She’s the one we could rely on
when things were sorely scarce,
to always find a way to get by
when it went from bad to worse.

She’s the one true matriarch,
the gel at the center of all,
never too far away from us;
never more than a call.

Sacrificing all she had,
for us, her flesh and blood,
always standing second place
to the family’s common good.

She’s the one who bore the pain
and then kept us safe and warm,
to make it through the cold and rain,
protecting us from harm.

She held our hands so tightly
through all the scary times;
our first days at nursery school,
stood in terrified lines.

And at the end of every day
when we'd really had enough,
she'd be stood at the door waiting
with a heart so full of love.

...

When illness struck
me down so hard;
laid up and oh, so low,

I had the comfort
of knowing she
would never let me go.

Yet on that long
and lonely night
so many years ago,

when deaths dark door
stood slightly ajar,
beckoning me to go,

my overriding memory;
much more than
my own fears,

was the lost and mournful sound
of her beseeching,
terrified tears.

...

As we go about our daily lives,
through times so thick and thin,
through pure and innocent laughter
and such pain from deep within.

From days of sunshine and flowers,
to wind and driving snow,
there is one thing sure and for certain;
one thing that we always know.

She is the bedrock of our lives
and the one above all others,
the one we can always turn to;
she’s our sweet and loving Mother.



Written by Darren Scanlon, May 2013.
Revised 4th August 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

The glint of steel, so sharp and smooth,
beneath my fragile fingers.
Delicate inlaid patterns reflect
an afterimage that lingers.

As a child I’d hide beneath cotton sheets
feigning death, that I could deceive.
Then risking a peep from beneath my shield,
oh, how my poor young heart grieved.

For in the corner of my eye
and with a silent cry,
it was watching.

Who might it be and what does it want,
this eternally elusive guest?
A featureless face on the fleeting form,
silence is all I can wrest.

For many long hours and countless years,
I pondered its persistent gaze.
I sense no malice; no dark intent
and yet, it remains, unfazed.

In the corner of my eye,
and with a silent cry,
just watching.

And now as I drown in the depths of despair,
it reflects in the cold steel’s knell.
Has it waited for the day that I kiss the bold blade
and bid my torment farewell?

Come, silent stranger, you need no longer hide
as my time is finally here.
Have you nothing to say, will you lead the way,
for, as I, you have nothing to fear?

With no cutting remark,
it stays there, in the dark.

Just waiting?

*


Written by Darren Scanlon, 15th June 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

What sad weary eyes we have
that see, in all the world,
such poverty and pointless pain.
Would not the sunlight bathe upon it
if we simply look again?

For the eye of the beholder
may choose the depth of tint
we see, through a rose coloured lens.
A hint of fanciful forms,
as they filter the rays they sense.

From beneath the haze
of the shimmering sun,
lies beauty, long forgot.
Or is it simply a mirage,
cavorting through rays far too hot?

Skies of deep azure
with clouds of cumulous mass
drifting lazily on the breeze.
Picturesque landscapes of floral palette,
until winters frosty frieze.

Glorious forests of glazed art,
twinkling icicles, like baubles
on the trees of December.
Wondrous days of innocence pure;
of younger days remembered.

Beasts wandering wild and free
in bountiful wooded wonderlands
of willow, beach and pine.
Snowflakes join to form a blanket
of majestic patterns, sublime.

Meandering melt-water streams
flowing, afresh with new life;
untainted and abundant.
A world reborn of marvelous magic,
colours and scents, resplendent.

≈
To look upon a world in pain
and see beneath the silken shrouds
to the beauty lying below.
The scent of love, life and passion
is there for all to bestow.

We need to look from behind
eyes that want to see,
the life that we need, restored.
As a composer, creating the music of life,
is prepared to re-write the score.

*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 15th November 2014.
Revised 27th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.
http://www.darrenscanlon.wordpress.com

To feel her warm and gentle hand
upon your smiling face,
her tender loving caress is like
a sweet and soothing grace.

Teasing, as your fingers
trace a tantalizing trek
along her silken stockings
as you tenderly kiss her neck.

Gazing into enchanting eyes
so deep with dark desire,
whirling pools of life and lust,
dancing in dangerous fires.

A hint of honey on lips so full
and a warm and willing sigh,
a teasing tongue slips slowly across
crimson curves, daring to defy.

Inhaling her sweet
and succulent scent,
as she moans and leans in close,
so delicately sweet;
so soft and gentle,
a shimmering summer rose.

The susurrant sound
of her breathless voice
as she whispers into your ear,
her words so soft
and suggestively sweet,
yet unmistakably clear.

She rises slowly
and takes your hand
with a beckoning
tilt of her head,
leading you away
to the far off lands
waiting warmly
within her soft bed.

Wherever she leads
with her sultry smile,
you will willingly
welcome the chase,
just to feel her warmth
and wallow within
misty moments,
of a lovers embrace.


Written by Darren Scanlon, 1st March 2015.
Revised 25th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

The whistle blows to sound the charge
and over the top they bustle and barge,
covered from head to toe in mud
and soon tainted with flesh and blood.

Up the ladder with slippery rungs,
a scream of rage from terror filled lungs,
adrenalin coursing through every vein
with the fear of not coming back again.

Knee-deep mud ******* boots from feet,
tangled in barbed wire, feel a blast of heat
as a shell explodes just off to the right,
leaving in its wake such a dreadful sight.

Bullets whining and whizzing by
calling the names of those who must die,
screams for help from men in distress,
their lives torn apart in the horrible mess.

Distant machine-gun fire from a bunker,
shells and grenades exploding like thunder.
Looking for shelter to weather the storm
and praying he won't come to any harm,

a private, no more than twenty years old,
who joined the forces, feeling gallant and bold,
now shaking with shock and confused disbelief,
just stumbling and mumbling in mortified grief.

His heart skips a beat; his eyes open wide,
a smoky shell crater; a place to hide.
He dives down, into the shattered remains
of fathers and sons without any names.

The bile is rising along with his fear
as he senses his breaking point is quite near,
alone in a world of death and destruction,
ducking down and beseeching redemption.

A boom to the left, the ground heaves and shakes
and that final shell is the shock that breaks,
as a scream wells up from deep down inside
that is far too hysterical; too terrified to hide.

Breaking right through the walls within
and carried aloft on cacophonous din,
eyes squeezed shut to block out the sight
as he enters a world of eternal night.

The whistle blows to signal retreat
and men bathed in death are now on their feet,
running and slipping on the lives of their friends,
aware that each heartbeat could yield a dead end.

From the crater he watches with a vacant stare,
he's no longer afraid for he's no longer there.
Snuggling deep into his mother's embrace
as he gazes up into her sweet smiling face.

Curling up into a fetal ball,
he doesn't register the Sergeants call.
He's lifted and carried to be safe from harm,
saved by his friends; his brothers in arms.

*
Written by Darren Scanlon, 6th June 2014.
Revised 23rd July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

The child in his arms, such a precious gift,
her sweet little smile would make his heart lift.
Born into a love that none could compare,
baby blue eyes framed with curly blonde hair.

Conceived and born on such love filled days,
from the moment he held her he was blown away.
His heart did a flip and his smile was so wide,
his devotion to his daughter could not be denied.

And he looks on down to the rocks below,
waves crashing over as a cold wind blows.
His mind is adrift from a soul torn apart and
a lump of cold dread where once was a heart.

Her eyes never dulled for she always had a grin,
never a bad word did she have for him.
A bond so strong and a love so entire,
her Daddy would cradle her when she was tired.

He’d always be there to support her in all,
he’d pick her up whenever she’d fall,
laughing, singing and playing in the park
but storm clouds were soon to make it turn dark.

And the glistening rocks washed by tidal attack,
the wind is now rising and pushing him back.
His mind is flying, far out to sea,
his soul is crying out to be free.

The debilitating fear as they stood by her bed,
a mother and father with eyes cried red.
The knowledge; a curse as they counted the days,
not really knowing what to do or say.

The clock on the wall slowly ticking away
the moments of life till the end of her days.
Holding each other in a trembling embrace,
neither one daring to turn from her face.

And the rocks are beckoning, inviting release,
a way out of torment, a welcoming peace.
Standing aloft on a cold cliff-top ledge,
moving ever closer to release at the edge.

Her chilling cries in the dead of the night;
the rush to her side as she stared out in fright.
He cradled his child, reassuring till when
she would settle back off; restless slumber again.

Standing there, knowing that soon she would fade
and wondering now at decisions they’d made.
Had they done all they could and tried all there was,
would the hurt be any less if they knew the cause?

And the rocks are washed by a wind whipped tide,
the pain of his loss is now too much to hide.
Seagulls are crying high overhead,
mocking derision echoing round in his head.

When the battle was lost
on that cold winters eve,
though they knew it was coming
they just couldn’t believe.

To hold her small hand
for the very last time,
to kiss her cold cheek
and wonder at her crime.

To see her frail form
wrapped inside a cold shroud,
the wailing and crying;
beseeching so loud.

He felt something close;
collapse deep inside
and all he could think of
was to run and hide.

And the image of the rocks on the raging seabed,
swimming, pulsing and rushing in his head.
The wind in his ears, tearing wild at his clothes
and the smell of the sea assailing his nose.

A tiny voice made him glance to his right,
eyes blinking wide with shock at the sight,
for there in the mist that swirled at her feet
was his daughter, with hands held out to greet.

Her gentle sweet smile he remembered with pride
as she beckons him to come and be by her side.
His tear-filled eyes give a single blink
and the vision is gone; he's alone on the brink.

And the rocks down below, beneath the crashing waves,
washing the memories of many dark graves
as he offered his body to the wind and the rain,
relinquishing life and sorrow and pain.


Written by Darren Scanlon, 7th July 2014.
This revised version written 22nd July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.

(If Mother Earth could speak...)

I’m the first light of dawn setting fire to the skies,
the awe that ends with a soft, sated sigh.
I’m the slow, gentle sway of ancient, lofty trees,
branches of life filled with wonders to be.

I am sands and seas; a warm summer breeze
blowing soft, whispered tunes over ever-changing dunes.
I am stars in the heavens sailing high overhead,
the sun and the moon on their tireless threads.

I’m the love of life; the pulse your heart,
the strength of will in a lovers fine art.
I’m the beaming smile on the fearless face
of a victorious child at the end of a race.


“And what are they doing now...

Waves of hate
washing wasted fields,
decimating all
as they reap tainted yields.”


You’re the time and motion in an open frown,
a smirk beneath the paint of a terrified clown.
You’re the only solution to a worlds desperate cries,
swollen cheeks scarred by too many lies.

You’re a baby’s cry in a cold, stagnant pond;
all it could have been, had it lived much beyond
the cull of the clan or the whaler’s call,
so many lonely roads, at the back of every mall.

You are every grain of sand escaping clutching hands
of every grieving parent in war-torn lands,
carried aloft upon the jet-streams breath,
washed up on beaches that have seen too much death.


“And what are they doing now...

Can’t they see beyond
their selfish greed;
their lascivious needs?

Can’t they be stopped
before the frenzy grows
too fearsome to feed?”


I am the here and now since the dawning of time,
crying confusion at a wasted design.
The questioning gaze on so many tired faces,
a distant rumble felt beneath shallow graces.

I’m the giver of life, each equal to another,
taker of too many wasted sisters and brothers.
Another broken heart from a loss felt too soon,
a cold wretched cry from across a crowded room.

I am the heavens roar on a wild, stormy night,
torrential vengeance of a thunderhead’s might.
A raging wrath you don’t ever wish to wake,
I am nature’s grace that you choose to forsake.


“And what are they doing now...

Sending to the fields
of fruitless death,
their sacrificial sons
breathing borrowed breaths

Unleashing desolation
from way up high;
A tempest of hate-filled
and remorseless fires.”

I’m the molten rock spewing from natures wounds,
the ear-piercing shriek of her decimating winds.

I’m the Tsunami washing away the filth of your deeds,
the quaking earth to halt your murderous greed.

I’m the tornados teeth, tearing lives apart,
the landslide burying your empty hearts.

I’m the freezing avalanche covering all in its path,
the raging storm unleashing thunderous wrath.

I am the flood; the torrent; destroyer of all,
the deluge of death at the reapers call.


“And what are they doing now...

Beseeching the heavens
with open hands
in the wasted remnants
of once rich lands?”
                      


Written by Darren Scanlon, 31st December 2014
Revised 20th July 2015.
©2015 Darren Scanlon. All rights reserved.