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Where people from all walks of life congregate to hear Irish music
In each pub, footpath, or corner, musicians with style and grace
Practice their talent with fluid movement and steady pace
Tuning into the air sweet harmonies
A balladeer greets the morning singing melodies
Haunting piped airs through the atmosphere seep
Smoke curls from campfire, and twinkling stars peep
In the early hours when all is quiet and those who sleep dream
The silver moon reflects upon the River Feale and her water gleams
©1995 Kay Forristal
I have heard that as we get older, we get wild,
Because we revert to thinking like we’re a child!
It seems that most people think that it is sad,
I am beginning to think it wouldn’t be so bad!
I could be happy playing outside without a care,
Of course, I would need a walker to get out there!
Being like a child, happiness would be easier to find,
Let’s face it folks, most of being happy is in our mind.
I hope my little rhyme will somehow make your day,
I’ve got to go now because I’m going outside to play.
©Aug 3, 2023 Walt Perryman
By John McGrath
Dan Foley dug his field but not for gold,
Though long ago his father showed him how.
‘Plant trees,’ he said, ‘The ground’s too poor to plough,’
But sons don’t always do as they are told.
Dry summers gave a glimpse of buried store
And so Dan dug where mighty trees had grown,
Where cows had grazed and summer crops were sown
And men had thrived two thousand years before.
Great golden roots of long-dead deal he found.
Dan raised them one by one from acid ground,
And as he filled their void with fertile soil,
He knew the field would soon repay his toil;
For land is like a poem, it draws men back
To write another line and leave their track.
©Sep 30, 2019 John McGrath
Previously appeared in author's recent collection,
After Closing (Moybella Press 2021).
The sansevieria gets no respect
With its lanky leaves and glacial growth
Except that it's sturdy and stands neglect.
Nicknamed snake plant it's often used
In places where it gets abused,
Dusty corners, smoke-filled rooms,
Offices, lobbies; and it never blooms.
But then one day, after years ignored
On the back of a desk where it's been stored,
My snake plant decided it was time
To send up a bloom stalk tall and proud.
Hour after hour I've watched this sight,
This unexpected spike of white,
Fragrant as daffodils, delicate as light;
And it's taught me once again
That even unlikely ones can hide
Beauty and sweetness deep inside.
