The Cauldron

Let’s not go back through the whole story
– who was right and who was wrong
– who was trite and who was strong.
Let’s not chew the cud nor blaspheme
into the eyes of the other side.

All us elephants belong together,
no matter the weather,
even if we carry opposing memories
in trunks weighed down
with the affluence of a river stream,
weighed down under the influence
of our tribe of scribes.

Don’t you remember … ?
Haven’t you forgotten … ?
Surely it was a dream
conjured up in daylight
suffered by night
under O’Ryan’s belt
or Murphy’s plough
– the one she gave away
to her infant star?

Let’s not dwell
on the hell
of the big bang
our sides faced
in silence,
the vacuum of peace
and war of the worlds
we each imagine
the other inhabits.

We elephantine serpentines,
we cling to the underside
of the all-knowing
Red Admiral.
We think we know better than to rage
against the fading meteorite.

In the puddle of blood we dribbled
from wounds our flashpoint celebrated
there isn’t an ounce of virtue
There is time in space
all about a place
as warm as a teddybear’s tummy,
as soft as powder down
on a heron’s breast.

We are witness.

Let’s move on to the pale moon light,
and wake the characters within
a freshly scrubbed cauldron.





The year I changed

my mind, priorities, concerns –

2019 was the year

I woke up to the end of the world

as we know it.

The future of human civilisation,

the future of animal life,

the future of vegetables.

All’s lost,

all’s on its way out.

Earth smiles knowingly:

off you go, you upstarts,

I’m tired of your foibles,

I recall the good old days,

when you lived on plains,

in villages,

hand to mouth.

Even your first fire was fuel.

Goodbye to ugly habits.

I love being Earth,

the future is bright

half the time,

The stars will illuminate

the way to dusty death.


The year I turned a corner

and bumped into my shadow

going the other way,


the art of resurrecting.


This has been the year I matured

into the light of a river flowing

with the voice of bones

creaking and cracking,


There was gin in the bottle

crying out for a taste,


at room temperature,

as the ice melted,

as Greenland peeled back her corset,

and the emperor penguins cried their way

towards their end.


The year I stood up straight

in storms, hurricanes, typhoons, tornadoes, famines, earthquakes, floods, lightning, thunder, droughts, volcanoes, collisions, crashes, massacres.

I’m living among refugees –

the people of Monasterevin, Carrickmacross, Oughterard, Moville, Rooskey, Ballinamore, Borrisokane …

The Laboratory Way

Copernicus was struck by sun

Galileo toiled on speed

Newton was premature

Darwin sailed to sea

All knew apoplexy 

Hawking a singularity 

Turing cryptography

Einstein messed with relativity

Aristotle lost his bottle

Let’s go to the Laboratory

Mix the chemistry

Let in the sun

Our failures breed us fun.

Communities are Conversations

We are collaborating

Communities are Conversations. Conversations attract Collaborations. Collaborations change Communications. I have noticed strong communities are nearly as strong as poems fit for purpose.

In this day & age, and in this place & stage, the melody of metaphors, allegories and similes is the best way to cut through cant. Unfortunately for many communities, the gestation of the foetus is done, the birth of the Individual has come. Recently …

The Magician turned her back to the sea and spoke to the Wind:

Come join us in our unity. Take your place at the table, you belong among us. Together we grow stronger than our surroundings. We rise above the ground that supports us. Feel yourself hugged by a multitude of villagers eyed with affection from every squinting window. Come inside your birthright, and sign the book of your life written in invisible ink. Let us understand you better than you understand yourself. Let us guide you past the temptations that fester under your skin. Let us make you whole. Our health, your health, Your health, our health. Unity in unity. Lose yourself in magic.  Speak wind, speak our language.

The Wind spoke:

“You touch me in every orifice. Your smell invites me into your cave. I see your shadows beyond the fire where I was forged, your reflections on my mind.  Have I the right to resist, the power to deny, the authority to cry ‘NO’?  I shall not be bent into shape like a plashed hedge” whispered the wind.  This breath is not for turning. You can keep your unity Community. I’ll be no village clone, I am grown to live alone. I belong to a grander table, better fed, vulnerable as the weather, fragile as glass. I am an elementary particle. Call me Neutrino, I am so small I pass through your imaginations unimpeded and undetected. Surely you see my city, Diversity. May you understand yourself so poorly you sink slowly from your throne. I am the Authority authorised to sing louder than your choir. That’s what you mean to me.”

And the Wind blew the Magician into her sea where she went in search of a victim weaker than an Individual Gust.

Return Return Return

To every thing there is a season  
and a time for some re-cycling
all your plastics:

A time to be held, and a time to try;
A time to fold, and a time to claim
all your values;

A time to save, and a time to care;
A time to store, and a time to use
all your rubbish;

 A time for your stance against the waste;

A time to build-up, and a time to break down;
A time to pause, and a time to act
all together;

A time for battle against the waste
A time to fill bins, and a time to join hands 
all for freedom;

A time to love, and a time to change;
A time to save, and a time for peace
all of our lives.