Una hora menos

  The last Friday The last Friday in August, deliciously cool Men have abandoned summer shorts.  It’s bright and sunny with a warning shot Seasons are slowly turning even when we’re not.  Leaves are dying on branches On boughs that bend like old Churches Moss adorns fallen trunks Shiny holly brightens the way.  Earthen paths with veins of old roots Shy blackcurrants just peering out Still green and red before maturing In harvest months lying ahead.   Turning yellow upon the bough Leaves taking leave and so Ferns dancing in the circus  Swaying in a leafy hollow.  Young mothers wheeling buggies Seeking sun on the other side Sheltered from wind by the hill Running down to a silver sea.  A time of babes and innocence The unstudied gift of insouciance  Days to be hoarded and treasured But spent freely, without looking back. 

  If you can’t   If you can’t enjoy the summer sun On a late August afternoon When soft heat and a drowsy breeze Exile our worries and our fears.  When of a sudden nothing matters Quite as much as we had imagined  We can now postpone the urgent To another day or year.  Time sits still in listless heat Birds are silent, resting in the shade Angelus Bells sound across a sleepy glen Hours slip slowly by at siesta time.  We do not need to know today The future’s worries or predictions Grant us grace to love and live Embrace these precious moments.  Grateful for each grain of time More precious than a diamond Surrendered to the magic now No past or future matters. 

  A luxurious breeze A luxurious breeze is wafting Into the lap of the afternoon The wind through the trees Whistling and dancing with the leaves.  A waltz that embraced and spun Through shafts of light to the sun  Delicate greens that shimmied and shone Like Eden on the day the world begun.  Lifting our spirits - raising our souls As our gaze descends to the sea below August brings a harvest of joy and balm The earth restored, the heavens calm.  We shall enjoy this day of bliss We shall return Nature’s kiss This ordinary day like any other  But full of magic and of wonder.  Happy dogs their tails agog Happy couples hand in hand  Smiling at each other and the world Old men on benches watch the noon unfold.  Bray beckons with a sweep of Bay Above the town the pointed Head The top rewarded with a cross In the distance the Sugar Loaf.  Warm airs arising from a sea Spent by storms now blue and green The happy cries of swimmers float  Above the thrum of pleasure boats.  Killiney Hill 21/8/2

  Our Lady of Victories Our Lady of Victories is pealing  It’s great big bells revealing Age old hymns from her steeple  Daily raising the spirits Rising above the virus A clarion call in earnest When we feel at our lowest. Across the fields they ring Past parked cars and garden swings  As people open curtains  And closed windows just to welcome The age old bells that sound so fresh  So timely in our crisis.  Down the Glen the music rolls Back in answer    rings St Paul’s  From a handsome church  On a wealthier road The Church of Ireland Returns the call.  A summons to folk of every faith Offering a timely invitation To stop and pray and pause awhile And join an invisible chorus Across the nearby parishes.  Gods echo in twenty twenty.  This poem was written at the height of COVID when the Church bells rang across an empty landscape and brought thirty minutes of old hymns every day. 

  The sun is shining   The sun is shining on my shoulders One day after the storm  The evening light behind the Hill That braved the howling winds last night.  The vesper rays a kind of truce Lighting up the fallen trees Blown over in the gales of August That surprised us all last eve.  The sea is partly brown with silt The sea is also green and blue Sea waters resting after Betty’s bale Nature breathes to tell a sober tale.  The climate’s changing every day Strange events occur in stranger ways Nature’s lost her patience with this lot But then mankind doesn’t care a jot.  Sunday wakens to a sunny dawn Normal service is restored it seems But nothing will be the same again Pandora has escaped her den. 

  Nettles dancing Nettles dancing in the breeze Roaring winds in tops of trees Summer days now take their leave As Autumn elbows in.  Woodland paths damp with showers Darkened woods with autumn colors  Ancient boulders green with moss August's gain is July's loss.  High up on the Hill a swirling mist Skirts the summit with the gift Of moody broken cloudy views Of Wicklow Mountains, gentle hues.   Wet the grass and soft the air A gentle stroll, no fear of heat, The greens of every shade reward The Irish Summer in retreat.