WILD THINGS

WILD THINGS

She waited for me to admire the house

While I absorbed the trees along her lane
I was never invited back again.
kicking leave’s beneath my feet;
Chestnuts sticky and sweet, sycamore
Seeds cascading the air;

Hair full off twigs. My school friend

Didn’t care for the wild things, that
Autumn brings. Watching, while I jumped;
Shaking conkers from trees.
Not one bit pleased.

LEAF

LEAF

It is easier to be on the edge

Than to be in the middle of things,
But today I thought I’d say
‘Thank you’ to everyone,

To land fleetingly; someone

Who gives and takes nourishment -
Decays.

JUMPING STREAMS

JUMPING STREAMS

I think of childhood

Jumping streams.
A day that began in
Day dream. I loved
That mid-air feeling
A shore footed landing
On the other side.

Life was like that at

Twelve years old
Bravely challenging
Balancing harvesting
Wonder. Put me in a
Class in a uniform
Of cute chatter
And I fell mid-stream.

I stood there among peers

In their neat clipped
Lives, along stuffy
Corridors. Out of
The whole class,
I was always first,

Out through the door when

The bell woke me.

GLOBE

GLOBE

That reach is what I remember –

In a time that stretched
Like a distant ball
Of childhood
Clasped in both hands;

A globe of time
Endless sunsets;
The rapture of unreserved
Release.

No trials to drag one down

Only team-mates and the ball;
The occasional stumble of pain cured
By the purgative power of play.

In adulthood - the hour

Gets shorter; led
Like sheep to the slaughter;
Too many rules -

Deprived of time and its tools,

They say - hardship keeps us
on the ball,
But these days -

I don’t like it when I fall.

 

SUN-WINDS

SUN WINDS

The wind shakes thoughts,

While plant-pots scatter.

The sharp air takes the breath - she gathers

Her cardigan to her chest; hair blown into knots -
She pushes it back off her face - seeds cling to her feet
The others she carries on her shoulders.

Then there are the ones with wings; swirling and twirling -

Through the harsh sun-winds. They stick to the fabric
Of her nature. Most ground themselves;
Some will grow.

These will be nurtured 

As they came from the earth,
As more seeds sow inside - the winds tear and tear.

She cares - even about the nettles

Which sting the senses into words;
They can be eaten - like your words.
Honey-smoothed to make a rhyme,
Stick in the memory of time…

SMELL THE RAIN

SMELL THE RAIN

 

The cold miserable rain spits at me

It turns to hail and hits me; I wish
My old bones were stronger.
I remember racing down this hill on sunnier days,
The sky was always –

Bluer, smiling on me, a younger self.

Now the rain won’t let up, to leave
Me in peace, to make my way home to my fields.

If I don’t get to my beloved farm soon:

I fear I will die of the cold dampness.
Through rain – there –
My rugged stone walls,

The ones my husband built, where hens jumped
And wild flowers grew, where smile lines
Etched my face.

Now cold wind tears like sharp stones.

When I stumble, I claw earth.
Tears mingle with rain. This is not the first time
I’ve tended to wander;

Wishing to be safe, warm in my lonely marital bed.

I rise, a moor-hen screeches, a hare bounds lightly.

VIOLETS

VIOLETS

 1

I stare at the house through hedges

And brambles; a thorny reminder
That you won’t always be here.

But I will remember you in violets

There’ll be no light through gaps
Curtains closed in final funeral salute.

Through mossy gaps - I’ll retrace

Your footsteps. I’ll pass each blade of grass
With the stability of stone.

Each shade in the hedge you planted,
Each bush, the gentle wind you love
The moss that covers your wall.

 2

Your fragrance is here,

The softening of time
In a clovered meadow

Your presence is a gift today.
I see you through windows of your home,
Love thickening like hedges.



(Written for my Mother who lives amongst ‘the little hills of Castleblayney’).