Countless Names the Mosses Mar
Countless names the mosses mar,
The green-grey stones are silent,
Tilted by the roots of blackthorn trees
Unearthly mist about the land.
The night is dark, so black,
Dew collects on the leaves,
And there, a young man treads.
His feet make no sound.
A single candle floats before him,
The green grass sinks beneath his feet,
The earth yields a smell all its own,
Wild, ancient, fed by the tears
On his cold white cheeks.
He has found her gravestone,
Lies beside it, taking it in his arms,
As much of it as he can surround himself,
Dreams his lover in its stead.
The smooth marble edge, the softest pillow,
Beneath, wet moss- a cool blanket,
Reminding him of when they spent their nights
Lost amid the blackthorn trees and gorse…
The moss cupped them from below,
The imprint of their bodies stayed,
Moss-shadows, side-by-side,
As they left by morning, early.
Rain falls from darkness above,
Droplets drunk by thirsty ground.
He imagines each a kiss,
They cover him, drown him.
Two bowls and whiskey,
Taken from linen pockets,
He sets them at her head and feet,
"Drink the uisce
bheatha
And live above with me once more?"
He is stretched on her grave.
Second steps are heard,
He does not lift his head,
A priest in cassock glides.
His candle stays lit, a miracle,
The flame burns,
As same, the sadness in the lad’s heart.
The priest kneels beside him,
Puts his hands on his shoulder, embraces him.
Understands, but urges him to go home,
"Live with the living,
Let the dead lie."
The priest tries to lift him gently,
To pull him off the gravestone like a wayward slug,
Gravestone's grip tightens, fingers turning white with effort.
He falls away, limp,
Clutching his coat tightly
around him.
A cloak of sadness
Which he cannot shed
He does not know
How to live among the living
Seeking peace, his love now dead.
The priests of the house,
The caretakers,
Looked out from their window,
At the tiny dancing lights.
“He’s there every night.”
Ar Eirinn, A Stor, A
Cuisle Mo Chroí
(Ah Ireland,
My Most Beloved, You, the Pulse of My Heart)
The fiddle bean sidhe ceases its cheery scree. Feet
cease to leap.
The bodhran heartbeat ceases to throb.
Smiling faces turn to
questioning eyebrows, fearful eyes beneath them.
Those bright eyes of sons and
daughters dim
As their eyes are pushed, in
gorse hexagons, below the soil;
Thrown under peat, fed to the
dark and hungry bogs.
Fog sits over this queer
green land.
The wind shakes the barley.
A merry people, desires of
freedom, darkness; and joy…
Children with endless
bright-eyed questions;
Silenced.
Our language, strange and
ancient,
Scratched in stones with
sticks; straight lines.
The stones, now silent, watch
us; observe us.
What will we stand there for?
We stand by our houses.
The strangers tear and trip, rip
the thatch. Blood seeps like the well water, like the fresh cold stream…
A new stream now, fresh and
thick,
Warm rivets, colour of the
berry,
First tree in the green
woods, a copse of holly.
The stones support us, cry
out to us, encourage us.
Stand and speak our ancient
tongue! Take up arms and fight!
Brave the Chill Mhaighneann Gaol, brave sons!
Splash our
blood! Feed our stones!; even in their Stonebreaker’s Yard.
Sweetened by the rain of green
and cold, as the world is slipping…..
The peat and moss and stones sing
Teidhir Abhaile Riu; out…..
We’ve come to show our
strange loyal affliction. of…..
We accept that breath, the
final bullet, ropes round our wrists. …. focus.
Final words, ‘For love of Ireland.’
Sand Dream
The sand, once warm, was cold beneath my feet.
Toes grew numb amid the mud,
The wind was blustery and sharp,
Whipping my dark curls about my shoulders.
With a sudden slam,
A wall of water rushed in.
A sudden trickle from my feet to my knees,
A wave from my knees to my waist.
I was alone beneath the sand cliffs
Suddenly my feet grew heavy and I could not run,
The thin white shift I wore flapped round my arms and
shoulders
I was beneath a dreary sky.
I tried to cry out, voice caught in my throat.
Hoping that those on the ledges above would hear my cries,
See me stuck amid the water,
And come to my aid.
The salt water began to sting,
The spray hit my face, seeped down my cheeks.
The water flowed by like a river,
Myself, I was like a tree, rooted to the spot.
The sea, it called to me,
The waves that crashed over my shoulders
Were like beckoning hands
Outstretched arms.
I awoke to a cold breeze from through my window,
My face, wet.
Glancing at the dawn sky,
I realized it was clear.
Salty tears streaked down my face,
The human flood.
Whether they appeared from fear or longing,
I suppose I shall never know.
The Lightning Storm
To say the world hummed is not entirely accurate;
It shimmered too;
I have caused my own mirage, with my own electricity.
The lovely spots hung before me jumped and danced,
The air behind them smelled thick,
White acrid smoke hung in the distance,
Like bitter-tasting fog.
Blood sang in every vein,
Wind rushed and shrieked in my ears.
She would have a fit.I am not myself.
Shouts rang out from the new darkness,
Like words said through an electric fan,
Then silence.
I was falling, falling asleep.
I am not falling asleep.
My small spark of fear,
A catalyst was igniting, unknowingly
The Lightning Storm.
I would never be free, what with my faulty wiring,
A child excited, stiff then shaking, shrieking in delight.
I shake.
I shriek.
I growl too.
Preposterous, naughty, vicious brain!
How can you relinquish control like this? In public?!
Be trained once more;
That old dog learning tricks he never knew.
“It’s like she’s on the nod.”
“That is impossible, you have to be on drugs to be on the
nod.”
“Well she swallows drugs every morning.”
“That’s to stop these things, not start them.”
“If she takes drugs, why does she still have them?”
“She’s been on the ground an awfully long time…”
I could feel my face, wet,
Tears, salt, spittle, blood.
Sweaty brow.
Cool hands brush my hair away.
Voices whisper and shush both me and their neighbors.
Hands keep me on the ground against my will.
But I am too tired to fight.
I fairly fly through the darkness.
I will never remember.
My head aches with the pain of one-thousand bullets.
Codladh samh agus ni cuimhnigh i gconai
Sleep well and forget.
The body electric ceases all of its misfirings.
I finally sleep.
