standing there
so silently with
a pensive stare

while outside the
magnolia blossoms
in the morning air

kwan yin
is it true
are you the madonna
with her baby blue

beneath the forest's canopy
he lays there so resplendently
amongst the ferns and the vines
evoking the true poetic line

where did he come from
and do you think he knew
the painted turtles and
how the trilliums grew
beyond the fence all
tumbled down ...

let's bow our heads
not make a sound

for the dead red fox
for the little black pool
for the poet's art
and how beauty rules

my heart breaks upon your bending beach
i thought i was beyond your bright reach
how can i come back there the way i am
how can i surrender unto the older man

some wild face told me that life is cruel
that you only climb mountains to be a fool
why do you call me, i'm all dreamed out
shining blue lake, what was it all about

you know i would be there if i could
i would build you a fire of dry driftwood
sing your praises to the cool night breeze
shining blue lake of my infancy

a lean green pumpkin we couldn't sell
some late tomatoes beside the trail
a purple cabbage i used to pass by
some lonely leeks as blue as i

there's still a few beets, carrots too
tiny bell peppers for an autumn stew
and garlic and herbs growing wild
for savory sauces strong and mild

it makes me sad but i will not frown
at another summer winding down
i'll count my blessings and my seeds
and of winter take no heed

the clocks turn back
and i'm on track
driving in my car

those were the days
that turn of the phrase
ferries us to our graves

when we were young
and it was all to be done
we were nobody's slaves

just up ahead
the sick and the dead
the dreamers on the curb

if i had my youth
because i have the truth
if i only had the nerve

oh, what was it that
she always said
you have your dreams
you make your bed

to sleep to sleep
my grandmother calls
to close your eyes
against it all

to sleep to sleep
perchance to dream
my grandmother laughs
then mends a scene

to sleep to sleep
that's what she said
oh, grandmother dear
are you grateful dead

how green the grass
that rolls thy way
little red barn
you bless my days

how great the bough
that shades thy roof
little red barn
is beauty truth

little red barn
here comes the rain
i'll set thy picture
in a silver frame

run dog run
chase the beams
that taunt the wood
with ghostly scenes

true is my heart
beating night
run white dog
spread your light

perhaps love will be waiting
at the end of a green street
i'll have my poetry to guide me
and the friends i shall meet

i'll miss the two old ladies
across the frail red fence
their kind words saved me
yes, made all the difference

and i'll miss this old house
that's seen so many seers
i'll leave behind blue flowers
watered with bright tears

the birds know i'm leaving
i can read it in their flight
i'll sleep beside black rivers
dream away dark nights

for the ice is on
the leaves and grass
and has turned my
garden into glass

if ever there was
a demon here
he only left
his frozen tears

i clap my hands
and stamp my feet
the river's lovely
it makes you weep

i exit slowly
across fresh snow
the river's lovely
but i must go

back o'er the bridge
that brought me here
the river's lovely
this time of year

one day
i would grow up
and not be the same
i would walk in sunshine
and not in the rain

why do we look back
and do we really change
there are so many others
out in the streets again

do they feel the raindrops
or only their dark pain
we're all stalking shadows
playing memory games

i have brought
a little red cake
from the old grey bakery
down the old grey street
and a thermos of strong coffee
from her favorite store
where they brew every blend
and so much more
and place my offerings
beside the pile
of half-smudged lines
and discarded smiles
and wait for her heart
to glow, to mend
when i'll be welcomed back
to her warm eyes again

and she'll whisper
this one's from long ago
though it's only been
a few quiet hours
since she felt it so

now he sits ragged before me
this doomed prophet in corduroy
dispensing hard-earned knowledge
to anyone who'll pay the price

it's hot outside
the sun is peering in the tiny
window behind his wild head
recharging the pale halo that
accompanies him to these dark places
to testify upon his behalf
to communicate the presence
of a glorious past
of a man who loved or was loved
who betrayed or was betrayed
who somehow survived the temptation
to end the comic quest

my hand shakes as i reach for my wallet
i push some bills across the table
hope he won't waste it all
that he might use some of it
to buy a bus ticket to get the hell
out of this uncompromising town
but he smiles and pushes the money back
rises slowly like a ghost
fades beyond the busy doorway into
another part of the sprawling bar

i wipe away a tear
a few grey hairs from my cashmere coat
nod to the pretty waitress and
raise my half-filled glass
to drink to the brotherhood of men

she walks by the water
with the wind in her hair
my heart is a pebble
my soul a prayer

what does it matter
i'm almost dead
the little white house
the big brass bed

she smiles forever
i know this now
we'll feed the chickens
and milk the cows

this sun in the window
these grey city streets
i will leave tomorrow
her little white feet

she knows i'll be coming
there'll be apple pies
and tears in the meadow
and no more goodbye

full of wonder
full of life
soon to be the
loving wife

i close my eyes
to hide the tears
that come to fight
the angry years

and feel the breeze
of her passing there
like the healing balm
of a favoured prayer

it had faded in the middle
where we used to press our bodies
i was getting too sentimental
i had to say goodbye

should i let them know
or guard my light

is she beautiful
is he wrong or right

am i dutiful
is loneliness bright

all is calm
except my thought

they left me
they left me naught

calling from
dark places
the ancestral
show

this life
my life
has but
one goal

sudden emotion
the overflow

her eyes fill
the dam is bursting
it's more than the car
it's everything else
that has conspired to
drown her

my smile betrays me
i say i'm sorry
but how sorry can i be
it wasn't me out there
on the 401 wondering
if i would be raped or
tortured or murdered
if i dared to stop
to let the engine cool

so i say she did
what she had to do
that i would have done
the same thing
but i don't believe
my own words
because i would have done
what i would have done
when i saw the warning light

it's easier for a man
he can stop in the darkest night
take his chances
smoke another stale cigarette
make a deal with the devil
if he has to
or walk away from it all
counting stars
shooting into the abyss
without having to whisper
a desperate prayer

tomorrow we will look
for a rebuilt motor
forgive each other
for our driven lives

life is cruel
that's what some old man said
when i was too busy being young
now his ghost taunts me
when i turn my head to watch
how the years have been kind

thank God these tears
did not betray me
thank God you passed me by
i stopped to have a beer
and a piece of humble pie

now John and Mary call out to me
saying don't forget the family tree
and i the poet that needs to know
stare at the place where i shall go

i'll plant shamrocks beside the door
and step so softly across the floor
to peer through windows of my soul
upon green fields and sunset glow

yes, near the river across the sea
the old homestead waits for me
all the answers i will have at last
when i go wandering in the past

layer upon layer they rest in state
to know a great hunger was their fate
for that was Ireland's saddest hour
they knew no glory in the flower

how can we in the here and now
stand and stare beneath the bough
turn our backs on all that's past
how can we lie upon the grass

oh, should you go to Longford town
please heed the bells when they sound
and bow your head and say a prayer
and be glad you still can breath the air

of battles fought and won
beneath an Irish sun
why i hear the fall of feet
upon her ennobled streets

it would not be so hard
to live in old Granard
to paint with measured grace
every gravely haunting face

for out of her dark misery
i'd record a great history
let tear and heavy heart
the pipes of mourning start

oh, to be a bard
and live in old Granard
to sing the songs of men
who'd give their lives again

in seven dark castles of my home
my ancestors spoke in solemn tones
knowing that they would have no say
when there comes the judgement day

and history did deal my lords a blow
so ask the monks to whisper low
beside their beds and down the halls
by Abbeylara's ancient walls

when trembling souls bow their heads
to speak in tongues unto the dead
i sense the time before the fall
by Abbeylara's ancient walls

i turned to say the time of day
and heard my ancestors cry
don't be a fool at Abbeyshrule
come learn before you die

come pray with us come stay with us
come sing our praises for a while
we filled this place with loving grace
come walk the ghostly aisles

the wind blew cool at Abbeyshrule
the water it did seem to glide
i was warmed by their Irish charm
and followed them inside

he fell at Granard
a bullet found its mark
he died for his country
a true rebel at heart

his loyal mare reared up
and danced in the mud
but he laid there still
in the name of spilt blood

so she turned and fled
back to their humble home
without her loving master
afraid and alone

when the rebellion ended
and they counted the costs
Ireland was still captive
for the rabble had lost

and the story of Black Bess
and the miles that she ran
is a story of great hunger
crossing that great land