The broken cistern

The clear water looks as clean as anywhere else.
The attractive bits of granite add interest to the rusting metal pipe.
The sheared off pieces of the channel lie helpless aside.
Beside such a neglected device it is unwise to abide.

The water spews from the open gash at the gap.
The useless conglomeration of shale destroys the use.
No thoughtful creatures would bother nor malinger there.
As refreshment is not to be found in the garish, smashed up glare.

Such are the cisterns of a fallen man-made place.
Help and nourishment overflow within the boggy space.
This world with all its boasted style and wit.
Cannot sustain us for one moment, as is writ.

There is a fountain that is full and free,
Provided for the broken man by the man on the tree.
No other place survives the storm or raging wrath,
Which condemns all who follow their own broad path.

All mankind are drawn to the gaudy provision of a foolish world that will not learn.
The wise recognise that this attraction they must hastily spurn.
They seek a narrow way where the entrance fee is already paid,
And drink from the cistern of life which on the road is laid.

The broken place will always be there to the end of time,
Until the God of all things has sounded the angles trumpet chime.
It will be swept away and only deep waters remain to truly satisfy,
Where rescued souls have always drank and on their Lord rely.

Joy

Sitting in the laundrette is a jolly thing to do,
Especially on your holidays it makes you somewhat blue.
My family enjoy clean clothes and an absence of damp,
So I’m stuck here with the laundry and my back has cramp.

Lying on the blow-up bed is a novel thing to try,
Especially when it collapses down in the middle of the night, to die.
The lack of sleep is seriously befuddling my wayward mind,
A cosy place to curl up the die in, I would like to find.

To boil a kettle of water in order to make a cup of tea,
Takes approximately half an hour, by which time we all agree.
We might as well visit the coffee shop and sit upon the couch,
Even have a cake or two or sometimes a spot of lunch.

The pervading sense of insidious damp, is getting everywhere.
The feeling of resignation to the weather we all share.
And yet somehow, the overarching feeling, is one of glad familiarity,
As we enjoy our summer holidays in the climate of our home locality.

The air is more than suitable for a person who is manic.
The changeable, erratic weather mirrors the growing sense of panic.
I’m glad I spent so long of my life in this unspeakably beautiful place.
All that I learned from the landscape, the book and the Celtic Irish race.

Water

It’s difficult to imagine where it could ever be so wet.
The “Queen of watering places” it is known as and yet,
Day after day it trickles down and into the rivers,
A wave of savage water plunges through the Shimna.

The landscape is verdant, lustrous, brown and green,
Plants grow freely in every wayside meadow and stream,
The trees stand year upon year dripping and standing fast,
Against the stormy climate and the march of time as it labours past.

It is best to always be prepared for rain and the damp,
Make sure your feet are dry and the tent is closed at camp,
The drumming of the raindrops throughout the long dark night,
Causes sleeplessness and aching, along with the constant sodden plight.

Maybe tomorrow the sun will again shine through the cloud,
As it lifts slowly from the face of Slieve Donard as a shroud,
The permanent puddles and the swampy grass-filled fields,
Will brighten up as the water to sweet dryness yields.

It may not though, as long experience of this place will tell,
Ireland is not labelled an “Emerald isle” for its’ long dry spells,
Enjoy the soft woodlands with the pine scented aroma,
And the glorious profusion of an under-tree fauna.

The transparent liquid is a blessing on the unproductive earth,
As many countries without it can testify to a desperate dirth,
And life becomes almost impossible without the softening life rain,
Many hearts are lifted up as it falls to the ground once again.

Surely Ireland is blessed indeed to such provenance to share,
Every aspect of life rings with the bells of holy elements to declare,
The love of the creator for the creatures he has given life to,
An expression of glory, hope divine and a heart to worship anew.

Radio active

My husband had a radio active dinner,
Made in the kitchen by a chef who is a sinner.
We thought we were onto a tasty winner.
But the dinner, made by the sinner,
Has made him thinner.

Shell and stone.

S loves A,

There,

It’s set in shell and stone.

Long after the decay of

Heart and flesh and bone.

When all we know

And set our hearts upon.

Long after the family

Has left and gone.

A loves S,

Even to the end of doom,

When earth and heaven,

Are overtaken with gloom.

When time itself fall into an

Eternal moan,

And everything human kind has

Had and known.

All but love will pass,

Each body wither as grass,

And charity forever will last,

Long beyond when planets,

And stars are past.

You can’t put there what’s not there, but there’s more there than anyone thinks.

The almighty.

A little kid on the beach

Building against the tide.

Soggy piles of sand stand firm,

But turn to sludge,

Much like human pride.

And the almighty just rolls on by….

A child, at night, in church

Hell and damnation the message calls.

My head aches, 

I cannot take the strain,

My thoughts run wild, death appalls

And the almighty just rolls on by……..

A teen on the bus to school

Struggling with festering feelings

That lead to dead ends

Plans that come to nothing

No way to make amends.

And the almighty just rolls on by….

Big decisions are made as time proceeds,

People come and go, changes all around.

The walls of the city bleed its dread life

People everywhere press,

Very little help is found.

And the almighty just rolls on by…..

“I to the hills will lift my eyes…”

They say the hills have eyes.

They cannot see my pain

It’s far away,

She bows her head and cries.

And the almighty just rolls on by…..

The doors are locked the windows barred

All is lost…..

Questions with no answers

Not worth knowing about.

Thoughts, feelings, tempest tossed,

And the almighty just rolls on by……

Free at last, the prison long gone by,

Life goes on without a reason why,

Children come and go and some stay,

Life has meaning again,

At least for a while.

And the almighty just rolls on by……

Up into the mountaintops I go.

Anything to stay there….

Dangerous substances.

All to no avail.

I am lost to those who love me.

And the almighty just rolls on by……

The doors are finally shut for good.

There is no way out from hell or doom.

A voice calls out in the dark.

One faint hope to hold on to.

And the almighty just rolls on by…….

Out into a wide open space.

Love is found, pure and true.

It was there all the time.

Amid the lows and the highs, 

There is always hope,

Because the almighty just rolls on by…. 

20 years

Loving you is sweeter now,
Than ever I knew before.
To be with you is my one desire
My husband, who I adore.

I do not deserve such a man as you,
Patient, kind and true.
God brought us together, this I know,
Together, me and you.

That I ever meant to leave you,
I cannot understand,
It must have been the devil’s art,
He evil things had planned.

But God stepped in and won the day,
To you and I was true,
I know you love me very much,
And I love only you.

The work of art.

My life is a work of art

The master artist has made it

As with all his works it has

A plan, a modeling and a making.

Destroying and building

A changing.

Until the perfect form appears

Whole and beautifully wrought

A delight to the craftsman’s heart

Fit for his abode.

Urang-u-tang at the zoo.

This funny old Urang-u-tang
Is waiting here today
For some kind little girl or boy
A word, or two to say.
How nice it’d be to have a chat
To somehow think you’re wanted
That kindly folks don’t notice how
You’re really old and fat.

I’m getting tired and lonely
In this ugly looking box
I suppose that life is like that
And my keeper seldom talks
But then-that’s human nature
‘cause that’s one thing I know 
that folks often quite ignore you
when your getting old and slow

Now no one want’s to talk to me
All they want to do
Is stand and gawk along the glass
It really makes me blue. 
They giggle and they point at me
And say “you poor old rag bag!”
Poke their tongue, stamp their feet
And think I’m such a gag.