Tuesday, November 30, 2010

THe Late Late Poetry BUs Show!



I'm late! I'm sorry! The Poetry Bus this week is driven by her Bugness , Dana Bug. See her prompt and catch up with all the other passenglos HERE


I wrote two pomes, more or less to the theme of home and they could be two sides of the same coin, or the sides of different coins, or the edges of madness, or non of the above.


The loneliness of the long distance drinker


They come and they go,

from being there.

While you are never there,

always there,

they have homes to go to,

travelling with a sense of belonging,

the colours of the rainbow before them,

the light of hope above them,

god love them and saints preserve us.


I see the shadows one, two, then three,

I no longer fear them,

the shadows are me,

but which one am I

Among the trees,

the wood, the nails.


Branches reflected in the roots,

mirror images, reflections

reaching up, delving down,

into the light, unto the dark,

becoming each the other.


Spent leaves tumble from the branches

their days in the sun short lived.

Falling to the ground

to feed the roots

which feed the branches,

to make new shoots

of reckless hope.




The Field.

The field was beautiful.

Its beauty was hidden.

We had fought them hard over it,

footprints then even of brother

against brother.

Yet blood stains were fading now,

the ground was strong,

the soil fertile.


Green shoots reached up

for sun and stars,

but some only dug down for gold,

trampled all before them.

The field was destroyed

it’s gentle slopes in ruin

left gouged and scarred,

a people massacred

without a single shot being fired.


The people devoid of hope

asked how could our field

ever be beautiful now?

Then in the dark night a

single snowflake fell

And another shining white

Joined and fell, a hundred,

a thousand, a million strong

blanketed the wealds and wounds,

drove those of greed to the margins

to suffocate there in droves.

The people reigned

and the field

breathed its beauty

for the first time...


15 comments:

Kat Mortensen said...

Wow, Peadar! Bug has brought out some of the best of you.

"I see the shadows one, two, then three,
I no longer fear them,
the shadows are me,

but which one am I
Among the trees,
the wood, the nails."

The entire verse is inspired and brilliant. "The nails" - really powerful!

And I just love these lines in the second one:

"days in the sun short lived' (the phraseology is lovely)

And these as well:

blanketed the wealds and wounds,
and the field

breathed it's beauty


for the first time...

Excellent!

Heather said...

I can almost feel the warmth from that lovely fire Peadar, and don't we need it right now? I found your second poem easier to relate to. It is so moving and profound, and really spoke to me.

Phoenix C. said...

Love The Field! The imagery of the snowflakes is so beautiful and moving.

Peter Goulding said...

What bloody time do you call this?
That second poem is very very good, with all the colours melding into one. Worth waiting for.

Enchanted Oak said...

Whoever "they" are, you reach down into deep poetry with the trees and the roots and the leaves and the shoots. Lord A'mighty! Beautiful stuff!
And then that field. Oh. I wish it were on a memorial somewhere. Those snowflakes are powerful.
(Please fix the "it's" in the penultimate line to the possessive "its" w/o apostrophe. Sorry. The editor in me is showing.)

Helen said...

Can't imagine not having the pleasure of your company on the Poetry Bus ~ your poems were both stellar!

Jeanne Iris said...

These poems are both powerful in their simplicity. True inspiration!

I love that coal fire and the kindling bucket, too! So warm and cozy!

swiss said...

the field for me also. but the time issue. i mean, really...

Titus said...

Wow, TFE, indeed. Two stunning pieces, first good, second superboso! Got emotional reading it; what more can you ask. Except the language is beautiful too - the wealds and wounds, margins and droves. Real good one.

Stafford Ray said...

How come you attract the editors?
I was about to ask, in "to make new shoots of wreckless hope." if you used 'wreckless' meaning no wrecks as in shipwrecks or whether you meant to write 'reckless' as in without thought or reckoning. But one editor at you in one post is enough for any eejit! So I won't. Loved your comment and both your poems. (honorary eejit).

Stafford Ray said...

This poem is so powerful and for me screams the injustices that are Irish history, but "the field
breathed its beauty
for the first time..."
The days of blood fertilising the fields are gone, one hopes!

Doctor FTSE said...

Two very engaging reads.

NanU said...

Excellent work, Peadar. Some wonderful lines and thoughts piled together. The field is one of my favorites from you.
I wonder what my own back yard, trampled and turned over yearly and today under a blanket of white just like yours, what sort of blood it has seen in centuries past.

Cad said...

god love them and saints preserve us.

A great sentiment for everybody!

I did enjoy your first-time-beautiful, snow covered field too. Snowflakes make of Nature a wonderful painter!

The Bug said...

I love this line from the first one: "new shoots of reckless hope," but the second poem is just fabulous. Need to make sure that Dr. Linthead, who has walked many an old battlefield, reads it.