Last impressions

  It was a day It was a day bursting of spring  Of goodness and grace in Monkstown  When Quakers bought window boxes And drank tea for Mendicity.*  Out of the silence of Meeting Laughter and chatting spilled forth The school room opened out Under a cheery blue sky under heaven.  All the rust of the news cycle  Was removed in the spirit of hope That every window box made a change To the lives of old men in the city.  We were unprepared for this feeling That comes unexpected, unannounced, That rewards the faithful who had gathered Through the winter in the old Meeting House.  Moments like this when the heavens  Peel apart just a couple of inches When the sober are lifted above Closer to God for just a few seconds.  After tea we trailed home to our houses Where Mothers Day flowers brightened kitchen tables Where the flower boxes stood empty and waiting Monday’s trip to the Garden Centre.  It’s nice to have something that lasts  An...

  We must escape We must escape from time to time The dreadful news that broadcasts daily Wave after wave, overcoming  Our strength and will to swim.  Feeling dashed on jagged rocks Of news cycles that show no mercy To shipwrecked sailors on the shore Who look for shelter, nothing more.  Deliver us oh Lord from bad news That sinks our souls and spirits That drains our lakes and rivers That drowns us in our sorrow.  We must be gentle with ourselves Retreat from battle now and again - Only rested soldiers can fight And overcome the devious foe.  I shall save some tears to heal My broken spirit and sad soul I shall regain the hope of youth To tilt at windmills once again. 

  I cannot face   I cannot face the future And the present’s filled with woes I’ll find comfort in the past In the past of many years ago.  There’s music and there’s art There’s dance and song and joy Borrowed from my childhood When I was but a boy.  When all was pure and possible When the world was lacking limits History kept its secrets And agony stayed discreet.  There is another world  Away from current terrors From evil men who clog our screens Who shall not own our spirits.  Our humor rises on the wave That comes from deep inside The freedom blooms and fills  For those who choose the past. 

  Demise of the dollar Nearer the sea my God At a tilt of thirty three The Wall Street band Is warming up on the deck Of the Titanic Dollar you see.   The US dollar is sinking Into the North Atlantic waters Now that America is Alone again Surrounded by an icy ocean Billionaires at muster stations.  The band didn’t get the memo And they are playing with great gusto Unaware that the game’s moved on Their hits no longer played The piano’s sliding into the water.  The Empire’s moved on and so should we City on a hill now beneath the sea  Power once hoarded now seeps out A special place no longer golden Hollywood Hills now forgotten. 

  Elegy for Edward   Tonight I think of Edward James  Due to die in two days time For crimes committed thirty years ago The end of days is faced alone But for some friends from here and there There’s Debra in Wyoming And lifelines Peter in old Dublin And Nels his faithful lawyer.  The tide is washing on the rocks As it has for centuries  And will again in three days time When Edward is a memory.  This wide ocean separates  The Canaries and    distant Florida  But our wishes travel thru the ether And on the waves that join the seas.  Release from death row a relief Perhaps but every drop of life  Is savored when condemned  And God seems sometimes distant.  This Thursday is the fateful day Settled by the court in Florida We think of Edward and his victims May they see the Friday face of God. 

  Sitting on a sunny seat Sitting on a sunny seat Second Sunday in the month of March The midday walkers bask in heat Along the East Pier along the sea.  Basking in the sunshine Reflected off the Harbour water Blowing off the ancient cobwebs Of a winter filled with rain - When the low sun never cleared The slated roofs across our street When the grey mist lodged  Like a guest afraid to leave.  Dogs on leashes, dogs without Owners chatting, old men panting,  Scrunching gravel, striding out Shoulders back, forward march.  Blessed in Ireland on this day When Spring has blossomed  In our sheltered corner Of a world beset with trouble.  We’ll drop the worries of the hour Set down the burden, carry on Embrace the sea air and the ether Grateful for the blessed ordinary. 

  Evil Just as every man has that of God So he has that of evil too Perhaps not as much Perhaps much much less.  We have to teach our children To look for the very best But not to be discouraged When they meet the worst.  When eighty million voters Elect a criminal we cannot fake That all is beautiful and bright That thoughts and prayers will make it right.  Evil is a mystery in the heart of every man Even saints will struggle in the battle  That rages every day in every way Til the fight is over.  Religion tries and fails explaining Our fatal flaws and intrinsic trips Allow us fall with frequent slips Despite our best intentions.  I like theory that when we die All that’s left is gleaming good All our sins are washed away Our golden souls assayed. .