We pray for the monks on High Island

High island pitching tossing, appearing disappearing,

in the dragon waves angered, now awake, risen from their silent deep.

I saw its sail, Féichín’s church rising falling through the flailing rain,

and him, a cross, arms extended; eyes, ovals of pain, elongated upwards;

mouth, grotesque black hollow gouged deep in weathered shale.

We prayed for them: six monks floundering in the ocean’s thrashing jaws;

that the weight of their sins would not drag them to their deaths;

that the light of God would shine and the saint would climb, extend his hands,

a rope, pull the others from the cleansing rage; that the light would split the sky,

send Lucifer’s demons  scurrying out beyond the margins of the sea.

Still Safari

‘Like Noah’s ark, all the wildlife used to come to this waterhole;

elephant, zebra, impala, warthog, baboon, even the lions;

what an amazing sight it was!’

‘The display boards are positioned exactly where the animals,

all different species, used to drink side by side. Of course,

it would have been dangerous to stand where you’re standing right now.’

‘The photographs are from 2019; the film in the centre from the 1970s;

not long ago, you can see the decline in population. The recreations are brilliant;

don’t forget to get the photograph of your head in the lion’s mouth.’

The Well

                                                                                                                                                                                                              

Holy well at Killargue, Co Leitrim

The Well

I have left my hopes for the future dancing in a tree,

a tree growing on solid rock.

The bottom of the well is a mosaic of shining coins,

each a beacon for someone’s dream.

Where gods immemorial have changed water to verdure,

there is the place to sow a seed.