Up before the birds,
before the sheep
and the barking farm dogs have had a chance to rise,
before the sun in a waking sky has washed her face
there is me, and the rabbits of course,
there are always nibbling rabbits
they pay me no heed as I ignore them,
cobwebby air that smells of wet stone walls and hazelenuts
a damp little mourning for summer
still with us, but only just
she is fading, her breath grown stale
what was once a fine full featured woman of elegant proportions
is not the girl she was and somewhat over-ripe,
shriveled hag or blousy old **** who knows,
september will see to that
he could be kind and let her keep her looks for a bit,
a single singing sheep, baas contralto through the fence
followed by her sisters, one of whom is definitely flat,
which stirs the dogs,
then birds, and a raven’s mocking call from the trees
coughing tractors vape their owners into life
and the radio clicks,
because apparently the old ***** won’t start!
a jostling theatre crowd of noise and neighbours
Mrs O’Malley from the farm up the road
is out for her power walk with Dan,
she waves at the gate
Dan wags his tail and eyes my biscuit,
tough luck Dan, she is watching,
I have not come to the world
the world has come to me
all along the valley they are waking now
a glorious cacophany
the Cavershiveen volcano rumbles into being
except for him indoors, he’s still snoring like a bull
in a minute I will take him tea and biscuits
wake him gently from his beige accountant dreams
whatever they are?
and we can start the day together
except of course mine started long ago
with only the silent sky and the hills for company
he will never know that I embraced the dawn
and sipped my coffee with the old gods
Lugh and Dagda and Brigid
I have been their respectful guest
ancient Irish faces he will never know
unless I choose to tell him so
Aug 22, 2025
Aug 22, 2025 at 3:23 PM UTC
Up before the birds,
before the sheep
and the barking farm dogs have had a chance to rise,
before the sun in a waking sky has washed her face
there is me, and the rabbits of course,
there are always nibbling rabbits
they pay me no heed as I ignore them,
cobwebby air that smells of wet stone walls and hazelenuts
a damp little mourning for summer
still with us, but only just
she is fading, her breath grown stale
what was once a fine full featured woman of elegant proportions
is not the girl she was and somewhat over-ripe,
shriveled hag or blousy old **** who knows,
september will see to that
he could be kind and let her keep her looks for a bit,
a single singing sheep, baas contralto through the fence
followed by her sisters, one of whom is definitely flat,
which stirs the dogs,
then birds, and a raven’s mocking call from the trees
coughing tractors vape their owners into life
and the radio clicks,
because apparently the old ***** won’t start!
a jostling theatre crowd of noise and neighbours
Mrs O’Malley from the farm up the road
is out for her power walk with Dan,
she waves at the gate
Dan wags his tail and eyes my biscuit,
tough luck Dan, she is watching,
I have not come to the world
the world has come to me
all along the valley they are waking now
a glorious cacophany
the Cavershiveen volcano rumbles into being
except for him indoors, he’s still snoring like a bull
in a minute I will take him tea and biscuits
wake him gently from his beige accountant dreams
whatever they are?
and we can start the day together
except of course mine started long ago
with only the silent sky and the hills for company
he will never know that I embraced the dawn
and sipped my coffee with the old gods
Lugh and Dagda and Brigid
I have been their respectful guest
ancient Irish faces he will never know
unless I choose to tell him so
Recovering from covid in the Kerry hills
