RUNNING THROUGH HISTORY( for Grandfather Sheedy )

I, a creature of flesh
& mud.

Mostly mud I
train...run...running

across Curragh
Plains...pain...pain.

School cross country
running is - not:

my forte.

I, being constantly told I
am not my grandfather.

Obviously.

I plod after grandfather's
famous footsteps

inheriting only his calf muscles
but not...his stamina.

I am all skin & bone
merely my mind keeping me going.

Grandfather Sheedy is
running on into history.

I, the clod forever
running after his fame

into many a Curragh
sunset.

I run back through
time.

'In the year of the world
4608.. '

The Annals of the Four Masters
a running commentary in my mind.

I run through
my mythological past

the ghosts of kings famous
before time began.

Cobhthack Gael is still
killing Laoghaire Lore.

He highfives me as I
stagger past.

St. Brigid casts her cloak
it covers the entire plain.

I greet and thank her
with a wordless nod.

The Curragh Camp of today
coalescing into being

thanks to the Crimean
Campaign.

I recite Tennyson to
startled furze bushes.

'Furze bushes to the left of me
furze bushes to the right of me...'

into my mind rides
the 17th Irish Lancers

leading the Balaclava Charge

their mascot terrier Jemmy
following close behind

barking at the Russian guns

surviving it all
to roam around where I am

raoming now.

My Uncle  Tossie's
familiar greeting

'How ya...howya...how ya
are ya winning...are ya winning! '

Grandfather and Uncle
Balaclava dog & mythological

kings and saints

all urging me on
claiming I can do it.

I can & I will
...come...last.

Me the non-runner runner

driven by
history