Una hora menos

  December Sunday It’s a dark December Sunday The rain splatters windows With drops forming patterns That bring some magic to the road outside.  It’s a time for feeding dogs Then heading back to bed Feeling no guilt at all But keeping warm instead.  Banished the days on sunny beaches When we caught a second summer  In warmer climes just four hours away Now we huddle up beneath the covers.  The company of a library book To the background sound of radio While the raindrops paint the windows Looking on a misty urban road.  We turn a page and look As a gust buffets our comfy home Bright with Christmas tree and white lights While families shudder in cold Ukraine.  Child of Kyiv and Prague Listen to our prayers  Bring strength to all good souls These wet and windy Christmas hours.

  If I   If I were to die tonight What words are left unsaid? If I leave tomorrow What gifts remain ungiven? Have I died surrounded and  Suffocated by numerous things? If gifted another year Where should my footsteps wander? What should I see again? With whom would I most regret To miss that final chat? I look back upon three years When friends were robbed of me No longer here, no longer seen Taken by surprise before their time Before I had a chance to wave goodbye.  The clock is running down The sand is flowing out Never to return without reprise.  Still perhaps a year or more To turn a leaf or two? 

  Get out of my house ‘Get out of my house’ said the mother As she protected her children From the Russian soldiers  Who had plundered her village.  ‘Get out of my land’ said the soldiers As they battled with drones and with missiles  Fighting for life, struggling for freedom Standing up to the tyrant while we cower at home.  With the coming of Spring the Russians were leaving Bodies in graves and in torture chambers Children with trauma in the cold and the dark Women now widows and children now orphans.  Let’s call it out now for what really it is The work of the devils and Putin their leader When evil comes knocking who will resist it? When sacrifice beckons who will step up? 

  There is a time There is a time to sue for peace There is a time to fight for life Putin will only change his mind When his plan has failed.  To pray for peace - a noble thing But peace will come and not before The war has struggled to a draw And both sides fear losing more.  Candles light a sacred chapel Unheeded until the time is right Pray to God but don’t forget Peace will come to those who fight. 

  A quiet prayer for peace in Ukraine   Tonight I pray for children in the cold, dark houses in Kyiv fearing the morning, fearing the night.  I pray for old people in Kherson as they queue patiently for food and water.  I pray for the millions displaced across Europe.  I pray for the refugees who arrive in Ireland that they may find a warm welcome.  I pray for the brave soldiers who defend their families.  I pray for Russian soldiers to return safely home.  I pray that Russia may resile from war I pray that we may play our part and accept the sacrifices  I pray for the boys and girls who go to bed tonight not knowing when peace may come. 

  It’s a soft November Sunday It’s a soft November Sunday In the hills above the village Down below the traffic snakes On hairpin turns with hard handbrakes.  Masca, the hidden hamlet, Until mid century  No now longer hidden With horns and engines riven.  A deserted lane leads to a quiet cemetery Above the town above the sea Proud to honor Santiago Who sailed to Spain two thousand years ago.  Amazing stretch that covers centuries  That binds a hero in Galicia green  To the Temple in Jerusalem  And to a village above Canary clouds.   It’s November yet the sun Embraces the volcanic terrain Serene in its fierce disdain  Of days and years and history.  Land of eternal spring Anchored in this pining heart That beats each year with greater love That seeks redemption in its loss. 

  Life is normal til it’s not   Life is normal, til it’s not This warming world’s got really hot The warning’s heeded not a lot A change in lifestyle? Not a jot.  We wander on our merry way Unaware that soon some day The path is blocked, so it’s not ok To carry on and party  The end is nigh the pastor preaches In every classroom a teacher teaches In Florida a cyclone breaches A high sea wall on deserted beaches.  Oblivious until the rising tide  Comes in our hall and way inside We’ll leave it late to make a change There is no logic, it’s very strange.  All this wonder and all this glory How we blew it - another story Oh son of man, you proper clown This great big ship is going down.