ONE BEING

Between blue and green 

I sleep dream

glide givingly

float freely 

voluntarily

to slide silkily supple

as a breath of air

to She a gilded golden

sunset singing softly

her hymn - my twin.

We one being.

© MRL 2016

BOUNDARIES

A blossom of old faces stare silently on old walls

none drawn by a human hand just nature in relief.

Some on raw ancient weather washed stone,

others rendered on a lime sand mortar mixed.

Women wearing hats not now seen and hairstyles unique

while men bucolic bellicose frown and stare down.

Others too stay hidden unbidden creatures

seemingly fossilised in servitude to ancient gods.

They are infused amid green leaves to shrunken brown

in hedgerows around wild wooded forests lurking

Barely discernible, threatening my eyes to espy 

their existence these the old dead and yet alive!

© MRL October 2016

SOME CALL HER MOTHER (revised)

Some call her Mother. The Mistress of this land

Her body hidden haunts wild places for man

Whose calloused raw hands worked nippled

Cairns to stand proud on mountains

Hunted, fought bloodily among heathered tresses

Ploughed deeply her fertile plains to feed

Warrior lords, foreign, crippled with greed.

In Her a sea smooth cave, that once sheltered Fintan.

Crabs with dead mens fingers, sought a womb watery grave.

To rebirth rebellion - Freedom and the marrow

Of Her Favour!

She walks still this land breathing out love and inspiration

To those who seek justice for all of her people.

© MRL 1/2/16

last 2 lines added

THE DREAMER

Me, a dreamer content
swims between worlds
in fish like fantasy
a merman acrobatic
an agile inventor.
A roaming seeker of keys
that freely unlock senses
beyond boundaries, See ?


Together or Apart - We
in a conch shell shall be
Flies beneath blue waves
Dancing frogs in a bog, or
Merry toads on a road
perhaps birds stalking cats
In bright darkness alive
loving life and free to be.


We are: a pattern of raindrops
making bright rings in puddles,
Old times smoky wraiths, ghosts.
Lovers from a future time,
a breeze, a tease of warm scent.
An echo, footprints in snow.
We can be the old Oak tree
and stand strong proudly alone.

© MRL 17/01/16

September

September has warm winds

scintillating sensuously stirring

Floats breeze over trees

as a murmured prayer

The poet is enamoured enraptured, 

awash with tumbled phrases.

Drunkenly adrift, absorbed

by a gently given gift.

© MRL 9/10/2015

An ode to a Blogger

I’ve been waiting for this final of Romania.

Patiently you know twiddling my fingers,

then anxiously chewing my nails.

Even spent time cutting the grass.

Finally I went on a fast, gave up biscuits,

chocolate too, time went by the poor

reader became thinner and now my

sufferings are over you’ve posted at last!

©MRL Sept 1st 2015
Refers to http://vallypee.blogspot.ie

A Bealtain Ode

Bealtáine Joys

O the joys of merry May when lovers to 

 hill sides go hand in hand gaily dancing 

carefree to their hidden bower!

© MRL 1/5/2015

CELEBRATING 72

Celebrating 72

Having now had a birthday and being undecided 

about my age. Am I twenty-seven or seventy-two 

because I only feel thirty-five inside ?

Site soothed eyes

How enticing looked
each side 
a mountain
green of smooth silk
ripe and lush
Tempted my eyes
lustily to roam
enjoy  savour
sweet freshness
beneath my tongue
to dance over 
swirl sip swallow 
deep inside 
a joy of wonder !

© MRL 11.01.15

10 - 2012

MAGICAL MUSIC

Magical music fosters

Heart minds to rise

In a yeast of bliss

On hearing long notes

Played slowly - crystal clear

Smooth haunting melodies

Awakens Celtic elements

Moves Sky and Sea to Land

Silken clouds float in west wind

Bring Atlantic waves to flow

Caress the shore with a Kiss

 Lingering close as lovers do.

©MRL 21st October 2012

04 - 2012

Manannán and Maeve

Magical music of mountain mists

heard by attuned subtle ears

As swathes of vapour sing in high tone

to wash slow against jagged stone

Listen as deep bass notes enthrone

again old god Manannán whose feet

Chase and drum on hollowed cairn

awakening Maeve to link and dance 

Her gown rustles like wet leaves

in wind as a softly thumbed timbrel

Sings across fairy hill and dell

she their Queen and him the King

A royal couple in courtship hidden waltz

sheathed in opaque white glide serene

Through hazel woods to secret groves 

this ancient loving ritual ever continues.

© MRL 18th April 2012