POTATOES

POTATOES

I can smell the sweet potato peel

Upon my skin – and I visualise walking

Amongst the summer rows.

I pick over the box of earthy potatoes

When I pull one that is perfect

I turn it in my hand like a gold nugget

Buried in my memory - a charm.

I peel back happiness from the soil,

Memories drop into a watery bowl;

The day we planted them – sowing

Love which had lain on the edges.

Uncertain, I nearly threw love out

With un-seeded tubers; to decay in hedges.

Instead I wrapped them and stored them 

In a cold shed - for spring planting.

I can already see your face shining pride

At flowering drills; you stand with a wide-stance;

The posture of the accomplished soul - your eyes,

Stare lovingly at each planted offering.

I wrote this a couple of years ago; inspired while peeling potaoes - fresh from the soil. The  simple jobs are always the best!

THE WOMAN IN THE DOORWAY

The Woman in the Doorway

Her face peers; with a far-off look

across the road – waiting for a sign

Not recognising me; a stranger,

She goes back inside, to hide;

retreating into her empty nest.

She leaves the front door open wide,

Ready to greet a face;

I wanted to wave at her, to smile,

But she is gone…

I look back down the hill

at the pretty blue

and white cottage,

her abode – adorned with flowers.


I saw this women standing in her doorway, in Kerry. Their was something quaint about her and the cottage; which inspired me.  

ASHES TO ASHES

ASHES TO ASHES

I hurry to the ash-pit to lay them but -
The ashes fly back in my face. 

My eyes rest on laurels – that
Wave their leaves – snow falls
In its finest form – holding
back spring; the in between

Season of words; even the birds
Sing on through the cold March.
 
Thoughts flit and feet
Shift with care-worn tread…
Through gaps which left -
Our love in cinders.


This was written on a cold day; when i was out emptying the ashes from my mother's stove; where she lives amongst the little hills of Monaghan, in a place called Castleblayney.