I slipped onto the stage that Wednesday night,
our audience in rapturous applause.
I bawled my way into their hearts.
The Path I’d come was a long, nourished, winding road.
The midwife grinned, concluded her Service,
and tucked away her fears.
I was born to cry,
it was not time to speak.
If you’d known me then,
you’d have judged me unique.
II.
My father, the bookseller, could not bear the pain
of reading my mother’s face
as she bore the body language and every laboured move.
My father slurped his pints, with friends,
in Murphy’s bar on Catherine Street
until he was turfed out
to meet me on another stage,
with Respect
– before the cock crowed.
If you knew me then,
you’d have counted me (Eh) a child with Potential.
III.
After that start, and before I came to greet you
I joined the club. Together we chartered “Excellence Born From Fun”.
You, my friends, you know
the way you came into the world of faltering phrases.
You know
the years at school were not enough to wipe the jitters from your heart.
You know
what it’s like to be married to Trepidation, to be caged like a tiger separated from her Confidence.
You’ve lived on stages and danced with clogs
on floorboards creaking for flight.
Today, of all days, let us join together and thank the gods.
This online day you come divorced, divorced from the Demon Doubt
that on your stage once reigned.
Come here, dear friend, from every field of Earth.
Let us separate together
from a spouse that vowed the worst on you, that vowed you’d fail
and celebrate.
Un-vow that contract with Trepidation
It was made under duress
Annul the marriage of unlike minds
Cast off the shackles that hold your larynx tight.
Arise angelic audience
Arise and sing together the lyrics Smedley sang
Your “Song of Champions”,
Champions of the World.
You know what it’s like to be a flower born to bloom on stage.
Rise up
and Promise
Promise you’ll trust that sweet melody of Integrity
that’s growing in your field of dreams.
From Bath to Cork with baby Grace 