Storm

The storm is keeping me awake;

the dogs, discordant tuning forks,

and

the whine of lost souls

in the electricity wires.

Tossing, a mobile in the gusts,

waiting for the light to clank

back

but knowing it’s beyond the gap

where the wind is crowding in.

Your unhappy face turning away

to hide the tears,

and

the storm banging on that nail

all night, the whole night long.

Encounter

When she gave me her hand, I was instantly struck

by the elegance and grace of her movement.

Her hand was slender and magnificently gloved

in white blossoms that had tinges of pink

near the edges of its petals, and they were falling,

falling so thickly that a doily of snowflakes

had formed around her feet.

She held me enchanted in the centre of her smile;

I took her hand, never noticing the thorns,

and my blood dripped crimson bright berries down.

Sometimes it takes a long time to see the real person

In sickness there was only you 

  

light as a feather;

relieved of the weight

of position and pride;

neither bluff nor brashness

nor the strength

to be more than your dying self. 

She came to test me.*

Did her hair flow bright as honey down her back? 

Was the wild rose the blossoming of her cheeks? 

Or, was her face was a web of soil-filled furrows?  

Were her eyes flinty with the cunning of age?  

  

I passed the test of kingship, I did not falter; 

She came old into my eyes, but was young in my arms, 

With fingers flowing gently over my temples,  

Breath sweet in the full bloom of her mouth, 

Voice rich as the blackbird’s on the highest branch of an oak.  

For a king must be one with the spirit of the land 

whether it be dressed in the bare, haggard bones of January,  

or the lush green coat bejewelled in May. 

*The high kings of Ireland had to lie with (or marry) the Hag to show that they were beyond being seduced 

by the easy things in life.

Blue-veined old hands :

I never saw them coming

till they were spread bleak

as the limbs of Winter trees

across vacant heavens.

When I said I loved you

I whacked at the wall

with a stick of oar weed

picked off the strand.

Cantankerous old fool :

never saw him coming

till words I spat out

fell like lightning turned

to twigs of rotten wood.

New Poem

I have set myself up to write a poem

and am sitting set before the screen

and

Forgetting

Mosaic of sunlight,

gold and russet leaves;

becalmed now in memory loss.

A moment:
another leaf falling

with a sound that is not heard.

That pile of  leaves growing;

the heartbreak:

soon this maple will be bare.

The Stars

The stars are tossed across the drumlins of the sky.

I am looking to see the road you’ve taken

And I think I see it, and  you;

Andyou are singing Bring back my Bonnie

And you are laughing, and looking back

Over your shoulder.  Yes I think you are.

And now I am singing; we’re all singing

Bring back my Bonnie, and the road is getting longer

Behind us, and you are handing back sweets, and I ‘m smiling

And you sing Ten Green Bottles; we  all sing

Between the rolling fields of night, and then

You have rounded some bend, and are singing,

But smaller and smaller and smaller and
and I cannot see

just the stars.