The Future

The Future.

The dust of the future is slowly being created 

by the fumbling trickery hatched in a cauldron

red and black carried by its orphaned children

machinations that conquer bloodlessly. To strip

a humble proud people of ancient roles

trample honoured history under booted foot.

Empires have come, have gone. Traces remain

antique dreams that became cold nightmares, 

now lie shattered tattered on a debit page.

All employees retrained to become slaves

fed on tainted grains and fear - kill their brains

Coded creatures known by numbers - no names.

               

                     ©MRL July 2015

My Journey

I took a walk along the road to see what I could see

wildflowers peeped out and wild bees sung too me

All the while the sun shone gently down over my head 

above it crows and small brown birds flew in warm air.

A hen cackled, a cock crowed in some small stone yard

in the distance a dog barked, I listened to natural sound

Delighted to be me and to stroll in harmony, stopping

here and there to rest or peer through hedgerows.

I saw through bright leaves two heavy horses grazing

one as black as turf, the other dune coloured sand.

I dreamed of a four wheeled bow-top on open road

the clop of hooves, the waft of a tail swinging gently.

A camp site by a slow stream with friends at a wood fire

black tea in my hand, the chatter and companionship.

Perfumed as we were by wild bright colourful woodbine

Lives now only in cherished memory, all gone now, gone.

Awake once more to reality, I turn find a place to sit

fill my old briar pipe to offer smoke as a tribute.

On rising the legs are renewed, the feet soothed

as I take the long road for my cottage home.

© MRL June 2015

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

The Tuareg Man

   This is a poem recently composed by an old friend of mine Lin Hennessy  who lives in Somerset UK. I slowly read it out loud to myself, twice and found it to be very soothing I hope it's images do the same for you.

TUAREG MAN

The spirit of a tuareg man

              came to me, 

                    dressed in the light, the blue of the sky,

...........................in the blue robes

     He danced for  me

            and for his land

                   so i could see,

   His bare feet touching, 

      gentle

         moving 

            on his beloved,

               The SAHARA.

Gentle,...... gentle,
         movement, his feet in tune with the land,
                 the shifting, golden sands
                            and the singing stars

He the axis.

            He wore the blue veil,

                   To hide his beauty

                        But,  I ,  can see his, beauty
                                and

                             The harmony of his land.

     So he taught,

           me how to dance again,

                 so i too, 

                

          am
                          dancing the light,

                           dancing the land.

I thank him, for holding the light

Valentines day 2015

© Lin Hennessy

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

National Poetry Day Ireland & UK

Self giving a poetry reading in an annexe of Birr Library.

National Poetry Day 2014

On October 2nd I gave an hour long poetry reading to a group of sixteen year old students from St Brendan's Community School in the library at Birr in celebration of the National Poetry Day.

For further details please visit http://aheronsview.blogspot.ie

In memory

In memory 

or a new take on 
Cider with Rosie.

Dressed in black she cuts no slack

She totters along full of Gin

Glassy eyed and very thin

She keeps her clothes in a bin

I knew her once full of bounce

The over brave she would trounce

Designer clothes full of colour

Or was that her brother?

Was his name Phil, Jim or Mark

No matter both good for a lark

When lots cider pints were cozy

At the bar with Mark and Rosie.

      © MRL Sept 2014