Here

To sit on a World War II gun battery,

crumbling tumble-down shelter to shaggy sheep,

symbol of war, hate and death.

To watch the early summer sun sinking

behind bold distant hills,

spilling fiery colour across clouds.

To listen to the last birdsong of evening,

eerie calls of pheasant hiding in wavy grass,

maniacal cries of horned beasts.

To see that blazing ball of flame

drip amber, pink and gold upon the settled sea.

To experience a moment of peace

removed from this world of madness, fear and sorrow.

Life-affirming minutes;

we exist now, at this time,

we are here.

An unexpected sight

Summer is at an end. September has arrived in watery bluster and the holidays are over. Soon children will make the slow, sad trudge to school, tummies full of butterflies. My son will begin college and my daughter will be off to university; both looking for new, exciting adventures. My heart goes with them; wishing every happiness and success. I will be left alone at home, a little bereft, with plenty of empty time to fill with writing my novel. Well, that is the theory.

Today, in memory of summer, I post a final holiday poem from Ireland about some rather unexpected animals I met there living in the lush hills.

 

Emus in the Irish countryside

Walking cool

damp lanes,

quiet morning in

cleansing rain,

gleaming hedgerows

jewels of amethyst and

emerald, air

crisp with birdsong when,

alien in early

stillness,

booming of African drumming

vibrating, resonating,

deep throated thrumming.

Rhythmic pulsing,

nature’s heart

beating.

Life rising from the

Earth.

Holiday poems

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Holidays are a fertile time for writing. Away from normal routines, in peaceful, beautiful surroundings, there is opportunity and space to breathe; to allow time to think and to open our minds to creativity.

I recently made a trip to West Cork in Ireland and wrote some poetry whilst there. The landscape, wildlife and animals surrounding me provided wonderful inspiration.

Here is one of my poems:

 

Mountain view in Maughanaclea June 2017

Cloud on mountain

tops, misty fingertip

touch.

Shaded slopes sage

green, golden yellow hues

fold under sharp stone,

jagged crags of purple rock.

 

Sweet breath of fresh

silence, suddenly stirred;

jarred by strimmer

hum and moan,

slice and slash.

Vegetation smell,

sugary in nostrils,

catches thick in the

throat.

 

Poem for National Dog Day

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We can learn a lot from our dogs  – how to live in the moment, how to relax, how to have fun, how to accept ourselves, how to feel satisfied with what we have, how to be loyal, how to be dependable and how to love unconditionally.

If we were more like dogs, we would be better human beings.

Here is a poem I wrote about a dog I met on holiday in Ireland recently:

 

Ode to a corgi met in Ballyrisode

Sausage roll dog,

fluff ball of caramel pastry,

stumpy squat legs,

stub of tail,

bottom wag,

sat on the pebbly shore

staring from us to sea.

 

Do you want us to

throw a ball in the

still ocean, so

splashing and dripping you

retrieve it?

 

Do you want us to

launch a boat on the

wide water, so

dashing and yipping you

sail away?

 

Eager eyes, patient

panting friend,

sadly, I feel we have

disappointed you.