Last Night I dreamt
Of the Hagia Sophia.
Looking across
mighty Bosphorous.
In Istanbul, in Byzantium,
in Constantinople.
A prize of ages...........
In all her many's
real and imagined glory.
Man's desire,
God's gift.
Stone's testament
To my species' faith,
In eternity.

Though this Hagia,
My Sophia,
was one of my dreams
In a dream-city/state.
In a dream Macedon/Thrace,
Modern and ancient
Asian/Europe, European-Asia,
Turk and Greek
Jew and Russian
Balkan stars fall upon her'
Coloured light's
and bright vid-screens.
Amid stone and earth
Glass and concrete,
Granite and amythst

Huge, jewel-covered,
ancient beyond measure....
Not just Constantine's church,
though mighty church it was..
Or Mehmet's prize;
though great Mosque it became
Nor Theodosius's rock
Though he still fights for her
Somewhere in the past.
And no dry museum either,
Though museum she is..........
In reality.

Just an ancient place,
Euxine harbour
Cross-road of man and water,
Land and Gods
Magic and reality
Chozen by Hellas
Built and owned
by Christ's children
Subjects of St. Paul's
Holy empire.
Orthodox and sacred
To Greek and Rus.
No Latin hymns
We're sung in her walls.

Then won by Turk
In wars fierce and long -
So now Muhammed's shrine
Ottoman and Pasha
Jewel of a new kingdom
Built upon built
Myriad upon myriad
Pagan, Muslim, Jew, and Christian
And the Gods of Hellas
who dwell there still
Watch and wonder
at it all

But in my dream
She was made -
in the shape of a grassy mound
Many faceted, growing still
Amid structures, attached to her
spans and arches
Ancient wonder
Modern glory
Flowing and rising
Worshipped by all who
dwelt near her.
Grassed covered
Monument strewn
Stretching up to the dark -
Starry Sky
Arches
Domes
Butress'
Spires
Crosses
Cresents
Heart's desire
White rocks paved
And eternal grasses
Dewed by Hellene Gods
Whose light it saved

Last night I dreamed
Of the Hagia Sophia.......

To the west of Mulranny,
Past Spanish Point.
Where dark, dark Minaun,
Cast's her cold shadow.
There is a fast sound,
Dangerous as a true sin
As many a Navy man Royal found
And many a clever islander too.

And the land runs,
down to her gently.
It glides, as if a sea bird
down to the shallow sound,
From both sides,
right, then left
Giving somewhat -
the impression of a cosy valley.
With warm homesteads close-by,
together at dusk
But they are seperate, in truth
by land, long and strewn
Many many miles
hard walking.

By sea, a ten minute walk
would suffice;
But no-one would
ever talk of such a stroll,
For they would never tell
of anything
Again.
However deft
However brave
For the sound takes
What it owns.

One evening, I drove to the right of her,
And the red Oche sun painted for me
Scenes on the hills,
Great battles history -
Wars of celtic gods, christian saints
And the old Gods before people
And the God's older still
Who have no names anymore.
But bear all on their backs
This land is, in truth, those Gods' land.

It changes with each ray of light
That passes this way through the
broad deep ocean,
green and milk topped
fresh as a breeze
blowing through a green arbour
Or black as terror , with white cresendo
Black rocks shot with reds and quartz's
Sharpened by water
It is not a place for faint of heart
Or unsure of foot

And at Achill beg can be seen
Man's footprint,
long here
Strange barrows,
and dry walls
That deep time
has made anonymous
To the prying eyes
of modern time
But past 8,000 years
have our people
Lived in this place,
guarded, hounded
By the Atlantics' cruel force
And I swear
if I had freedom to choose
a place to live,
without concern
And a place to die,
without worry
It would
Be here.

A small group (or collection, if you wish)
of wanderers and travellers
And people with desires
to see great marvels
Met by accidence,
in a era of confusement
Held together,
by mutual suspicions,
they decided
To leave their abodes.  
So they travelled a long way
Until they were in a place
A very dusty place,
with dry old things
Dry like a last years leaves,
as if there were trees
In a scorching new summer

They decided by mutual acclamation
that they were searching now
A quest had been undertaken
By accidental serendipity
Or so they believed,
among themeselves
To find a way -
To no longer be
in this place of dust
With its winds,
and fierce sands
The kind the stings your eyes,
grits your teeth
sands your clothing
and small possessions
And after a many month of same such
Make's your light heart -
heavy.

But lacking a compass
or even knowledge of one
Or any real idea of how to travel
they moved in circles
for many's the long time
Never really sure they were,
arguing........ always
This is probably what kept them alive,
or at least
That is what many now believe
Their arguing - their fighting
this generates interest,
and interest keeps you alive
But still in spite of all this,
they weren't really
Getting -
Anywhere.................

Once in their travels,
they came upon a walled city
They knocked hard the gates,
made of a redded, felted wood
Soft to the touch,
like a hide of a living creature,
or rough carpet
"What do you want?!"  
"Who are you, state your business please!"
Cried the Gatekeeper to them
As this was his role
in the proceedings, you see;
And he didn't get to do it often
Very few people came
through the wastes,
unless.......Compelled -
by one reason or another
So he was overdramatizing (a little),
But we can forgive him,
his job was
quite boring,
after all.

Help us! They cried
We want to leave
this dusty dry place
Full of bleached sheep bones,
black stones
And red rocks;
with that dust,
The dust that stings our eyes
grits our teeth
sands our clothing
and small possessions
And after a many month
of wandering
And wondering
It has made our once -
light hearts
heavy
with opression
For now we cannot
perform our tasks
This place is too harsh for us,
We are only poeple,
and wanderers, after all

"Ah, I see!", the gatekeeper declaimed
A little over dramatically (yet again)
"So you are lost then,
my wanderers?"  
No!  Said several of the more......
outspoken wanderers.
There are always
a few outsoken people
in any group,
(Unless it's a group for shy people,
Of course).
"We, know precisely
where we are, -
We are in the dusty waste
at your gates!
We just don't want to be here!,
we want to be inside!"

At that, the Gatekeeper
opened the door
Slowly and surely
but with many creaks and groans
And inside, inside.....well -
There was a dusty city,
But just like outside
With unkempt streets
filled with goats, dogs, people
Unruly Children,
playing with dried out wood dolls
Angry woman -
murmuring to each other
And irritated men -
watching the angry women
"Come in if you wish" he said.
For we were all as you are now
Once....................................

To be continued.

I wish I could follow
the sun sometimes;
I mean across the face of earth
Because, of course
You cannot follow such objects
in their own domain
For these are places
of fire and energy
And not places
for beings' frail
and made of water
such as us.

But to follow it's line
across the world,
My longitude
never changing,
or swerving
from one side or another
but remaining
exactly held in place,
trapped like mechanisms
in Harrison's clock
To watch and observe
the difference between ocean,
land and sea
Between islands
and continents,
between peoples
Of one sort or another.

Would I be entranced,
or would I get bored of it?
I really don't know,
To tell truth
and there are many things
I really don't know.  
The unknown unknowns,
as someone said once.
Even lots of the knowns
If I'm being honest with myself
Today for at least.

I wonder would I pass
close by him
on my linear exursion,
That clever American,
Or maybe
an Atlantic fisherman
Frozen on his deck
or simply bump into
the ordinary people
So many apologies!  
"It's not me" I'd say
It's the sun, you see!  
I am bound!
They would laugh
I presume.

We know so little,
and yet we presume much,
From such a.....
Slight perspective.....
that keeps trying to jam
The meaning of
the Universe itself
Into something so small,
so short, so simple
and so quick..............
that humans....
Even humans
can signify it;
Give it our own meaning
Independent of itself, it's truth
by our language,
our maths or logic
As if such things
were possible,
or a pre-requiste
of existence
As if........

Speaking sometimes,
I feel the verbs and nouns
fall from my mouth
Prepositions in hands,
I try to gather them up
and move on
But I cannot, as sometimes words
will only work once

That only comes with time,
this realization
that there are things you cannot....
Take back,
even when you want to stop the game
and go back to your normal
You cannot......

So, was it the morning before?
Or perhaps the evening after,
when I realized that you were
no longer................
The person, with whom
I wanted to share my life?

Such a small thing in a way,
aye, few spoken words
Some anger,
you were always angry though
Weren't you?
And after you got up to go,
With contempt in your eyes
but hurt in your stance
All I felt............................
Was that I was finally free.

I am out, a world of hazes, these oranges and yellows
Lighting the fields in cresents of coloured airs

Creatures that live at this time of year, and wake
I hear scurries, scuttles, and the occasional yelp

I feel dull pain, but lessened by tramadol and palaxia
Sun makes me drunk on the high tide of cold spring

Life is shining again onto another dead winter past
And soon it will be green and greener still
In this country island home of mine

I work to keep me occupied, and occupied
To keep resentment away, for feeling
wronged, when perhaps there is no such thing

Right and wrong, now there's a rub he'd say
I need to know it, I need the knowing of it like all
men and women

Am I right or am I wrong? or does it matter
When the dull grey soil cares so little about
Those it takes, when end time comes

But I take joy where joy is, and I see it now
Splashed across the sky in pastel gauze yellow
And these slight mauve clouds, I thank the god that
made such things possible.

The end.