Saturday, June 30, 2007

This of Small Virtues

This of Small Virtues.

There are things that endear you to me,
strange items that hang in a wardrobe or
lurk on shelves, shyly advertising you.
The books on weight loss, gathering dust
beside fantasy and sci-fi, testements to your
all too human frailty; the books on
love and self, incongruous in a male library
besides the Cosmos and Relataive physics.
The way you embrace science and all
the oddest facts of our tenuous existance on
this planet; where you maintain mankind are
monkeys in jumpers, but you are openhearted
towards magic and the unexplained.
These are the unresolved equations of your nature
secrets that ambush me as I tidy away, or unpack bags
riddles to the sweet core of your nature
open only to me, only here, in our home.


Wednesday, June 27, 2007

The Swan

All angular beauty
and ruffled lines
curious in approach
white breasted downy apparition

Closer to your beauty
than before; allowed approach
a temple of wonder
your unique glory


Thursday, June 14, 2007

Green Party On

In a week that saw the Greens enter power for the first time in their history;

Green Party On

I walked Tara as a child
on ramparts ancient paused,
while parents stared at vistas far beyond
our youthful minds.

They were from a generation
far different from our own;
not for them the instant or the undeserved,
unearned reward.

Now matrons move their children
to the sticks, to mix with others
in surburban bliss, sans roads and schools
and infrastructure.

The chattering classes sit on
their ass and talk about recycling;
while sympathizing with those who would
bulldoze Tara.

The Green voter pledged to Save
Tara, til they smelt power and
in that moment turned to establishment
and economics.

Converted to Mamon
and to Progress, our most devoutly
prasied god in modern Ireland, sans Heritage
or pride.

Party On Green Men. Pary
while they destroy six thousand
years of dreams and literature and history
and sanctity.

Move to Meath, with your SUVs
and flood the rural scene with stress,
you'll be unmolested by men of conscience, not
in Ireland.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne


Tuesday, June 5, 2007

Pooka in the Summer Sun

A pooka grazes peacefully
where the river
meets the sea
In the ruins of a castle,
watched by me.
A moment of enchantment
where the city meets the green
and I enjoy the magic
as I watch, unseen.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne