Willow Woman

        I met a Willow Woman, who was baptised in a bog,

   And she told me of the simple things and brushed aside the fog.

   She told me why the sun was red and how the grass was green,

   And of myriad invader thoughts behind two eyes unseen

        She explained why kitten rabbits washed their faces in the dew

        When the sun the skyline kissed at dawn, where fairy rushes grew.

      

 I      I asked her why the Banshee cries for people of a different kind

        And where a stricken soul might search to find elusive peace of mind,

        She told me “always tell the truth, and bury deep the lie”

        And the reason behind treason, why the tear must wash the eye.

        We spoke of blood and war and peace, and the need in everyman,

        And of the haunting fiddle strings, that echo moods of short life’s span.

       Then I asked the Willow Woman if she believed in love,

       And she whispered “yes, it happens, always guided from above.

       You’ll feel it in the earth, and you’ll glimpse it in the skies,

       The magic words are carried with the heart and with the eyes”

       She said “this love is very rare, and those who find it blessed,

       They have splendour in their souls, never known to the rest”.

 

       Then I lay with Willow Woman on a bed of reeds and moss,

       And slept the sleep of conscience free and never once did toss.

       I awoke and she had vanished by a hundred different ways

       My life and limbs rekindled by heather-coloured rays.

       Some day I’ll go back there to bracken heath and fog,

  And be one with Willow Woman who was baptised in a bog.

Hobdaughter's choice

They condemn us if we stay together,

We condemn us if we stay apart.
Who maps the borders and boundaries
of another human heart?
The opposition is formidable
powered by conventional gas,
Slander and detraction the spearheads
praying for  salvation at Mass,
Not for their delivery but ours,
Not our shame but theirs,
Self-appointed judges
pretending to be family players.
Preaching the values of time
sitting on benches of straw,
All with impeccable pedigrees
laying down their version of the law.
And we listen to the vitriolic lectures
of the narrow minded, chosen few,
And we sigh and we smile and carry on
and ask ourselves, what’s new?
It’s plain and clear that they never felt
what we have and will forever,
bonds of faith and fondness
that back stabbing cannot sever.
It’s easy to condemn a different air
and claim it to be out of tune,
perhaps for once give benefit of the doubt
and believe that we see the same moon.
Their efforts are all in vain,
They can fill the parish with thunder,
Our power of near and together
will never surrender or sunder.
We have the armour of care
to protect us from critical weather,
and when the fuss is all over
our decision; on the team, together.

Why not?

Still, we walked by the river

                       One bow and one quiver,                      

One taker, one giver,

We divided the rain.

We skirted the bushes

And trod on the rushes

And by-passed the blushes

They were always in vain.

She said “it’s not easy,

Dry bread isn’t greasy

Will you pick me a daisy?

Of yellow and white.

“Sure I’ll pick you a flower

It has little power

Might make you go sour

When the moon calls the night”.

She said “you’re still a stranger

And maybe a danger,

                     You weren’t born in a manger                         

This might be a line”

I said “there’s a fair chance

This could be a merry dance

Masquerading as sweet romance

Described as divine”

She said “I need time out

For I’m still in major doubt”,

                    As she curled her pink pout                     

Said “betwixt and between”,

“I know I’m the chooser,

But also the loser,

You could be a cruiser

That’s plain to be seen”

I said “let’s begin it

                       There are two of us in it                       

Can we have half a minute?

To be right or be wrong”

And I wonder what she saw,

The skylark or  jackdaw,

The hay or the bright straw,

And she said “we belong”.

Ellen

Living alone, left with my bone of contention,

Living alone, left to my own invention.

Hour long minutes timing my life away,

History coloured, future shabby and grey.

I was once young and felt the surge in my veins,

My clamber through childhood; its joy, its penance, its pains.

They said I had beauty and charm, my prospects were bright,

And then I met John; at a party on Valentine’s Night.

I knew he was married; what’s a wife between friends?

For that’s what we were! Plato never offends.

But slowly it changed, Cupid’s tentacles grew

One day our eyes and lips met, everyone knew!

Then passion and power and fury, the glory of love,

White and intense in our hearts; black up above.

We knew it was true, fully fashioned, buried so deep,

Why doesn’t petulant promise its promises keep?

I went away, to satisfy mother and wife

And children and clergy and gossips, yardsticks of life.

I pined and I yearned, aching for him who was mine,

Guilty, condemned and everyday paying the fine.

Other John’s came and shoulders to cry on and weep,

But always I paddled in shallows, never the deep.

Sooner or later, tired of diversion in vein

Memories and outlandish hopes drove me insane.

And then the long haul, the search for normal pursued,

This “normal” much sought out by analysts measuring ‘mood’.

I left my old life and moved my body and bones

To settle in Kerry in cottage of mortar and stones.

Now I sit by my window and watch life passing me by,

Once yearly on Valentine’s Night I get drunk and cry.

I wait now for Him to call me to share in His love

When sorrow and hurting and pain will be banished, above.