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Cné Oct 2017
Shall I speak of autumn leaves while summer doldrums reign?
Wistfully, I wait for frost to paint my window pane.

Dare I yet imagine smoke from chimneys wafting forth?
Can you taste the chilling breeze that lingers from the north?

There is no time like autumn, when relief from summer's sway
Gives rise to fireside interludes and sweet rolls in the hay.
It’s in the 90s here in Texas. Where is the cooler temps!
High on'a farm,
make a needle biscuits
water-up sits creek
jostle potatoes, pan-*** boiling
-with carrot cake.

Purple sky, tractor runnin'
time end of day,
sun low.

E'er body say,

"Why dou'a on'a farm?"

entered-dat du da future;
not Ford'ed fields.
Face it dou'a future,

"Dat future know it's place."

Sweet devils singin' to me,
sweetened tongue a' beautiful place. . .

"E'erthing set in place, ***** wit I say,

-dinner on-ma tray."

Jordan Rowan Mar 2016
It was down in California
Where the light hurt my eyes
I couldn't hear my thoughts or find a reason why
It was down in Louisiana
Where all my friends were now
When something went black and escaped into the south

So I went into the city
Of whatever state I'm in
I can't tell if it's New Orleans or if I'm drunk again
I buried all my secrets
In a tarnished leather book
At which only me and the universe can look  

Thank *** for himself
For he's given me pain
And if it's someone else
You can erase them with blame

So I jumped into a truck
Driven by border clerks
But halfway down to Mexico, I knew this wouldn't work
They had it in for laughs
At the expense of broken hearts
I know they meant no harm but they were tearing me apart

The flag above my head
Only made me feel sick
Someone tried to sell me love but I knew it was a trick
But when the sun finally fell
And the stars shined on me
I understood what people meant when they told me I was free
A GHAOTH ANEAS!
( O SOUTH WIND! )

My six year old father
stares from a photograph

splendid in  his sailor suit
standing outside time.

He will not survive
Ypres.

There is no photograph to show
him as a soldier.

Mother couldn't bear them.
Burned them.

She forever talking to
him in her head

loving his Devonshire
accent.

A thrush is singing from behind
enemy lines.

Spring can't understand
humans and their ways

dresses the trees
in their freshest  green.

"Jack...Jack Jack!" she cries
to the wind from the south.

A Ghaoth Aneas!
( O South Wind )

"Sin chugaibh mo phóg ar rith ins an ród
Leigim le seol gaoithe í."

( Here goes my kiss to you rushing along the road
I send it on the wings of the wind.)
South Wind was written in the 1700s by Domhnall Meir-geach Mac Con Mara( "Freckled Donal Macnamara" )in homesickness for his homeland( after he was banished for some 'misdoings' )in County Mayo. This sublime melody has a very Carolan-ish air about it...essence of my Irish childhood. I used to hum it to myself for comfort when my sister Junie was killed in a bus crash back in the world of '67.

A Ghaoth Aneas!

A Ghaoth Aneas na mbraon mbog glas
A ní gach faiche féarmhar
Bheir iasc ar eas is grian i dteas
Is líon is meas ar ghéagaibh

Más síos ar fad mar mbínn féin seal
Is mianach leat-sa séide
Cuirim Rí na bhFeart dhod chaomhaint ar neart
‘S túir don tír sin blas mo bhéil-se!

Sínim aneas ag díonamh cleas
Nach ndíonann neach san saol so
Mar íslím gaimh is scaoilim leac
Is díbrim sneachta as sléibhte

Ó taoi tú ar lear go bhfuí tú mo neart
‘S gur mian liom do leas a dhéanamh
Go bhfúigfe mé mo bheannacht ins gach aon tslí ar mhaith leat
Is choíche i gCathair Éamoinn!

A Chonnachta an tseoid, an tsuilt ‘s an spóirt
I n-imirt ‘s i n-ól an fhíona
Sin chugaibh mo phóg ar rith ins an ród
Leigim le seol gaoithe í

Tá mise beo i mboige na seod
Mar a mbrúitear gach sórt bídh dhom
Ach is mian liom fós tarraing d’bhur gcomhair
Muna gcluine mé ach ceól píopa!

O South Wind!

O South Wind with the soft clear drops
You that make every sword grassy
Bring the fish to the waterfall, give heat to the sun
And abundance of fruit to the branches

If it is far to the north where I once lived
That you are minded to blow
May the King of Power preserve your strength
And give the taste of my mouth to that country!

I blow from the south, performing feats
Which no one else on earth can do
For I lay winter low and scatter the ice
And banish the snow from the mountains

Since you are in need you shall have my strength
And I want nothing more than to help you
I shall leave my blessing in every place you choose
And always in Cathair Éamoinn!

O blissful, joyous, sporting Connacht
Home of gaming and of wine-drinking
Here goes my kiss to you rushing along the road
I send it on the wings of the wind

I am living in splendid luxury
Where every kind of food is dressed for me
But yet I am fain to draw towards you
If I should hear but the music of the pipes!
Four o'clock like a mother cradled the train.
The moment offered a kaleidoscope -
cellphone-tappings, perfume, sweat-odors, the strain
stamped on faces, high-heeled shoes, chic dresses,
a woman weeping after a call,
a rustling newspaper, raven tresses,
and advertisements on the wall...
A blind man with a small radio walked by,
tapping a stick on the floor, holding a cap
while two toddlers were taking a nap.
The train was slowing, like a question being cast...
The doors slid open, an answer found at last
on the platform as a sunlight-spell
spreading its love to the grass,
to the farmland, rice furrows, fresh autumn smell.
No one walked out, walked in: a lovely space
briefly, modestly, and delicately
hinted at something like a delightful dream,
lent all faces, gestures dignity and grace...
she's leaving

highways and high seas, she's crossing them all
achieving her dreams while shouting
at the top of her lungs **** everyone
and she laughs

because she's leaving her past behind her at last
she's going to be climbing mountains and laughing for the rest of her life and I feel happy for her but sad at the same time
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