Hallowe'en

To the door 

no child has come

No joy,

No trick or treat

No chocolate given

For the dead 

Alone is

Hallowe'en!

©MRL 31st Oct 2013

September's Sun

September's lowering sun shines

Through old green sculpted leaves

Cascading as diamonds bright

A mesmeric tattoo of light

Forms dappled patterns

A moving beauty that creeps

Beneath ancient trees

© MRL Sept 2013

THE VISITATION

A congregation of vapours, a visit

by Manannán in mist fog laden

shapeless he sweeps slowly engulfing all.

Horizon gone in creeping whiteness, contains

a purity of souls whose feet tread again.

Follow old paths to hills and hollows

onwards to forts and raths, these wraiths

commune; live a mere whisper away

they share a cool serenity in silence.

to dance in half light, wildly swirl about

Their energy a chill damp that clings

clammily to the Living! 

© MRL 30th August 2013

03- 2013 A Tribute

A tribute to Dónall Ó Conchúir 1847-1930

& his poem 

'Dhá Chích Danann'

At a monastery kitchen table I sat

Listening to old Irish being translated

Clear distinct verse with hidden meanings

Spoken in soft tone like a blended prayer

Lulled, my mind by rhythm travelled

As this other language unravelled

So leaving a rich cream behind I flew

To a land where dreams weave anew

To sit with my back against She - Rowan

Who was clothed in milky lace so delicate

I inhaled deeply her fragrant blossom

A vapour that transmuted me to spirit

A wave that kisses the shores of Erin

The song of Amergin

A breath of hot air that ripens corn

Dew on Bealtaine's morn

A mist that caressed Anu's Paps

©MRL 05 - 03 - 2013

An excerpt from 'Dhá Chích Danann' 

by Dónall Ó Conchúir 1847-1930

"Maidin bhreá Fhómair dom cops mórshruth na méithbhreac

I gcoill chluthair cheolmhair is gan leoithne sna spéarthaibh, 

An lon dubh is an smóilín go beolbhinn ar séideadh,

Gach fás crainn go leor ann is cnó buí in a slaodaibh.

Ag dearcadh whom tharam ba thaitneamhach limo

Ar Dhá Chích Danann ag amharc anon

Is síbhrat na maidne leabhar leata os a gcionn,

Chomh bleachmhar buan bláfar, chomh hálainn in ógchruth"

(Is bhíodar an lá tar éis lámh an Chrúthóra.)

"One beautiful autumn morning beside the great stream of the fertile plain

In a cosy musical wood not a breeze in the sky,

The blackbird and the thrush piping sweetly,

Every growing tree there hanging with ripe nuts.

Looking around me it delighted me

The two breasts of Danann

The mysterious fairy mist spread over them,

As beautiful as the top of the milk that nurtures the child"

(As if they were that day created by God.) ?

Prose translation by Seámus Ó Ceallaháin

02 - 2013

My Being Over Seventy

The joys of being over seventy are plentiful

a Forgetful memory is a boon at times

for I can claim to have done what 

I might have done or even did not.

the Hearing is another one won no need

to obey every request - formal or not

I can go on my way in merry innocence.

lack of Strength is another I can use

if an item has to be lifted or moved, then 

to every end I shall abuse.

None of the above is actually true

other than the first line.

My appreciations are simple: a fondness

of Beauty naked or clothed, 

Luscious lips

on which to give a fond kiss, 

Full moons

when I pretend to be demented and get 

away with naughty things. 

finally a Glass of fruity brandy because it makes

me R . . . y!

© MRL 02 - 03 - 13

01 -2013

DEEP SIGHS

I emit now and then a sigh! 
It rises from deep inside

A listener will ask ‘Why ?’

‘Nothing’ I reply adding 

‘Am just expressing an internal movement'

I travel often to my interior space

to examine what matters most.

In the silence of my mind

to reflect on past events and probe

future projects - the how’s and why’s

At other times grasping at the riches

of other peoples thoughts, fleetingly 

shared voluntary and stored on nano particles 

in my brain some good, some uncomfortable. 

That if spoken out loud 

I would run and hide 

Beneath the skin of my mind 

sharing nothing but deep sighs.

©MRL 01-01-2013

11 - 2012

The Grey Politician

The grey man dressed as he spoke 

in dreary monotonous phrases

expounded under cold monotone sky

My concentration drifted angrily 

a question in my mind

‘How dull does he think we are?’

I must take action, my ears have closed

the fists have tightened 

The adrenaline has risen.

I shall paint his tired ego brightly

with rainbow coloured words

drawn from nature’s dictionary

Rudely, perhaps crudely even

display my chagrin, explain

modulate and express in fiery tone

If a politician you feel to be

discard your paper speeches

and speak freely from the heart

Then I in my madness

Might

Vote for you!