Maureen

Maureen. pic

 

so many words came tumbling out

as if they had been uncorked from this little

Irish woman from Waterford

in front of her the river shone and curved around a weir

white water crashing on the rim of its soft flowing surface

and in the far distance her memories

a fugue set against the towpath with its runners, couples

and people ambling with dogs all unaware of her in her pool

an island on a bend of a fictional river with her husband

who passed away in 2014 – she lets us know of her childhood across

the water, one of nine from Waterford  “where the crystal comes from”

that last with a knowing twinkle in her eyes

of how long ago Edward came to her home town on holiday with friends

and quite by heavenly happenstance they struck up a dialogue

that developed and grew into marriage and a family of their own

he, being a dab hand at everything around the house left her with

a sturdy ship but how she misses him, his presence almost tangible

she sheds a tear and smiles thanking us for listening

 at the end when we make to leave she says

“you’ve made my day”

One COVID day

Tribute

 

I opened my diary this morning and realised today would have been ( always was ) my mother’s birthday.  We have a magnolia tree in the front garden that blooms at this time. I will go out and photograph it to register a poignant memory of a remarkable woman.

Love you still Mum. Mike.

 

forget me nots  are blind to reason

for they share a common cause

not forgetting, they will always know

what you were like and never fail

to applaud

those memories of you – long after we have gone

misty eyed

and blue

After Mother’s Day

After Mother's Day. pic

 

in the quiet familiar room

fat, wet jewels sit on the glass above

like buddha’s  through which I see a grey monotony

 

this augurs ill for progress

as it shines reluctant light

on half formed plans

 

and silence clings at the contours

of the view from here

as the horizon yawns, mock idle, sucking me in

 

and there is so much to do

to overcome the apathy

and out-pace inertia

 

to dispel the dank encouragement

of dismal

and light the fuse

for new ambitions

I sometimes grieve

Dolls on offer

 

I sometimes grieve

for my place sewn into history

sensing the loss

the uselessness of my contribution

so far

how my past is a honeycomb of spaces

and yawning faces

the time left behind fallow

as in a forgotten field

bordered by vigorous weeds

their colours livid and clinging to

footpaths and bridleways whose intimations go unheeded

and now, NOW

the road is lost

though I know you share it with me

because the ache inside

can’t all be mine

heartfelt. again

heartfelt. again

 

your message was lost

and found. in a puddle

the words you wrote now weep

 

that casual transition

from the heart

became a declaration in the dirt

 

do you know

it means more to me now

forlorn but found

 

because it is blessed

by providence and truth

it survives the wound

 

curling as it dries

on the mantelpiece

a resurrection of our bonds

 

the tear drops frozen in amber light

as the day closes around

everything I cannot lose

Nowhere man

 

Nowhere man. pic for poem

 

a vagrant slouches in the doorway

like a bee fallen softly into apathy

and he glances at a waste bin with shallow contempt

for its dismal offerings and the fanfare of flies

that guard the lurid bounty of spent purchases

so casually tossed away

 

lunch-time in the metropolis and the big game

stroll oblivious to those who lie wounded

their hours of need yawning into a squeezed frame

as his eyes focus on something far away

beyond all this unpleasantness,  just like the bee,

quiet before the fall into a long silence

R.I.P.

R.I.P.

 

to all of that

loquacious man

you spent so much

time in air

with stories that sailed

on perfumed winds

close to the edge of reason

and frequently beyond

but the fuel you used

high octane stuff

was poison

so when you sucked

you swallowed tainted fuel

and lit a flare

that could only ever do one thing

gutter, stutter or fizzle out

and you reached all three

now you leave

a crater on the moon

one holed sock

and a legend

that could never be.