Insidious

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Insidious

I was walking along a couple of roads,
one turned to the sea, the wave, the water, the tide …
one sloped to the mountain, the scree, the rock, the peak …
I followed a breath like a hunter.

There were distractions,
high like eagles,
busy like bees,
imaginations
like sugar,
addictions,
paradise,
a sweet-shop shining
scent of fish
nectar,
pollen,
ice.

I was walking along a couple of roads
when the earth gave birth to twins,
and twins to twins
I followed a breath like a hunted fox.

Children

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[Image- painting – by Robbin T Milne – with permission]

Children

No matter how tall the leaves of grass grow,
the snow will fall again on the field.
The rabbits are running now,
nettles feasting on sunshine,
and the bees are minding their own business,
somewhere else.

No matter my friend has lost his friend,
there will be friends again.
There is a cancer in the fields,
long shadows over hedgerows,
birds I cannot name sing without melody,
and life growing underfoot.

How are the children now? Who are the authorities?
Are there any youngsters without tears flowing,
without tears repressed, stifled?
There are shards on the road, and dust,
buttercups and dock leaves,
foxgloves, and infants on the roads.

An iron gate opens,
an iron gate shuts,
a horse looking for attention,
a gray standing still,
maybe there are fresh eggs.
Why were the children born?

There is horseshit everywhere I look
Clean it up, someone – I’ve said enough.
God bless America,
The horses have bolted,
who’s in charge here?
The leaves of grass are growing,

whether we like it or not.

So many good people

Twas a bitter night,
earthworms driven deep,
swifts and swallows flown from sight,
few nuts laid to sleep.

On the road well-trudged
shoes sliding behind,
crowds into my face misjudged,
to their rhythm blind.

An all-weather pitch,
hummingbirds and rats,
a carpet woven eldritch,
oodles of green hats.

Twas a spark, a flame,
kindling wood for home
way beyond a trace of shame,
whispering coxcomb.

Too many good people
abroad with wisdom,
blessed good loving people
mend sorrow’s kingdom.

Road-opening

Road-opening

The Council shut the road outside Crawford Woods

on Thursday

without warning

blocked the way down Church Hill

forced us all to detour

crawlingly

day after day until sundown on Saturday.

They even parked a road-repairing, four-wheeled, monstrosity

–  a rhinoceros of a stone-chip spreader –

outside the house of Adrian and Eimear

so obtrusively

we couldn’t avoid talking to each other

for the first time since Halloween.

‘Twas sticking plaster on potholes

for the sake of bumps in the night

tyres in the daylight.

 

II

On the third, day the cock crowed

before the sun returned,

we could turn left again

to embrace our over-hanging trees

and shadow side.

Shards covered over

at least temporarily,

boulders removed

so earthworms can move forward now

beyond the known universe.

Road-opening without ceremony

an invitation to return to fruitful ways

–  the journey of a lifetime.