oh to sink into the earth!
sodden and rancid with rain;
sagging under the weight
of too much
after too long. Drowning,
under more of the same

Éire,
The beauty of a broken land,
Where each and every man
Took up his own fight
And fought it with all his might

She moves with
      Grace
The Gracious meeting in denial
He's the baron of beef delicious side
Reproduction picture full slide
The most
   Casual face

Met the eternal masterly
    Artist face
Saying Oh! Grace
The other side of midnight
     Mask Face
She could overjoy anyone's
Heart in the right place
    Deceiving Face

The miracle of love principles
Such skepticism could it be overjoyed realism

But a hell of a time with heavenly bliss
What a shock when he gave me my kiss
His Crooked face to longevity nose
Hiding place A-Rose

Beachy trance-set face

Highlands of Scotland,
anybody would want her
     *Joyful face

He's the baronial
Secluded caves but risky dives
The turn only If?? I
could turn back the time
The events strictly
confidential

Her apple cheeks bathing suit
He is picking her fruit
So soothing the fiddle
Tinman whistles the ladies harps

Their medieval moment's help!!!
The swords  bust to his manly chest
Sleeping Inn New castle west
Their best bedrest

The cupboards open overjoyed
invitation decorative cans
Of greens, pinks, purple passion

And flourless chocolate cakes
Powdered lips love his reaction

She was seductively awe-inspiring
The top hills of Ireland grass
vividly raised her legs
The bowl next to her
The Rose blush wines
Bare it Fruit and figs

The baronial tug of war wigs

Melodious birds the
Grand One
The thousand piano words
Overjoyed but
under the {Baronial} weather

So lordly new threads tailored
White-collared
carpenter pants
Men of the herds
She's the
Caron French boutique

There ****** desires
The creature within
Wildly mating like critiques

Her perfumes so extinct
mysteriously
Overjoyed her heart
So cultured violin strings
Dollhouse Castle to restore
With her unique touches,
he wanted more

The steps tiring like a killed deer
every muscle he could hear

Over elaborating how people are dating
With a  stamped from the very
heart  approval
But hard times such laboring
Sitting in her
overjoyed chair
His face all Scrooged
no gifts of flowers
What are the odds of this pair

Over and over again her rainbow
her sensitivity we need longevity
The  endless walls are caving in
We are not so overjoyed by
this monster garden
She had her first breakdown
Going up the
Jack and Jill Ireland hill
In the longtime what long run
Way too short
It didn't come from above

The vintage oldtimer
radios sitting
together with
family listening
so long ago
So commercialized
The crazy shows
Where do you really want to go,
you just want to shut everything off

He called her the powder puff
Waiting for the nocturnal star
Those scrubs and hot rubs shower
Over my knee-high boots so in
love cahoots

Oh! It's her
The smart student
Owl Hoot whats to boot
Eating her shepherd's pie
so lordly full lips word-me
Ireland Holy Land
of love and beauty

Overly scrupulousness
The time of blessings

But the baronial loved to be
overly entertained
And she would sit there  
Blue-blooded royal dishes
Got flushed away no wishes

Oversimplification
Like the hardest love
of multiplication
The ****** overstimulation
Over embellished
But you're still positive
overjoyed
But why did she
want to vanish

Over-programming
    Web-Face
Destroyed her
Apple jubilee computer

Spiritual Zen
Or new lover Amen
Ever touched by Ireland maidens
Like the crimson and clover
I do believe in the
Four leaf clover Face

Like the only thing she picked
were the weeds
More beauty of life and deeds
Or tons of sorrow wondering
how she
would feel tomorrow?
We will never know

The sun sets on Ireland,
patchwork fields illuminated by the august light of
abiding memory.

Misty hues spilling
over the mountains,
glimpsed through a mist of tears
fighting not to be shed.

The last sunset
of a brief glimpse of manic happiness
and friendship
and love.

The fields flash by,
each one transforming into a rose-coloured memory,
and a tsunami of melancholy threatens to
knock me down.

Heavy sighs and
knowing looks and
held-back tears and
one last caress of your sun-kissed skin.

The sun sets on Ireland
And opens into a bright new tomorrow.

Where can we find a haven?
Because I'm on the road
Let dusk to dim the heaven.
My feet don't feel the load.

Hides fates between the rocks
Your Island of the lea
My Seaborn poet, once
You will come back to me.

29.06.18

She belonged to him, no other man,
So he said to her each day she left.
To sell the eggs and the dress she made,
To pull them from the line of the poor.

On the way to town each day she passed,
The rings of County Tipperary.
The ancient rings that live the wee folk,
Who dance in moonlight and trick us all.

That day she waited to see her kin,
But she left no gift to please the old.
So home she came with arms still heavy,
and a chest that weighed a cough so foul.  

“My Bridget” as he knelt by her bed,
Holding her hand as it shook with cold.
In the crack of the flame voices he heard
To hang him from his grief with despair.

The news he heard was of his father
Whom died the evening he felt alone.
Mr Cleary swore and slammed his fist.
“Midnight tonight or Bridget is lost!”

The men in village knew the tale,
Of the wee folk who cursed Bridget.
The woman in the Cleary home bed,
Was an echo of the wife he loved.

They held her down and asked her, her name,
She screamed and growled but did not reply,
Three times they asked and still she refused.
So tight the grips they beat her to sleep.

The morning arrived, Bridget awoke,
To her husband who looked upon her.
His eyes full of loss and fear as-well,
“my Bridget?” he asked “are they gone now?”

She smiled and agreed, she was alone,
So the priest came to deliver mass.
Mr Cleary agreed and drank from the cup
But he knew that his wife was not home.

He asked her again, three more times; “Speak,
Your name to me now, are you my wife?”
Each time she replied “It is I, Yes.”
Michael still knew his wife was away.

That evening men from the town arrived  
And took Bridget deep into the bog,
Where they bound her and lay her down flat,
As she screamed for her husband to help.

“It is I, It is me, Your sweet wife,
Believe me my husband I am here,
No faerie has seized my soul from me,
No witch has uttered a devil curse.”

Her mouth was covered and bound so tight
Her screams were made only with her eyes.
In front of the men, Michael asked her.
“Are you my wife? My Bridget Cleary?”

No voice or reply came from the girl.
Her body lay still in the bog land.
So onto a bed of wood she was placed,
And burned in the cold evening moon light.

The story was told through the village,
That Bridget had fled with another,
A man who bought all her eggs each week,
But not everyone believed this tale.

The priest of the village found Michael,
Praying blood, sweat and tears in the church.
He told him the fairies had taken,
The changeling they had placed there before.    

The priest told the men of the Garda
That ****** was rife in this village.
That men had taken a sick women
And burned her to death in the bog land.

Michael was guilty of Manslaughter
No conviction of ****** was passed
For the people believed his story,
The woman who burned was not his wife  

To this day the rings of Tipperary
Still grow foxglove and weeds in the cracks,
The Faerie mounds are feared like darkness
And steered clear of, by those who live near.

Even now it is heard in the school,
By the children who skip on the rope.
“Are you a witch, or are you a fairy,
Or are you the wife of Michael Cleary?”

After the moon was through with night,
But the sun had not brought morning light.
The other scouts slept in their tents
After an evening full of merriment.

I sat alone and watched the leaves
Blow softly as the forest breathes.
I fell from my Stump in pure surprise,
At the creature that landed before my eyes.

It had a head of a bird and a beak of an owl,
But the body was surely. Not that of a fowl .
Four legs were spread wide like those of a bear
But it didn’t have paws under its charcoal hair.

The talons it owed were gripping a tree,
A felled one directly in front of me.
Its tail Was so long I could not see the end
The length of a python couldn’t contend.

It stared hard at me, and I back at it,
It studied the fire that no longer was lit.
Then without a sound it tilted its head,
Right there and then I was sure I was dead.

I followed its eyes to see what it saw,
While not moving my gaze from. It’s scary big Claw.
I knew one wrong move would. Not be to clever
But I had no idea what it wanted, none whatsoever.
There was nothing else for it, I just had to know
“excuse me! “ I asked “are you friend or foe?”
It ruffled its feathers and shook all its fur,
It whipped back its tail so fast its a blur.

It poked its head forward into my tent
I knew there and then, just what that meant
He wanted some food, bit all I had was crisps,
Maybe a few jelly babies, and ready salted wisps.

I reached in and got them handed him the rest
I had saved all the red ones, coz I liked them best.
From the look in his eyes and the smell of his breath
I best hand them over as matter of life over death.

He gobbled them up with a crunch, slide and burp,
Not the noise I expected from a bird, not a chirp.
I can’t quite explain how you smile with a beak
But the giant bird gleamed with a certain mystique.

That’s when it decided it had to repay,
It did so in the most peculiar way.
It turned on its talons, and aimed up its ***
I thought to myself, I know what’s to come

But to my surprise came a large crystal. Egg
Popped out and rolled over and stopped by my leg
I was startled, relieved and knew not what to do,
I was really just glad I wasn’t covered in poo.

As I lifted the egg it flew into the air
It blew over the tents that were all pegged in there
The rest of my troop now awake from the noise
Rolled out of their tents, all angry young boys.

“hey fella! “ they screamed “ what’s the big deal?”
Still speechless I didn’t know what I should feel
I just pointed up and we watched the thing soar,
They we weren’t shouting or screaming at me any more.

I buried the egg before my scout leader saw
I don’t think that was Stealing, its not against the law.
I week later I went back to dig up my prize,
With dreams of endless wealth and hope in my eyes.

But when I arrived the monster had followed
With a massive big belly, maybe cow it had swallowed
The creature was full that was clear to see,
Reassuring and fine, there was no room for me.

I went to the tree and dug up the prize,
I don’t know how in a week it had doubled in size,
I handed it over, right back to its mother,
It nuzzled it back to me like I was it’s brother.

Each week we came back and the egg still was growing,
Rocking side to side, what moves it was throwing.
One week I arrive just in time to catch,
the egg start to rattle and crack and then hatch.

Out climbed a baby, all scruffy and bald,
As ugly as sin and as equally appalled.
It gave a big yawn and tiny we ****,
Then readied itself to get a head start.

The mother kawed and baby kawed in return
Imparting wisdom in kaws, and things it should learn.
That’s when the baby looked over to me,
It tilted its head wondering what I could be.

A snack, or dinner, or an aperitif
Someone invading its nest, it thought I was a thief!
I bolted and ran strait towards me I swear,
I ducked just in time as it flew through the air.

The mother had knocked the baby beast back,
It landed and moaned and gave out a quack.
Another loud Kaw came out of its beak,
It knew it was wrong, apologizing with a squeek.

From that moment on we became the best of friends,
I brought them both jelly babies, and built up their dens.
I was invited to join the wooflepoofle clan,
Wish I could say this was all part of my master plan.

I was honored to be part of the family
But I could never understand why the wooflepoople choose me?
Maybe he heart of my soul, or something thereabouts,
But I know it would never have happened if I wasn’t in the scouts.

The sound of the dead,
Make no more a chill,
Than the gentle breeze,
Of a morning draft,
Whispering through,
Ivy covered windows,
of an empty,Thatched roof cottage.
                                        
With words,
Sticking like ice,
From the dead lips of the departed owner.
Through hinges that creek their request,
Remember I, Remember.