Monthly Archives: November 2013

When Justin was a baby

he could see between the skies

oftentimes a dreamy gaze

would infiltrate his eyes

But now that he has found his Maebhe
and made himself a plan
I’ve got to say the girl has turned
the boy into a man

And there will be time for dreaming
Somewhere, farther down the line
And I know he will recall again
Back there, and that nice time.

Ruth, I hear you have the longest main st in australia 12k. We hear all in lisnacree . I get all the lowdown online to follow your itinerary.wiki tells me there is maybe a social experiment going on in mildura with so many races thrown together.at least they have a golf course and a pool.good that you met some nice folk on your travels.planted some garlic in january and the shoots are about a foot high and should .just be ready for your practiced skills in september. And some tomatoes too .do they grow many spuds.ha ha..good character  building stuff with a little italian thrown in.but the weeks will fly by and you will look back on these days and smile. Maeve binchy died only last year she was a native of south dublin not what you might call a serious writer but popular and very successful.she used often be on talk shows promoting her latest novel and she could talk for ireland.have been reading some of your books from the university bookshop sale,irish writers too james clarence mangan and william trevor.happy days.no people on earth possess a sensibility like the folk from the west of ireland.i came across a great poem written by anthony raftery for mary hynes who was thought to be the most beautiful girl in the west.you can see liam clancys version on u tube .we”ll just change her name to ruth. sarah has a monopoly with the mourne observer and she and kirsty have taken to pounding the pavement around the mill road. sophie has caused a minor eruption in attical if the tooting of car horns past our gate is anything to go by.young and old alike are reassessing their existence and her casual remarks are repeated as gospel. she got me two corporate tickets for balmoral show at the maze.justin is ambling around canary wharf for a few weeks and has threatened to take me golfing on his return.he bought a new set of clubs and can really clout a ball.but i will take his money.ella lost her bank card but has a number of accounts, fortunately. liverpool has worked wonders and she is progressing on all fronts if she can only survive the hazards of british airways.she will be home again about the time you have worn out your first pair of overalls.(sorry, couldnt resist).i knew you wouldnt need all those bikinis .

Little Ella bella she sure could yella yella

you could never tella was she poor or wella

Or just a bit rebella mad at oh!, any fella

who stole her pink umbrella

or spilt her sweet paella

made her scratch her left patella

She could raise a high fandango

or stomp a stroppy tango

the party could go mango

inducing some crossa bada lango

never heard in wild Durango

hells bells! English-Irish slango

Ah!, those days.But now,such pleasure

she’s transformed into a treasure

entertains us all at leisure

grace and beauty beyond measure

with laughing eyes,green ,hazel,azure

folks are bereft about Rostrevor

they love her,as do we,forever

she might have been a fella

love Ella,bella Ella

,bella,bella, Ella.

Little Ella bella

Di Chirico( he liked Nietzsche)

Calvino said it beautifully
We sat around a sink
Then Mother Nature she arose
And poured us all a drink.
Then we got up and squabbled
Like pebbles on a beach
With things that command desire
Hung just beyond our reach.

Impelled by space and substance
Too much to understand
Like waves spilling from the sea
And singing on the sand.
Dissonant and jumbled
A melody sublime
Echoes here at present
Escaping out of time.

And then a silence gathers
Within and all around
Is it just the tide has turned
To an ancient order bound
Or are we overtaken
By a rushing universe
Remote, cold, indifferent
Or more plainly, just perverse.

And offered up in sacrifice
To a unity undefined
That we, now, being part of it
Cannot ourselves divine
By accident or purpose
This world ,still, spins so swift
So little time to wonder
To ponder Nature’s thrift.

Them high old Rocky Mountains
they think they’ve seen it all
but they’ve never seen Joe Ireland
rise up to fetch a ball

So right it was, in passing
to shout up and let them know
that compared to Mourne’s mountains
they have still some way to go

They have weathered ice ages
succoured the grizzly bear
smiled content as Sitting Bull
lured Custer to his lair

But know not of Gaelic football
never heard of County Down
are ignorant of a Kingdom
that wears a Celtic crown

Their heartbeat never quickened
as the ball was thrown up
when St. Louis’ gallant schoolboys
fought for MacRory’s cup

Where under Donard’s shadow
by Bignian’s craggy height
they might have caught a glimpse
of young Irishmen in flight

A flight that honours Indians
and madmen from the ‘Stone
and boys from Ballymartin
even lads from far Tyrone

And win or lose,no matter
they learned to play the game
to try to win with style and grace
if they lost,to do the same.