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SEAN O'DEA'S HOMEPAGE |
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General poetry |
Childhood memories and my hometown |
Mid life |
To my wife Rita |
Age |
For Oengus |
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************** Robert Frost of world wide fame ***************** 'Images of Simon'. Forget that long lost look. ******************** Female. Wherein that piety high-society, ************************ He was a fisherman's little boy One day at school At dawn next day Only for it to eventually Catharsis. ***************** This story is true Then Irene a visitor from next door Quite kittenish the skittish miss Where-fore my good wife, Also make delicious gibet soup, ******************* Country boys and girls On their own A hot coort at least. ********** The Civil Service? 'Tis daft memo-land ********** Yes indeed God bless us Incarcerated in filth and grime.
*************** Ahem! A docker's strike Who got up on the stand Then a growl from God save us all from harm ***** The world today ********** Nach suas go foil. ************ As I walked up Coincidentally With seasonal goodwill The melodious air **************** He carries his placard high. Gaunt of face with dull eyes Yet you'd wonder why. Is it some form of obsessional |
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********* "Tair isteach" Down the lane- ************ "I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls". Summers slanting evening sun A young girl on the piano plays it too. Today how gross and sickly sentimental Ethereal Incubus Houri Hostess. **************** The mission. We the assembled host, Prompt- Candles held in quivering hands *************** From my book of life Johnny Baan When asked again and again Also a second tip tapping round. Errant farmers chased and harassed Charismatic caustic, cathartic. ******** Written on destiny's wall. Having made my purchase, Alas and alack, ********* Memories like old photographs sepia brown. Once hick now slick. But occasionally, *********** From afar, on the pitch ********* From a different time zone. Solidly it sticks in my memory. Added to his tombstone ******* Adjoint Miltown Malbay, ******** From the eclectic trove Summertime And then again No longer the same, Anyway there to-day ************ It was there when I was small. |
And the answer I'd love to have sung A wild song of- The wind and the sea, In the dark maelstrom Of the night without fright Shout- 'I'm free-I'm free' For you see, in life rife Far more mundane things, Were to be my lot. Dull leaden skies- And ordinariness were all I got. With these words, I merge mentally Into dawns dappled daylight. Beset by unwanted invasion Tangled thoughts take flight Then the magical equation, Finally comes out right. I would be loath, To say all memories there happy. But what all are? By far the best I remember, A kindly neighbour said After we were there some years Of joy toil and tears, "It's like the Phoenix Arising from its ashes" Internal and external. Too numerous to mention. Tongue lashes and strapped for cash But many a bean-o bash Offset by a tenacious member, Of the bank pulling his rank. His mantra- That he wished I could live Within my means. My fondest fiscal dreams. As I write, In the early morning light Everything turned out alright. After all those Lean and rich mix, concrete years Often with a sour stomach, From overdrinking burping and working. And definitely later With additional medicinal memories to delight, Pine Hill you were anything But a bitter pill. She was twelve, fat but bright. Rather odd, our only child Baby faced and lovingly first placed And naturally sort of spoiled. By uncertainty and sensitivity. Aggregated by her naivety Dreamily-lacking alertness, Timid and not having self assertiveness. For that school bullied Awkward adolescence sullied. A concerted cowardly attack By some of the cruel, Spoilt rotten, brat pack. Arms around her I paternally coiled And tried to kiss away- Those salty bitter tears. Not to despair, life could be unfair. Have no fears, wash both away. Neither is here to stay. Some day she'd not lack confidence, And have her right to say, But justly give lee-way. And that must be Her measuring rod-to find her way Also to make life a go The right of her corner to fight She must never lose sight. Is a treasure beyond measure. After all those years Now at happiness height Thank God, in hindsight I was right. |
Into the garden of life Full of flowers and weeds. Temptations of all kind. The seeds you sow As through life you go, Come to mind. Succulent fruits, Including fruit of the vine-wine. But beer dark and pale. With laughter to regale. She was late on our first date. Gentlemen wait, Ladies first. When I told her that, after She came, we both burst into laughter. Five years as boy and girl-friend. Then both opened a gate. Where I acquired a lifelong wife, And all that happened there-.after. Days rife with wine, roses and thorns. On our both our parts over addiction To alcoholism in all its forms. Nevertheless lovingly we still carry on. In our declining years, With hidden fears. As to which of us two First will be "The Late". Life for her now is o'er. Tragic to lose. Now, no longer I bitterly bruise. Gently peacefully my muse Sleeps beyond Destiny's wall. Were the colours of the clothes she wore. Of the North West. A C.I.E. itinerary. A small fishing town, Where after a hungry sojourn On Lough Derg you resisted temptation. With your friend Cynthia. Not to yield to those gnawing pains, Until after midnight. In the guesthouse of her sister Audrey and husband Christy. The Church on the steep hill, Dedicated to the Blessed Virgin Mary. I still remember those kind people In the shop who said they'd try To locate the place of the guesthouse. Also mystification and hilarity to arouse At the noisy bustle of the fish-market. Which started with "what am I bid The bit to get rid, as such was double-dutch. Then at night far out at sea, A long pier lit with all the fun of the Fair. And just there at my right-hand side Another smaller one where From a disco the music blared. And outside fixed tables and benches, With the smell of fresh fried fish succulently Wafting in the briny air. Also scattered about there Metal shiny silvery kegs shining In the pale moonlight. Me on the dry, temptation too came my way. Why not just try one Remembering what you had told me that day, So faraway. I said "Satan be-gone". The relief my belief A sign benign that night As I turned back to the Hotel Full well now I know my lief In hindsight with delight, Spiritually with amazing grace, Gently you walked apace with me. Ever dancing, glancing and glistening As listening to the harp- Sharp memories remind me Of them gently, lightly, alighting- Blue as moonlight gleams- On waters, pellucid crystalline, And of rippling current streams. So melodically her piano she played, Tune after tune for my souls sake I could have stayed for hours Enchanted -hypnotically Listening to glistening glissade after glissade As with God's gift, her fingers splayed And deftly transposing into different keys, Dear heart she entranced me. Chords ever rippling and tipping, Into rumbling tumbling cataract cascades. Still sift and drift in this rhyme, Too soon that boon Sweet soft melodic music Slowly tunefully and dreamily died away. Then hauntingly she played, Our favourite tune, Claire de Lune Light of the moon, To the world affectionately au fait.. And that melody, nostalgically stay with me Forever locked up in my memory. Vernally evergreen naturally. Magically In a secret site serene and unseen. Of a kindly thought by you. As boy and girl-friend newly engaged, You were engaged in the cool kitchen Of sixty seven Lower Gardiner Street, Arranging eighteen silver half-crowns Into nine neat piles. "Why"? I said. You said "come with me". Down the street across Beresford Place, Around to the Custom House steps. There nine beggars lay day-dreaming, In the Summers evening sun, As their day had begun And was about to end, To sus(s)-out whichever quarter They could find lee In lieu of a silver crown. Their dazed eyes sought, The gracious lady fair, who stood there. "Why"' I asked in indignation. "They'll get wired to the moon" "With meths and cooking Sherry Schooner." Turning to me, sweetly you said "Yes Sean but they'll be happy too, For the night". The Book of Proverbs says the same thing. And with mortification The further I go, now know, What for you- That transient silver thought has brought. Saint Stephens Green. A rich niche in memory evergreen. Pigeons scuttling In and out under the seat. And around my feet. A retreat of quietude Away from the multitude Who frequent the park daily. Lies my true tender wealth. That's how the luck In life is dealt. The guiding love light Of my life My dear departed wife Is spiritually felt by me. Naturally never seen. One coming in. One going out. The flow and ebb- On the tide of life. With Hope- And a sickening heart. We the audience- Take a part. Why? Is it worth while? What is it all about? We were born- Just to die? Cant be so. The sun it rises, Then it sets. But on the morrow, It's A new burnished glory. Is that the story? Who can say when? Then-Whenever let With love in my heart Gladly I'll depart. Spiritually never tire, In the land of heart's desire. And of doubts bereft-certainly With the answer- I'll be met! Boy, the further you go, You know a little more than you knew before; Then older and bolder you grow. Joyfully, youthfully, truthfully and gamely I tried to reach for the sky. And still try, each day in every way As time rolls by. "Why sometimes are some of your poems Set about death"? I replied, "The past is in whatever role Your are cast The future to secure is sure. And my friend the end, Is as yet." So I do time as let" Pat bought a music box. It plays a funny tinkling tune. Of gurgling babies, Tumbling in the sky. Oengus's name upon it is writ. When he cries we play it. Like Alice's gift, Golden childhood always remembered. From Pat in Newfoundland, Thank you. Don't put a puss on you. We're all a tremble. Oengus-don't cry. Mammy's doing her best. June the month of roses. To blow it out my grandson can handle. Mammy now no more supposes, Oengus can't do his bit. Although he can't say very much, In magic childhoods talk, he's quite a hit. Mamma, Dadda, and maybe Granda-as such. A warning-there's to come, Watch out for the traps of cupids dart. Make sure you know what you're about, Life holds many a pitfall. Make a mistake and your life's a tout, And from that, there's no recall. I see reflection. Or is it refraction? In them my daughters face. A new generation, life renewed. Hope. |
