Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Tags
#irishmen
Uncle Eoin walks his fields At odd times day and night; When I visit he's asleep, But not his cows and sheep. The cows low blithely, The lambs bah lightly, There's no cause for alarm. He's adding on the years, And since my Granny died, Eoin lives on his own, Childless and untied. Eoin tries to maintain health With little money But awash in wealth. He doesn't worry As we do, Being mortgage free, Debt-free too. He always knows Where to eat, His white-washed house Still burns peat. The stone wall fields Mark creation's expansion, From first to last dimension. He rises when I call From outside the house: Time has little meaning, No matter what the season. He calls down, Who's there? Francie! I yell  back. You'd think my accent, My singular name Would tell him it was me, So I'm surprised When Eoin replies, Francie who? To me. He rumples down To the blue front door That doesn't quite Reach the floor. Rot has eaten much. It swings quite well, Considering, It's balancing on one hinge. Eoin wears similar clothes I saw him wearing Years ago. He has a robust crop Of hair, As thick as smithy steel, And snow-white And grizzly fair. He dips his *** Into a pail of water, Boils it with The tea bag in, And stirs it with His finger. The mug he offers Needs a sledge and chisel To chip at stains Thick as Irish thistle. I accept resigned, Knowing Jameson Comes with time. Eoin is himself again, After tea and toast And insulin. He carpets his rough floor With red-dotted slips of paper, Used checking his blood sugar. They're the only color In a room, Black with soot, Still dark at noon. His sitting room is 12 X 10 With an antique cooker Not lit since when; A string of socks above the stove, Hard from drying, yet never moved. A propane burner against An outside wall Provides some warmth in winters; But missing window panes Defeat the warming currents. My stay never last too long, An hour, seldom two, But Eoin never leaves my thoughts Across the miles of blue. Don't sympathize with Eoin, He's turning ninety-two.
0
Dec 8, 2014
Dec 8, 2014 at 12:36 PM UTC
francie-lynch
Uncle Eoin
Uncle Eoin walks his fields At odd times day and night; When I visit he's asleep, But not his cows and sheep. The cows low blithely, The lambs bah lightly, There's no cause for alarm. He's adding on the years, And since my Granny died, Eoin lives on his own, Childless and untied. Eoin tries to maintain health With little money But awash in wealth. He doesn't worry As we do, Being mortgage free, Debt-free too. He always knows Where to eat, His white-washed house Still burns peat. The stone wall fields Mark creation's expansion, From first to last dimension. He rises when I call From outside the house: Time has little meaning, No matter what the season. He calls down, Who's there? Francie! I yell  back. You'd think my accent, My singular name Would tell him it was me, So I'm surprised When Eoin replies, Francie who? To me. He rumples down To the blue front door That doesn't quite Reach the floor. Rot has eaten much. It swings quite well, Considering, It's balancing on one hinge. Eoin wears similar clothes I saw him wearing Years ago. He has a robust crop Of hair, As thick as smithy steel, And snow-white And grizzly fair. He dips his *** Into a pail of water, Boils it with The tea bag in, And stirs it with His finger. The mug he offers Needs a sledge and chisel To chip at stains Thick as Irish thistle. I accept resigned, Knowing Jameson Comes with time. Eoin is himself again, After tea and toast And insulin. He carpets his rough floor With red-dotted slips of paper, Used checking his blood sugar. They're the only color In a room, Black with soot, Still dark at noon. His sitting room is 12 X 10 With an antique cooker Not lit since when; A string of socks above the stove, Hard from drying, yet never moved. A propane burner against An outside wall Provides some warmth in winters; But missing window panes Defeat the warming currents. My stay never last too long, An hour, seldom two, But Eoin never leaves my thoughts Across the miles of blue. Don't sympathize with Eoin, He's turning ninety-two.
Continue reading...
94