Hard Times

There was a terrible stillness and a dense blue fog
over broken down fences and ubiquitous bog
somehow we managed to survive the famine
six of us huddled together in a five shilling cabin
Michael, Thomas, Julia and dear little Mary
on a tiny parcel of land in south Tipperary
watching my sweet Wife Mary lay down her pretty head
on piles of filthy straw that serves as our bed
all that we owned was a Pig and a manure heap
we did the sowing but there was nothing left to reap
we depended on Potatoes to keep us alive
all that was about to change in black '45
from dawn to dusk we would work hard in the field
we handled the 'taint' and 'curl' but still got our yield
one day Mary came in sobbing, her head in her shawl
" there's nothing left Rodger, the blight's taken it all! "
We appealed for help, our poverty was dire
we didn't even have the wood to light a fire
My friend good Mr Mitchell tried to explain our situation
for this he was exiled in transportation!
The price of food for the poor was out of our reach
so Michael and Julia would forage on the beach
I earned us all some money building a pointless road
to help try to shoulder this burdensome load
Tom went to fish near the warehouses full of grain
while the scurvy held little Mary in constant pain
apparently we're lazy and hard labour we shirk
emaciated people with no food and no work!
Bloodsucking Landlords raise the price of the land
even fishing in the nearby river is banned-
to make poverty endurable in this mournful place
and suck the very blood out of our wretched race.
'Peels Brimstone was sent as an executive request
but like Laissez-Faire it was too hard to digest
the cry of their conscience was easily blurred
like our speechless agony that couldn't be heard
we tried to grow tates again, to take up the slack
but in no time at all, all the leaves had gone black
it rained more than ever and the sun hardly shone
within three to four days the whole crop had gone
the sickening blight cost my people dear
we dropped to nothing from six tons a year
how we survived is still largely a mystery
being continually stalked by fever and dysentery
our kids queue up for gruel but little Mary's got the croup
while the Bloodsuckers are dining on the finest Lobster soup
all of my friends are slowly dying of starvation
while we live on the doorstep of the world's richest nation
as if that wasn't enough the soup kitchens were closed
as the Englishman's appetite for beef was exposed
the more land they demanded the more land we gave
as ships of food left the harbour we would give them a wave.
Nothing could prepare us for the winter of '47
the gruel has now gone but there's no manna from heaven
the wind and the hail and snow up to the roof
by the beginning of April we had all had enough
the Workhouses we managed to narrowly avoid
when extended poor laws ravaged the unemployed
it was then that the old man's hat went from nation to nation
to release the 'saved' ones from this terrible situation
as ones of the 'saved' we were destined to be free
a passage to Liverpool then the ship to Milwaukee
"the Lord sent the blight, but the English sent the famine"
six of us huddled together in our five shilling cabin.

The voyage was long, it was hard to find a healthy person
little Mary's condition slowly began to worsen
after four long months we finally disembarked
" it's a New World and a new life now" my dear wife remarked
with the living standards raised and the monoculture gone
we gathered in the sheaves as the sun's glory shone
as a family we gradually layed down our roots
and in the passing of time reaped it's wonderful fruits
Michael and Thomas joined the medical profession
Julia married well and ensured her succession
our family's future lay on the crest of a wave
apart from little Mary who lays quiet in her grave.

Loosely based on the letters of John Cantwell's Grandfather, Rodger Cantwell - who survived the Irish Potato famine of 1845 - 49.

Even Moses made mistakes!

With empty promises and broken hearts
we charge through life like an unstoppable train
the minute that we're born the trouble starts
as hardwired sin leaves it's indelible stain

from the rosy birth of dawn till death's sad night
the Woods opened wide their enticing green jaws
but longing for the garden was our eternal plight
yet it was firmly shut off behind bolted doors

the North wind whispered secrets and the mountains purred
as we sat like tideless pebbles on a lonely beach
peace just flew away on the wings of a bird
life in the garden seemed forever out of reach

a long time ago a couple didn't stick to the rules
so life in the garden was unable to last
meanwhile we sail along in our 'ship of fools'
our future is unable to re-write our past

but as pine needles softened our footfalls on the floor
whilst birds sing their songs way up high in the trees
and rivers smooth out rocks on their way to the shore
the voice of Wisdom was to be heard on the breeze

"linger here a while I'll help you carry your load-
see the sky slowly comb it's green fringed hair
and Meadow Browns flit about in jet fighter mode
I know you crave the garden and soon you'll be there"

"linger here a while, let nothing disturb your peace
the bolts to tbe garden will soon be broken
I'll unbolt the gates to paradise when all wars cease
your  life in the woods will be just mere token"

I feared that I was just not worthy of his call
many a wrong turning my short journey makes
He said that every fight begins with a fall
"fear not my friend, even Moses made mistakes!"

Poise

maintain that love behind your eyes
a natural reticence shines through your body language
cheeky humour dimples your cheeks
but brush out those negative thoughts from your long brown hair

concern for others will always line your brow
but passion will always enhance your smile
you don't walk around with your nose in the air
but rest your chin on those years of wisdom

those high cheekbones radiate reassurance to your friends
and your love lingers in their hearts
your presence creates a sensitivity
that most people sense although they're unaware of it

when your hair is in a pony tail
there is a neat simplicity towards life
though when it is dyed different colours
you have a thirst for ideas

a neck like a Swan is a real blessing
as you show consideration for the needs of others
you keep harmful thoughts to yourself
and don't get caught up in the rat race

you don't kick at every dog that barks
but those brown iris's can flash with lightning speed
when the time is right
and woe to any poor rabbit that gets caught in the headlights!

Minutae 2 (moments of reflection)

i. It rained with a depressing feel of permanency
   but then unexpectedly, it stopped
   the sunshine was glorious,
   it felt better than if the sun was out all the time.

ii. A bird has wings
     it can fly half way around the world
    so why does it stay close to its territory?
    Yet we are no different.

iii. Glaciers are like streams of time
      they move about half a mile a year
       a day can pass so slowly
       then we wonder where all the years have gone.

iv. Words are like a river
     sometimes they flow
     often though, they get stuck behind a rock
     then cascade down a waterfall.

The mystery of the Painted Lady

Tell me please, how did you know where to fly
when you've never ever been here before
orange music drizzled from high in the sky
from the desert fringes of an African shore

tell me, why didn't anybody see you leave
they could see nothing with the naked eye
the Roses calling perhaps wasn't so naive
a yellow brick road you could not deny

tell me please, who paints the pattern on your wings
I know the Artist can't be of flesh and blood
as no man can paint such tremulous things
nor hear the calling from inside the Roses bud

each day is a special gift, that helps us to cope
the answer lies firmly in nature's right hand
to linger in happiness and radiate hope
then one day, this mystery, we'll be able to understand.

Advice for fast car drivers in the Highlands

Do you know where you're going?
Have you been here before?
Please don't ever be in a rush, not here
allow more time for your journey
pull over and take in the view
and what a view it is -
sunlit fringed mountains towering over scattered hamlets
treeless fingers of land with cottages distributed like limpets
green promontories smooth as moleskins
while their jagged cliffs angle into a peppermint sea
and their unpunctured white beaches hug a contorted coastline.
Don't bemoan the single track road you're on either
it may be like a wriggly piece of thread fallen from your sofa
but it is unique.
So allow time to slow down
absorb the breathtaking scenery
allow it to illuminate your mind
until reality excels your dreams.

Falls of Couldoran in the evening

The lullaby of the water
falls gently on the sleeper
hard and ponderous waterfall
calming refuge for the keeper
cleansing all within it's path
as the rocky track gets steeper

long shadows send out their soft sheen
covering every blade of grass
soft light skims the air we breathe
by each waterfall we pass
a needed twirl of nature's brush
paints pools of liquid glass

slowly gates of evening beckoned
with more colour than Tobermory
favourite songs keep coming back
in skies of emerald glory
watermarks permeate your soul
in the fabric of your story.

The Birds

There is unrest on a tranquil sea loch
an on going contention with the birds
the Seagulls band together as one flock
turning a deaf ear to the Heron's words

they say the Heron's are not decisive
when crucial decisions have to be made
Robins and Sparrows become divisive
Ducks are no longer happy in their shade

the Hooded Crows are just far too greedy
angrily grabbing up all of the food
Mistle Thrushes have become the needy
and the Blackbirds are not a happy brood

from on high the Eagle sees everything
"you're acting like children" the Wise Owl cried
the Finches and Wagtails join in and sing
"time to close ranks, it's the turn of the tide"

Haiku - Nature

trees fall in the woods
brambles thrive on the dead trunks
life always moves on.

Let go! ( A threnody for grudge bearers )

Blown to pieces by your own pockets of pride
deep down you know, that to yourself you have lied
you had a friend once but that ended in a spat
so you hold on to the hate and stroke it like a cat

but as time sails on by and our age advances
you're left with two clenched fists and many lost chances
can't you offload the baggage so you can walk light
then your sleep will be a lot more peaceful at night

we acknowledge our own sin's imperfection
we take anti-biotics to fight off infection
so put your grudge in a stone and give it a good throw
I think today would be a good day to 'let go!'

The Meadow

Tell me, are you coming down to the Meadow?
I don't think that you've ever been there before
on a sun beaten track your life is aglow
the nature at your side I know you'll adore

you smile to yourself for so many reasons
as pathways converge where butterflies settle
you were inspired by all of the seasons
when golden rays bathed every scented petal

to be given the gift of time and space
and a shadowy copse o'er a pool of green
where Damsels lie down in bluebell embrace,
speak only to your past, the future's unseen

the shaking of the sheets in life's short moment
loitering a while to point out an old friend
exuberant stillness of nature's lament
they all come down to the meadow in the end.

Ladybird

Honing yourself on a blade of grass
your royal red wings are in a different class
now you move up and down my finger
before harsh winds sweep, you linger
we enjoyed your books and your dot-to-dots
crystalline wings and little black spots
though childhood's gone and many summers pass
those fingers are just like blades of grass.

A Hedgehog's tale

After our dance of the sexes on a front lawn at midnight
the early hours settled with the silence of a veil
the Bats flickered and the Rabbits played with a wholesome jollity
it seemed like nothing could marr our happiness
but disaster struck on the edge of our territory
my new found love was killed by a wreckless car driver!!!
In blind panic I headed for a residential housing estate on my patch
there I stretched my stiffened senses and gathered my far flung thoughts together
it wasn't long before I could hear the plaintive song of the Blackbird
I feasted on a little bread and milk
although this does give me a poorly tummy
but after a few delicious brambles it settled down.
There I sat in silent repose in my own secret world
the daisies bloomed as the rising sun spread the colour of life
the mist that had settled like incense had now all but vanished.
I pondered how uncertain life is for a Hedgehog and tonight I would find a new mate.
I then left the cosy seclusion of the hedge, I had a score to settle
that Marmalade, a house Cat called me a cactus on legs!
For this I was going to parade around and tease her with my spikes
and just for devilment, gobble up all her food! So cautiously off I went,
galovanting along through the Postman's snicket, across the field, avoiding early morning Dog walkers, through a gap in the fence that nobody knows about and there under the dripping overhang of Honeysuckle, stuffing her fat face was... Marmalade
yet to my astonishment for no apparent reason, she dashed through the cat flap
the planets were in perfect alignment - her food is now mine
but oh how I should have heeded the wise counsel of Owl
I turned round as there was a rustle behind me - a Fox!
Gripped in terror my little heart missed a beat
I quickly clambered over a melee of oscitant garden furniture
but slipped into a child's football net
the more I screamed and struggled  and swore
the more hopelessly entangled I became
I was on the point of accidentally hanging myself, what a way to go
just then the Window Cleaner appeared and saw my plight
he heard my squeals and proceeded to take a sharp blade out of his pouch
he gingerly cut through the string and saved my life
Marmalade looked on behind the security of two glass doors
it was such a wonderful feeling to be free
I thanked the Window Cleaner in my own kind of way
whether he realised or not I will never know.

post script - it left a gaping hole in the net but I never received any dodgy feedback from the customer.


Ephemeral

A huge Pine tree fell in the woods
it had been there for decades
nobody saw it fall, or even heard it
or even cared
but the woods knew

A lady died of breast cancer
she was only 36
she braved the storm
her family grieved
and the trees in the woods bowed their heads.

in memory of Paula Thorn.

The Thistle  (for Carol W, who "just loves thistles"!)

A beautiful flower midst an evil landscape
ripped out in anger as their plans slowly take shape
the cry of the Thistle could be heard from afar
but soon they will find out just how sharp those thorns are

the bruises brought forth many sons that were scattered
loyalty to the Thistle was all that really mattered
the sons numbered thousands and had daggers drawn
for vengeance for the 'crown of thorns' that they all scorn

but the Thistle was moved to a much higher place
where the Manslayer had earlier fallen from grace
now Angels are reapers and dance to their tune we must
for the ones who opposed him will soon return to the dust

as many sharp thorns pierce through the blackness of night
to make night into day and replace wrong with right
as the Thistle's purpose is gradually unfurled
to bring beautiful flowers into a peaceful new world.

For a Grey Wagtail

chattering like youths in undulating flight
that looping the loop was an awesome sight
your peers eat mostly worms and insect fayre
yet you catch Damsels as they fly through the air!
Then returning to patient stones in the loch
to plan your next sortie and feed your young stock.
Cataracts of grey in a yellow cascade
I appoint you Queen of the fashion parade.

Minutae 3

i. Browsing through old photographs
   footprints that were almost washed away
   outlined with melancholy
   because you were happy then

ii. A bulldozed track through wilderness is sacrilege
    but when you've been lost for ages
    wondering around void of hope
    what a joy it is to find a track!

iii. Throwing bread to the Ducks
      they all stick closely together
      a happy united family
      because they know they're loved.

iv. Lined up like school children about to go into class
      all sat on a line drawn with the Masters ruler
      an array of random white brush strokes
      breaking up a ceiling of monotonous blue

v. The sun has just set behind the hills
    but the ambient light
    fools the aerial orchestra in the trees
    to linger a little while longer.

On Gairloch Pier

A happy little girl on Gairloch pier
comes bounding along, Barbie doll in her hand
she knows that her Parents are somewhere near
cheery enough platoon and united band.
Now with her Grandad watching the boats come in
her mind's distracted by a strange little boy
he looks a lot older than his childish grin
but Downs Syndrome in no way negates his joy

she sensed something different about that little boy

just recently I walked on Gairloch pier
that wee girl became the Barbie in her hand
oblivious that her Parents are still near
because 'nearness' became a far distant land
the boundaries were set as time wove it's frame
o'er shielinged boxes and memories held dear
I wish we could go back and start a new game
there were once happy times on Gairloch pier

you can't let go of memories that you hold dear.

Nearly Spring

The squeaking mantra of a child on a swing
a Christmas card Robin has started to sing
making our peace with the rear vanguard past
like scattered rays of sun you know will ne'er last
Aconites gather under swaying Daffodils
as colour cascades from old people's window sills
Orange Tips fold their wings in the long grass
waiting for the final cold front to pass
the sound of a distant lawn mower's hum
beckoning an endless Summer to come
dappled light in the tree tops and a squawking Jay
effectively end another 'nearly spring' day.

Looking out of the window

I used to look out of the window when I was at school
and get into trouble for it
mesmerized by the Peak District and longed to be there.
When I was older I worked in a factory
again I spent ages looking out of the window
longing to peruse the Lincolnshire countryside.
As an adult I look out of our council house window
at other council houses
longing to be lost on some lonely Scottish hills.
The rake has indeed reaped but the blade hasn't mown
time hasn't quite gilded it's crafty frame
yet Highland glens call out my name.
When we look out of the window we are really looking deep within
deep within our roots
deep within our fascinations
deep within our goals, our hopes
when I was a child I used to look out of the window
it's a pity people don't look out of the window anymore.

KTDA, Markles x.