Sunday, 12 January 2014



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!

Wednesday, 8 January 2014


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.  



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

My eyes rest on laurels
Wave their leaves
snow falls
In its finest form
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.