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Wipe out

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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.

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Weddin

Gortin Glen

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Edited by Aideen Devine, Thursday, 1 Sep 2022, 12:36

I wrote this poem last night. I was trying to get to sleep and I started to think about Gortin Glen where I like to go to ramble around and get away from the stresses of life.

I was trying to relax my mind and unwind my body, and then the first line came to me and so I got up again to write this.   

Gortin Glen 

Standing 

In the quiet of the forest

Breathing in -

the silent scent of pine and fir

Softening

the hard edges of a life on edge.

Breathing out -

Tension and tightness unwinding

with each tentative step

on the needled floor,

as moisture laden mosses

drip gently into rivulets, running

to a strengthening stream,

gathering all the cares and

worries of the world away.

Away,

to dissipate in distant seas,

as I step softly across

the sweetened grass.

Gently now, slowly now,

My soul is restored.

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