I've been feeling wiped out recently and now I'm off work with the worst dose of flu I've had, in quite some time, as if the interminable gloom of January wasn't bad enough. We've had some snow recently and it is a welcome sight to see the white dusted fields of Croaghan Hill and the ermine covered shoulders of Knockavoe. It certainly helps to relieve the grey misery of the longest month of the year.
If I wasn't so sick, I'd be off to Gortin Glen with my camera but my energy levels are at their lowest and a even walk to the local shop feels like a marathon. There's nothing I hate more than being sick, except maybe the Tories. Hmm, I think that's a good sign, the political pulse is still working!
Anyway, I was to post more of John's poems over Christmas but between work and the general strains of the season I didn't get around to it so here is another one.
This poem is called FOR SEAN, I don't know who Sean was, I'm assuming he was a friend of Johns and it was written in June 1977, the year of the Queen's Jubilee and the Sex Pistols, Vive le Punk Rock! I remember it well!
For Sean
Your shoulder stuttered
under the varnished pine.
The weight was elsewhere.
It blurred the aisle
with your rampant tears.
Helpless from a pew
I looked on at
a bearer conceived
at a healthier happier time.
The sun was stubborn,
out of place and order.
It was a sad day in May.