Leadership and other thoughts, August 2012
He had the giftWe felt the liftSmiling as you metLaughing as we left
Time for only you aloneFor in that momentYou were the only oneIt was simply you and him
How was it that you feltDid resistance melt?It may have been a spellNo one could really tell
But no one caredAnd no one sparedTheir joyful givingFor the cause was living
Tired but happy fools perhapsEcstasy and agonyMattered not a bitContent to serveA cause bigger than ourselves
Seize the day, squeeze it dryDrink the sun while it’s highSmell the beans, enjoy the tasteGrasp the moment, none to waste.
Embrace the person, next to youGive one last hug, it might be trueYou can save your money, but not your timeI may be poor but the ‘now’ is mine
For money blinds and dulls the sightLooking the wrong way with all it's mightI've got today, that's all maybeI’ve got you, that’s enough for me
The startling cloudsAll black and goldSit on the Dublin HillsThey threaten and give joy
What holds him backFrom seeing Dublin Bay again?Written in his heartStrangled by strange pride
The passing years build up the wallAnd lower the rampart floorA virtue is fashioned needlessly
Quietly at night the familiar callsOf sea gull and of cormorant
Gone forever the three steeplesOf Glasthule and Dun LaoghaireThe handsome granite piersHewn from Dalkey quarry
And all the while the clouds bank upLayer by layer over Sandymount StrandGone and gone is Dun Leary of the soulA bitter price for artistic pride
The August evening sun peeps aboveAnd hugs the gentle watersLicking handsome terraced housesKeeping watch over a changing sea
Ireland of his youthDublin of his dreamsNow but the artists paletteIn a coast less land
Early hint of autumn in Churchtown, Dublin 14
Sitting here in the shadeOf the spreading treeIn leafy Castle ParkCar door and windows openA gentle breezeRustles the leavesBeneath the pale blue china skyA warming sunFull of August promiseThe first few leavesOf the early Irish autumnScurry along the pavementLike playful schoolboysHurrying nowhere in particularWith carefree insoucianceAnd joyful innocence.
This magic momentOnly came to beThrough a haircutFor an aging ladyOf almost ninety threeConfused of days and hoursBravely facing loss of powersThe common fate of missingThe early death of friendsThe nether coin sideOf the doubtful blessingOf advanced old age.
Is how we liveThe path to how we age?And do we dieTo live again?In that same styleWith little partsThat echo GodWhatever that may mean
A pigeon callsIn Castle ParkIn trees aboveThe handsome homesAnd gleaming carsA man with silver hairCleans clubs with careAnd sounds of grass being cutAre punctured by the Angelus bellFrom Churchtown church
Midday soundsThere is sleepy sunny peace aroundWhile hair is cutAnd ladies prolong their style