Over the distant heather brown,

Stood a shady hill,

Beneath its shadow, deep as night

Set a spark of grandeur

To the lake so dim and bright

A happy lark

Sang forth a strain of dreamy melody

A gush of song

Disappeared among the pine trees edge

Peace still lingered on

But oh the scene so lovely

Lay before us,

Entranced, we sat on the wall above

Sweet beauty’s home,

Our very thoughts were lifted from this world

On nature’s wings

Those silent wings of lakes and trees and flowers,

Islands by shady hills,

A breeze of fLoating calmness

Gently passes by

Fills the mind and heart and lungs

With lasting mildness.

Oh! that I could stay

Beside yon lovely valley

O sigh poor heart, was it a dream

Or reverie of gladness

Killarney, home of happiness?

Life, no doubt, is one great puzzle

A shadow falling beneath the sun,

A misty dawn of joys and troubles

Faded clouds, when day is done

Valleys green, haunted realms

Humans tumbling one by one.

Alas! they fly and seek for fortune,

Then, they’re gone, their work undone.

If only man would look up yonder,

To the mighty being, the God of all,

Ah, there he’d fInd content and happiness,

No matter how the raindrops fall

In this great world of doubt and sorrow,

It’s just a trial before the dawn,

Oh humans awaken before the morrow,

Life is like a hunted fawn.

Pointing at a mansion tall, he said;

“Grand people living there,

“Nightly, half intoxicated,

I pass by that garden wall,

aches in my head and legs,

On my way home

from my local

watering hole.

It must be the lady of the house,

Flashes on a glaring light,

to brighten up the road,

So that I can see my way

through the dark of night.

Then when I reach

my cottage home,

All is darkness, .

Dark as clay.

Gone is the light,

The good lady

knows I’m safe

Inside my garden gate

,

I smile, and think

Of what fIne people exist,

caring about chaps like me.

Turning on a light, each night,

so that I can see.”

I listened carefully

but would not dare,

Tell my friend

His lady of the night,

is a new invention,

an alarm light,

set to ignite,

by his own shadowy frame,

Intruding there

neath the beam’s

searching ray.

Loneliness, that ghost like phantom,

Haunting humans, through their lives,

It brings sweet memories of home and kindred,

Replaces joys, with heart throbbing strife.

Tears, like gems, flow slowly over

Rose coloured cheeks, or pale wrinkled brows,

Then sighs are heard, long low sad sobbing,

The phantom lover, once more prowls.

A child in fever, calls its mother,

The baby lambs bleat ere they die,

The lonely sigh of a pining lover,

The distant screech of a seagull’s cry.

Yet in the land of saints and angels,

The phantom ghost ne’er more can strike,

The soul, once more has journeyed homewards,

In peace and joy, fore’er to lie.

Perhaps I’m moody, perhaps I’m odd.

But who is perfect on sea or sod?

Men claim patience, strength and speed,

They need us women through passing years.

Moody is thy name, o woman,

seed of Adam’s rib,

Never feel like being a Robot,

That would make him grin.

Man and woman, boy or girl,

Humans, all alike,

Equal they in spite of difference,

Share the strife in life.

Baby boys all spring from women,

Nourished at their breasts,

Grown up men, like babies craving

For female warm caress.

Balm of troubled souls;

The chirping of birds on a distant tree

Or the rippling sound of a passing stream

Gurgling slowly t
o
join the sea

And lose its glow

Neath shadowed leaves

The Baa -_baa of a fLock of sheep

Cuddling their young

With touches meek

Or the shouts at play

Of little boys

Tossing their toys

Their music is noise

With a rush of wind

Through the nearby leaves

The harmony sweet

A combination of these

Music is a variety of sounds

Blended together

Like gems on a crown

Angelic in nature

Created by God

To be found all places

In sea, sky. and bog.

Marriage of notes, sounds and chords,

Restorer of peace on earth’s troubled sod.

The whistling and chirping of singing birds,

Midst leaves a stirring o’er swinging buds,

Rippling sounds of passing streams,

Gurgling slowly to kiss the sea,

Losing glow neath shadowed trees.

Ripples shining with sparkling glee.

The Baa Baa of a flock of sheep,

Cuddling their young with touches meek,

Or the shouts at play of little boys,

Tossing their toys, their music is noise.

A hasty breeze through the nearby leaves,

The harmony sweet, a combination of these.

Sweet soft music, a variety of sounds

Blended together, like gems on a crown,

Angelic in nature, created by God,

To be found everywhere, in sea, sky and bog.

O
CTOBER 4TH, 1953

The crowd dispersed and scattered

From Arklow’s dancehall bright,