October 27, 2013

 

 

Could you bring me a feather duster Nellie,

from the hardware store today.

I’ve got cobwebs hanging from the ceiling

so long, they are starting to sway.

Oh, and if you see any rhubarb,

I can add it to some strawberries

and make a pie.

I’ve got Miriam coming for supper,

so I really feel I should try.

 

 

 

 

Although travellers find a haven

that suits them after a while,

in their head is mother country

tracking every wayward mile.

 

Then, when for family gatherings,

(be it happy times or sad)

they return once more to where,

they played as lass and lad.

 

And passing places of their childhood,

eyes catch many a tempting ‘for sale’ sign,

near to where ancestors lived,

up the rocky road incline.

 

They join friends and extended families

all getting on with their life,

and visit the chapel where Gran attended-

she was a perfect kind of wife.

 

Later, they wonder for a moment,

even hesitate and sigh,

before jumping back onto the highway

after another heartfelt goodbye.

 

Yet, though their heartstrings pull

with such magnetic force,

their heads say ‘keep on going,

and future plans endorse’.

 

They were bombarded with advice,

and certainly all of it, well meant,

but it only added to their confusion-

God bless those with good intent.

 

Many see it as unfaithfulness

to desert original roots,

but an adventurer of life,

will wear many pairs of boots.

 

Those who’d never had the wanderlust

begged of sense and asked why remain

in a place that has few ties – 

and no reason, was there to explain!

 

Others warned ‘You are well rid –

you’d be fools to come back here,

there’s so much violence now’.

As if there’s none, where they are near!

 

So to voluntary exile,

they eventually arrived back,

to a place long since adopted

where the odds just seem to stack.

 

But as the distance became greater

with every travelled mile,

a part of their heart faced homeward,

making them unsettled for a while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It is a forgone conclusion-

the answer is plain to see.

The branch always threatens to snap,

the higher one climbs up the tree.

 

 

 

 

Behind enthusiasm

sits practicality,

and the realisation the job

cannot be done alone.

 

Alongside endeavour

sits satisfaction,

when out of nothing,

something has grown.

 

 

 

 

 

She ached for her when she was one,

and from her side, by then, had gone.

 

She bled for her when she was two,

and prayed that she had made it through.

 

She longed for her when she was three,

and didn’t have her by her knee.

 

She thought of her when she was four,

like every year that had gone before.

 

All she could do by the time she was five,

was hope that God had kept her alive.

 

She knew that by her age of six,

no long term heartache could she fix.

 

When she was seven, she thought of her-

another year without her there.

 

And when, next summer, she was eight,

her heart with love, still carried weight.

 

She wondered then, when she was nine,

if she was happy and doing fine.

 

When she was ten, she was at a loss all day-

A decade since she went away.

 

The pattern, the same, with lamented pain,

as each year came around again.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Deep excavation

is confined,

due to lack of tools

and an idle mind.

 

No explanation

of work declined,

or excuses believed

from one who is blind.

 

Deep exploration

of the mind,

is too big a price-

as truth, we might find.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When loves first harvest they were reaping

and tender heartbeats started leaping,

little did they know what memories

would always be theirs for the keeping.

 

Now only silent tears come creeping,

caused by internal weeping.

A sudden thought of times gone by,

when side by side, they were sleeping.

 

 

 

October 18, 2013

 

 

Fetch me some anemones Nellie,

from the Friday market today.

And if you can spot any gladioli’s,

two bunches of those, would be ok.

Oh, and if you’ve time, you could

stop off at the butchers stall,

and get me a shoulder joint-

We’ve got Fanny coming tomorrow,

with her husband, Ignatius

from St Patricks Point.

 

 

 

 

A lonesome pilchard

that I once knew.

had been abandoned

and was feeling blue.

 

He had slipped through the

net, of a tempestuous trawl,

and back into deep waters

he did fall.

 

But that lonesome pilchard

was unaffected,

and never for a moment

did he feel rejected.

 

He became founder member

of the ‘Wet Fish Pound’,

that rescued brothers

who had gone aground.

 

He grew in statue,

and would go to any length,

to save his comrades

who were lacking strength.

 

From that lonesome pilchard,

a lesson we can learn.

‘Sometimes it pays to be outcast

and to a new future, turn.

 

 

October 15, 2013

 

 

Close tightly your eyes,

shut out the light.

Be free awhile from

endless fight.

 

Lay rose petals

upon your bed.

A pillow of lavender

under your head.

 

A book by the side,

many times read.

Dreams of tomorrow,

on rest, be fed.

 

 

 

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