Return me to the choking heat of seeming lifeless air
where bees and butterflies compete for heady panicled buddleia.
Elderflower has peaked and gone, strawberry now reserved,
blackcurrant steeped and stacked upon gooseberry too preserved.
Snare my singing soul at its sweetest sound.
Pluck the ringing carpel while it does abound.
Reversion is the death knell, not yet told,
conserved in right this moment, not yet old.
Trap me too in glass or freeze me in my prime.
Keep me sealed, set fast until next summertime.
(Explanation: This Summer is just lovely, with the past few days being particularly balmy. At roughly this time every year I think of the Winter ahead and how I'd like to hibernate through it. I also think of getting older and convince myself every year that I am now in my prime! We still have a lot of Summer 2014 ahead but the majority our fruit-picking and jam-making here is done for this year.)
Friday 25 July 2014
Tuesday 8 July 2014
They Give The World Its Stars
No ifs or buts or maybes, there is no mystery:
When you birth a baby you change the course of history.
A brand new member of the human race to bring
goodness, hope, and love, and how the world needs all those things.
Give the mothers credit as they give the world its stars.
Without them we are static, there's no raising of the bar.
How dark our days without new babes to keep us truly blessed.
The mothers, without doubt, supply our brightest and our best.
(Explanation: I think mothers change the course of human history with each baby born, this one is for mothers everywhere)
When you birth a baby you change the course of history.
A brand new member of the human race to bring
goodness, hope, and love, and how the world needs all those things.
Give the mothers credit as they give the world its stars.
Without them we are static, there's no raising of the bar.
How dark our days without new babes to keep us truly blessed.
The mothers, without doubt, supply our brightest and our best.
(Explanation: I think mothers change the course of human history with each baby born, this one is for mothers everywhere)
Friday 4 July 2014
Smell The Flowers
Nothing physical to show is no indication.
Exertion can be slow to reveal its vindication.
Use your minutes wisely but remember as you do,
thinking, sleeping, smelling flowers all contribute too.
Breathing is activity so congratulate yourself,
as you inhale and exhale you are using your time well.
Musing on ideas, soaking up the sights,
being the overseer of small children flying kites,
dreaming with your eyes open, placing a small bet,
watching fruit scones rise and checking jam is set.
Sleeping in 'til nine, putting up your feet,
sipping sparkling wine in the height of Summer heat.
No need for manifest, no records required.
In waking hours work and rest, sleep when you are tired.
Dismiss all competition, set your own pace,
Be truthful to your mission, run in your own race.
(This doesn't mean you get to always win the medal,
it simply deems comparison totally irrelevant.)
Sharing every aspect decreases your own stores
of energy and affects what people hope to know.
The hours go fast, so be happy with your lot.
The time is going to pass whether you use it or not.
Be mindful. We need oxygen, we can't survive on rhyme.
So, sometimes, let the grass grow to pass away the time.
(Explanation: I think there seems to be an increasing emphasis on 'doing', with suggestions about using every second of your life constructively to have something to show for it. It's not that I disagree with these ideas, I am a natural record-keeper, but I also think an emphasis on just being alive without going a million miles an hour and documenting every second mightn't go astray every now and then. In my own experience some of my best ideas have been born out of letting my mind wander.)
Exertion can be slow to reveal its vindication.
Use your minutes wisely but remember as you do,
thinking, sleeping, smelling flowers all contribute too.
Breathing is activity so congratulate yourself,
as you inhale and exhale you are using your time well.
Musing on ideas, soaking up the sights,
being the overseer of small children flying kites,
dreaming with your eyes open, placing a small bet,
watching fruit scones rise and checking jam is set.
Sleeping in 'til nine, putting up your feet,
sipping sparkling wine in the height of Summer heat.
No need for manifest, no records required.
In waking hours work and rest, sleep when you are tired.
Dismiss all competition, set your own pace,
Be truthful to your mission, run in your own race.
(This doesn't mean you get to always win the medal,
it simply deems comparison totally irrelevant.)
Sharing every aspect decreases your own stores
of energy and affects what people hope to know.
The hours go fast, so be happy with your lot.
The time is going to pass whether you use it or not.
Be mindful. We need oxygen, we can't survive on rhyme.
So, sometimes, let the grass grow to pass away the time.
(Explanation: I think there seems to be an increasing emphasis on 'doing', with suggestions about using every second of your life constructively to have something to show for it. It's not that I disagree with these ideas, I am a natural record-keeper, but I also think an emphasis on just being alive without going a million miles an hour and documenting every second mightn't go astray every now and then. In my own experience some of my best ideas have been born out of letting my mind wander.)
Sunday 15 June 2014
Their Dad
How they ignore him, scold him loudly
and adore him, love him proudly,
wreck his stuff, make demands,
call his bluff and hold his hands,
test his nerves and call him names
through tennis serves and chasing games,
delegate building of wooden tracks,
beg for swings and piggy backs,
reprimand him, then make up
and command him to wake up,
look for money, shout for lifts,
say he's funny, make him gifts,
take what's his and make it theirs,
offer less and brush his hair,
make him run for miles and miles,
just for fun and small girl smiles,
order biscuits, daily, nightly,
give him kisses, hug him tightly.
(Explanation: It's Father's Day today. My two girls have a great dad who they adore, this is for Martin.)
and adore him, love him proudly,
wreck his stuff, make demands,
call his bluff and hold his hands,
test his nerves and call him names
through tennis serves and chasing games,
delegate building of wooden tracks,
beg for swings and piggy backs,
reprimand him, then make up
and command him to wake up,
look for money, shout for lifts,
say he's funny, make him gifts,
take what's his and make it theirs,
offer less and brush his hair,
make him run for miles and miles,
just for fun and small girl smiles,
order biscuits, daily, nightly,
give him kisses, hug him tightly.
(Explanation: It's Father's Day today. My two girls have a great dad who they adore, this is for Martin.)
Friday 6 June 2014
Bon Secours
Holy Mary, mother unmarried, blessed by Angel Gabriel's call
to be the chosen one who carried a baby born to lead them all.
Catholic leaders, priests and nuns, claiming virtues and morals true
mark public enemy number one as "unmarried" mothers who
must be stripped of dignity and freedom, locked away from the world
convicts of ultra vires treason, ripped from baby boys and girls.
Bon Secours means good help translated.
May bon secours never reach my dog:
Unmarried mothers can be incarcerated
but animal rights are enshrined in law.
(Explanation: Just when you think there can't possibly be any more church scandals in Ireland the so-called Mother And Baby homes abuse of single mothers and their children hits the headlines. It's not really news because it was already known about but it has taken decades to get any attention. The collusion of Church and State is one aspect of it but there is also a wider collusion of parents, relations and community members of the pregnant women and girls who were sent to these places. The Journal Article & datbeardyman blog post.
Re-shared in March 2017, on foot of the news about the remains of over 700 babies and children found in septic tanks on the property of the Bons Secours Mother & Baby Home in Tuam, Co. Galway. Those words 'mother and baby' combined with 'home' are so much at odds with how the Bons Secours nuns actually treated their captives).
to be the chosen one who carried a baby born to lead them all.
Catholic leaders, priests and nuns, claiming virtues and morals true
mark public enemy number one as "unmarried" mothers who
must be stripped of dignity and freedom, locked away from the world
convicts of ultra vires treason, ripped from baby boys and girls.
Bon Secours means good help translated.
May bon secours never reach my dog:
Unmarried mothers can be incarcerated
but animal rights are enshrined in law.
(Explanation: Just when you think there can't possibly be any more church scandals in Ireland the so-called Mother And Baby homes abuse of single mothers and their children hits the headlines. It's not really news because it was already known about but it has taken decades to get any attention. The collusion of Church and State is one aspect of it but there is also a wider collusion of parents, relations and community members of the pregnant women and girls who were sent to these places. The Journal Article & datbeardyman blog post.
Re-shared in March 2017, on foot of the news about the remains of over 700 babies and children found in septic tanks on the property of the Bons Secours Mother & Baby Home in Tuam, Co. Galway. Those words 'mother and baby' combined with 'home' are so much at odds with how the Bons Secours nuns actually treated their captives).
Bang On Trend
What they've got in the UK and China,
Brazil and Turkmenistan,
can be found on our own fair island
but it's a place you won't get a tan.
It's not as far as you'd think,
not Germany, New Zealand, The States.
It's where they no longer mine zinc
and where Persephone waits.
Sinkhole fame for all of these sites,
Kilkenny has tunnels to mend,
mining wakes Hades to fight:
Up The Marble! You're bang on trend.
(Explanation: If I were to try and catalogue all the witty comments of @pauldunphy on Twitter we'd be here forever. However, the one that relates to this poem is a tweet of his in which he said to someone he knew who had been caught in a sinkhole, "you're bang on trend." After establishing the person was fine you just have to acknowledge that witty remark!
Kilkenny People article & The Telegraph article)
Brazil and Turkmenistan,
can be found on our own fair island
but it's a place you won't get a tan.
It's not as far as you'd think,
not Germany, New Zealand, The States.
It's where they no longer mine zinc
and where Persephone waits.
Sinkhole fame for all of these sites,
Kilkenny has tunnels to mend,
mining wakes Hades to fight:
Up The Marble! You're bang on trend.
(Explanation: If I were to try and catalogue all the witty comments of @pauldunphy on Twitter we'd be here forever. However, the one that relates to this poem is a tweet of his in which he said to someone he knew who had been caught in a sinkhole, "you're bang on trend." After establishing the person was fine you just have to acknowledge that witty remark!
Kilkenny People article & The Telegraph article)
Friday 14 February 2014
Perfect Me
How come you never realise that no-one rings your phone?
And yet you seem to agonise about the right ringtone:
You test at loudest beeping so they can hear nextdoor
and then keep them from sleeping with your endless fog-horn snore.
Do you ever think how all the plastic and the tin
that you pile in the sink gets to the recycling bin?
And I've another question that I'm sure is a no-brainer:
Who is the serial leaver of tea bags on the drainer?
It causes me to see bright red when my face is strewn with hair
because you wiped your just-shaved head with the towel we're meant to share.
How happy in your choice of mate you must surely be,
you chose well and sealed the fate of dear old perfect me.
(Explanation: I wrote With Love To My Antonym for my husband on Valentine's Day 2010. This is an update for Valentine's Day 2014. I think we have towel issues!
Inspired by: Martin O'Sullivan)
And yet you seem to agonise about the right ringtone:
You test at loudest beeping so they can hear nextdoor
and then keep them from sleeping with your endless fog-horn snore.
Do you ever think how all the plastic and the tin
that you pile in the sink gets to the recycling bin?
And I've another question that I'm sure is a no-brainer:
Who is the serial leaver of tea bags on the drainer?
It causes me to see bright red when my face is strewn with hair
because you wiped your just-shaved head with the towel we're meant to share.
How happy in your choice of mate you must surely be,
you chose well and sealed the fate of dear old perfect me.
(Explanation: I wrote With Love To My Antonym for my husband on Valentine's Day 2010. This is an update for Valentine's Day 2014. I think we have towel issues!
Inspired by: Martin O'Sullivan)
Tuesday 28 January 2014
Vermin On The High Seas
Rats on a ghost ship we are cruising,
keeping on our toes, no time for snoozing,
we all need to eat but we've got no food in.
Vermin on the high seas.
Watch out World: We're non-stop breeders,
we're out of control and we've got no leaders,
we're nibbling at each other because we're feeders.
Vermin on the high seas.
When we get to land we'll all be manic.
We'll be biting off your hands so you should panic
We're looking for new meat and we're borderline satanic.
Vermin on the high seas.
(Explanation: I have been entertained by the commentary surrounding the whereabouts of the Lyubov Orlova and its 'crew' of rats. Some clever clogs set up a blog for the missing ghost ship.
I wrote this to the tune and rhyme of Irish Rovers' Drunken Sailor.
Inspired by: Where is Lyubov Orlova? & Drunken Sailor .
Update on 27/03/2014: I think they landed in Sweden!
Update on 19/02/2020: The rats are back in the news, still sailing!)
keeping on our toes, no time for snoozing,
we all need to eat but we've got no food in.
Vermin on the high seas.
Watch out World: We're non-stop breeders,
we're out of control and we've got no leaders,
we're nibbling at each other because we're feeders.
Vermin on the high seas.
When we get to land we'll all be manic.
We'll be biting off your hands so you should panic
We're looking for new meat and we're borderline satanic.
Vermin on the high seas.
(Explanation: I have been entertained by the commentary surrounding the whereabouts of the Lyubov Orlova and its 'crew' of rats. Some clever clogs set up a blog for the missing ghost ship.
I wrote this to the tune and rhyme of Irish Rovers' Drunken Sailor.
Inspired by: Where is Lyubov Orlova? & Drunken Sailor .
Update on 27/03/2014: I think they landed in Sweden!
Update on 19/02/2020: The rats are back in the news, still sailing!)
Tuesday 21 January 2014
When Nappies Ruled
Back in time us three flew
to babies crying when nappies ruled.
Transported by awful doses
of streaming eyes and runny noses,
restless sleep and picky eating,
bright red cheeks and non-stop needing.
Three days all told and yet I
feel steam-rolled, knackered and resigned.
How'd you and I muddle through
when babies cried and nappies ruled?
(Explanation: My two children had three days of sickness between them until today. They can do so much themselves now that it was a shock to my system and I can't believe we actually got through the days when one was a newborn and the other a toddler.)
to babies crying when nappies ruled.
Transported by awful doses
of streaming eyes and runny noses,
restless sleep and picky eating,
bright red cheeks and non-stop needing.
Three days all told and yet I
feel steam-rolled, knackered and resigned.
How'd you and I muddle through
when babies cried and nappies ruled?
(Explanation: My two children had three days of sickness between them until today. They can do so much themselves now that it was a shock to my system and I can't believe we actually got through the days when one was a newborn and the other a toddler.)
Saturday 14 December 2013
Lord Bless Africa
Nineteen-eighteen to twenty-thirteen,
ninety-five years in all,
twenty-seven years of a long walk to freedom.
Eight-hundred-and-fifty people called
to complain and record their upset
that a television show had been
interrupted to announce Mandela's death
during a hilarious scene.
Disgraceful to diminish such news
and yet a smiling Nelson
would have considered their views,
and possibly chuckled at them
asserting their rights,
no more than he might have thought
Obama and Cameron were doing no harm
taking selfies as they talked
at the memorial service for a man
who was prepared to die.
(Explanation: Nelson Mandela died on 5th December 2013. The BBC interrupted a repeat episode of the comedy, Mrs. Brown's Boys, to announce his passing and received 850 complaints about the interruption.
independent.ie article & Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika)
ninety-five years in all,
twenty-seven years of a long walk to freedom.
Eight-hundred-and-fifty people called
to complain and record their upset
that a television show had been
interrupted to announce Mandela's death
during a hilarious scene.
Disgraceful to diminish such news
and yet a smiling Nelson
would have considered their views,
and possibly chuckled at them
asserting their rights,
no more than he might have thought
Obama and Cameron were doing no harm
taking selfies as they talked
at the memorial service for a man
who was prepared to die.
(Explanation: Nelson Mandela died on 5th December 2013. The BBC interrupted a repeat episode of the comedy, Mrs. Brown's Boys, to announce his passing and received 850 complaints about the interruption.
independent.ie article & Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika)
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