You'll often see them running
and chasing across the plains,
a rabbit skipping and laughing
at an eagle, in great pains.

But why's the eagle running,
surely he can fly?
Sadly he’s afraid of heights
and frightened he may die.

An eagle that can't fly,
well surely that's not right,
it's just like having an owl
who won't come out at night.

But then one day the rabbit stopped
and said, “I've had enough”,
he waited for the eagle
who by now was out of puff.

“Why can you not fly my friend,
there must be a better way,
all this running so doing you in,
especially twice a day”.

“I will not fly and I'll tell you why”,
the eagle had stopped for a rest,
“I have a horrible fear of heights,
since I fell from my mother’s nest”.

“It’s ok for you just sitting there,
chewing on your carrot
but just you try catching
a pigeon or a parrot!”

“Well why don't you just change your food;
try veggies for a while?”
The eagle replied, “Are you serious?”
and couldn't help but smile.

“It’s not as daft as you may think;
it's clever, if I may say,
it'll save you all the running around,
veggies can't run away!”

The eagle thought and with a grin
ran off as fast as fast as he could.
“Where are you going?” the rabbit called.
“I’m off to find some spuds!”


Written by Darren Scanlon, 4th January 2014.
Revised 18th July 2015.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

Memories of old,
flooding fast through my mind,
some tinged with sadness
and some, sweet sublime.

A fireside reverie shared
with eyes so bright,
an audience of innocence
and excited delight.

The crackling logs  
on the fires of time,
the little rapt faces as
you feed them a line.

Of thunder, lightning,
and rain as we run!
Football, toy-fighting,
such laughter and fun.

Flying a kite that
you made on your own
out of bin bags and tape
and canes tied and bowed.

A dam in the brook,
fighting flowing water
with rocks, wood
and uncontrolled laughter.

Till finally plugged,
the waters rise
deeper and wider
before delighted eyes.

Then comes the challenge,
“Who can burst the dam?”
No touching allowed,
just throw what you can.

Bricks and sticks
and boulders and all,
sploshing and splashing
they uselessly fall.

But the water's still rising
and there's panic in our eyes,
it'll soon reach the road,
“Better run for our lives!”

But wait, what’s this,
could this do the trick?
As long as a gate post
and three times as thick.

We wrestle and heave
and drag it uphill,
pushing and pulling
and testing our will.

Till finally atop and
we let out a sigh,
this might just work,
“We'll give it a try”.

Straining and grunting
and chuckling with glee
as we swing it between us,
one...two...three!

With a whoosh and a crack
our dam is no more
as the post breaks its back
and we’re laughing on the floor.

Such innocent times,
that can still make me grin,
they live in the mind
of the sweet child within.



Written by Darren Scanlon, March 2011.
This revised version written, 17th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

Awake, I listen to the wind run her fingers through the curtains,
as they twist and tremble,
and feel the cold tendrils of her breath brush my tired sleepless eyes.

There is a taste of rain on the edge of it.

Rain that will wash away
yesterday,
today and tomorrow.

Rain that is infinite- particles recycled over and over again.

A taste of centuries,
the tendrils of time
retelling the same stories;
our long breaths of sorrow,
our short gasps of joy-
all set on repeat
to cycle around
again and again..

Have we felt this same despair
for eons?
Will we still dance
with this same darkness
for eons to come?

Will we still ask the same
unanswerable
questions about life
only for the rain
once again
to come and wash them away
with our falling tears- infinite particles
passing through
our finite
momentary
lives.

To hold you up
if you start to fall
and fly to your side
whenever you call.

To hold you close
when dark closes in,
I’ll feed your heart
and beat from within.

To feel your warmth
and the glow of your smile,
when the clouds are parted
we can see for miles.

To hold your hand
through life's testing times,
to shield and protect
on those slippery climbs

And once the crest
has again been achieved,
to watch you sleep,
see you smile; be relieved.


Written by Darren Scanlon, 15th December 2013.
Revised 16th July 2015.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
http://www.darrenscanlon.wordpress.com

As the sun peeps out
over misty morning hills
and the dawn chorus calls
with its piercing shrill,
the demons of the night
skulk slowly away,
a sidelong glance
at the few who got away.

He rises and stretches
and with sleepy eyes,
breathes a sigh of relief
and a laughing surprise.
The nightmare lingers
in his foggy mind
until a final shiver
leaves the shadows behind.

He opens the curtains
and bathes in the sun,
the heat of all life;
a new day begun.
Out in the garden
playful squirrels flee,
across the lawn
and up into the trees.

A breath of fresh
and life giving air,
the trickling brook
near the fox’s lair.
The sighing sounds
from the tallest trees
as the leaves are rustled
by the morning breeze.

He stares out in wonder
at the glorious scene
as a Blackbird serenades
the woman of its dreams.
But beyond his control
and outside of his will
the doubts creep back in
with a slow stealthy chill.

Why must there be
so much pain in the world;
such hate and division
as the colours unfurl?
There’s so much to see,
to feel and to love,
from the ground at our feet
to the skies up above.

When did mankind
lose the will to live;
to help one another;
to share; to give;
to feel compassion
for sisters & brothers,
for family; for kinfolk;
for any and all others?

Do we no longer care
for the ones who surround,
ignoring their pleas
and heart-breaking sounds?
When did we lose
the ability to be
the ones to help
the persecuted, flee?

Defend the weak,
the young and old.
When did our hearts
stop caring; grow cold?
We are born to this world
as equal souls,
before slowly sinking
down a hate-filled hole.

Us and them;
must it always be,
does the time draw near
when we all have to flee?
The land of the free
is in shackles & chains,
they’ve sold us all
down the desolate drains.

With a sigh of resignation
he shrugs and turns away,
the dawn is dying;
the skies turning grey.
A dark storm approaching
from the distant horizon,
is it the tumult of death
and dangerous division?

There’s a wave of despair
that is too hard to fight,
its better to sleep through
the oncoming night
so behind damp eyes
he retreats and hides,
as the shadows return
where the demons reside.

Beyond the panes,
the sky turns to coal,
The Reaper is laughing,
collecting his souls.
A bountiful harvest
for the gates of hell,
yet there, in the distance,
the toll of a bell?



Written by Darren Scanlon, 23rd August 2014.
Revised 13th July 2015.
©2014 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

If you see a distant star
in the evening sky
and you shiver from the chill night air,
yet you feel a warmth
in the depth of your heart,
then you know that I am still there.

When your tears have dried,
the bed has grown cold
and you're feeling lost and adrift,
when the days feel empty
and the nights far too long,
just remember, I gave you a gift.

A lifetime of memories
below a rainbow of love,
hearts like spring rain
as they fall from above,
to cover the ground
around your sweet feet,
a carpet of love;
every one a heartbeat.

For I promised you once,
long ago, far away,
that I would always be there,
never falter, never stray.

To my vow I hold firm
and we never shall part,
for I live deep within
every beat of your heart.



Written by Darren Scanlon, October 2013.
Revised 13th July 2015.
© 2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved