By your presence

For Paula, for endless kindness

You will ask, or be asked someday
What good have you done?
What purpose, in this shifting world
What weight did you place upon the scales ?

You cannot answer for yourself
You'll never guess the moments
Only others can tell the tale
Of acts and omissions filed in your name

But like golden coins they'll pile;
Solid, worthy, generous, tangible,
Each one with a testament affixed
And each of these will start with this

By your presence -  three glorious words.
By your presence, we were comforted
By your presence, we were fed
And burdens lifted, hard times eased

By your presence - tangled threads unbound,
Problems solved and time reclaimed
Tea and biscuits, time and thought
And always laughter, always some moments joy.

There will be volumes written and declared.
Each one of a kindness kindly given
Each one shining in the deepening dark
A line of light to lead you home.

You, you wear this lightly as you go
But by your presence are you known

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Love letters of a busy life

To my husband Mark, who is currently trying not to nod off in work, having minded our poor sick baby all night in one room while I minded the poor sick toddler in another. And then we swopped. Some day my love, we'll sleep in the same bed, have a lie in, have breakfast in bed, have time to chat. Probably after the boys turn thirty. 

Hi, it's me

I'm sorry that I haven't been in touch

I see you every day, morning and night

so why write? well, our time is short

I seem to say hello, goodbye and sometimes

in between, a hurried I love you

but oh! it's not enough, my dear.

Here in my head we talk all the time

like we did when we were leisure rich.

I itch to tell you all the details of my day

and every way in which you touched them,

lightened them, help me carry the load.

Is there room

for love letters of the old type, the ones

that fill the spaces in a busy life? Recount

the dreams and hopes and fears of every day

renew the links that bind us to our life

and say, I would not live any other story

walk any other path, fight for any other cause

but you? You are my star, my stone, my roots 

and all there is to praise in heaven or on earth.

You may not know this but it's written there,

in shopping lists and texts about dinner -

whenever you read between the lines, it's there. 

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Between Moments. new #poem #poetry

Between Moments

Colgate and shower gel
The scramble for clean clothes
Inhalers and toast-ready brek-stodge
And a glass of milk; where are the car keys?
Where are - shoes socks bags
Bottles nappies coats
(No not that coat that's not my good coat
I want my fireman sam coat)

Somewhere between milk and bags
You touch my arm
You smile or kiss or squeeze
You wink - we're in this together, love
We're a team; I don't know
Where I put his jumper/what I'd do
Without you. Between moments
Is where true love resides.

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This is Not a Valentine

This is not a Valentine
for a start it's two days late
and will not rhyme.
This is not a paean to one day
to flowers or cards (ours unexchanged,
unwritten, stolen and returned)
I say again, this is not a Valentine.

This is not a Valentine;
it is a hymn to mundane days,
days without titles and nights
without expectations; when a weary
hand stirs a bottle, takes a turn,
loads a wash, puts on dinner.
No, this cannot be a Valentine.

This is not a Valentine.
No flowery verse would stoop
to describe the loving act of hoovering
or the romantic gesture of sweeping.
No flowers are delivered, when a cup of tea
is made and handed over with a kiss.
No, No Valentine is this.

This is not a Valentine.
They'll never teach this poem in school,
this ode to daily love. A kind word,
a compliment unearned, a gentle touch.
The heroic act of doing more than your share;
to quietly care. Ah no, this is no Valentine.
It is a poem of love.

1.

On swings

I saw my son fall in love today
with swings
in a city playground
in the town I love.
Up til now, their charms
had left him cold;
this afternoon I saw an alchemy
of joy
A boy, a swing, the evening sun
cold air on cheek and childish fun
head - tilted back
and eyes half closed
legs reaching foward, arms straining
and
as the arc died
from glorious heights
to gentle rocking
one word;
more!

1.

On stony ground, You fall like rain

On stony ground, You fall like rain


When I walk the hard path
and stray, distracted by storm clouds
you walk with me.
I know it is your hand that
pulls me back, steers me towards
grass verges.

When I am blinded by the sun,
and fear I will not find my way again
you call my name.
It is your voice I recognise
over the howling winds and
screaming gales.

When I can find no rest or shade
it is you who shelters me, like an
Oak tree.
I am safe with you, my love -
for you fall on stony ground
like rain.

1.

Want

Poetic Challenge for today is to write a love poem.
I have written several poems about the love of my life Toast and Belgian Chocolate; An Apology to Aongus Óg and This of Small Virtues for example.

Seeing as Valentine's Day is almost upon us, this is a small but heartfelt one for Himself.

Love poem

If he is tired, I only want
To smooth the lines of his day
And hold him safe.
If he hungers, there is no joy
In food or drink until
He is replete.
If he is cold, my only thought
Is to light a fire
To warm him.
I have no needs, I lack nothing
Until he hurts; and then I bruise.

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The Wedding Gift

For all those women whose approach to weddings is not to mount a military operation, who don't want to stress, who want to remember the day and the marriage not worry if the napkins match the colour of the bridesmaid's knickers. And maybe as a reminder to those who are acting as if they're about to invade Poland next - there's more to the day than style.

This is the best wedding gift I can give you....



If I could give you one thing
a wedding gift that will last
it would be the memory -
not of a glittering table,
lanterns and rose petals
favours and toiletries, or
chair covers in dusky pink-
but of the time you share
the choosing and the plans
the mother's face, the father's pride
the squeeze of hand, the
slight smile, the excited face
the neighbours gathered,
children pointing, guests
milling, laughter rippling like
a spring - stately walk, solemn vow.

I would give you the gift
of slowing time, savouring
each and every second,
noticing the important details
- not the trimming on a veil
or pewends tied with ribbon
drapes, capes, canapes,
colours, cut or clothe -
but the whispered love
the tearful eye, joyful
glance, awaited entrance,
first dance, speech and
speechless moments, grace
and bumbling fumbling, funny
sad and lovely, moments
strung like pearls on
the edge of a wedding veil.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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Your Touch

Your Touch


The warm smell of
sleep and heat
surrounds me with your
quilt, your bed;
my hair spread like down
across your pillow
and drowsy senses,
reaching.


Happy Valentine's Day

1.

Pat

I think that perhaps that far distant year has come; I know I can think of this old friend only with affection and withotu regret, only wishing well, and remembering the best. I hope somewhere he can do the same.


For Pat.


Concealment
half conscious and half true
has become like breath to me
I cannot even know myself
and you,
you are like a new found land
stranger than my dreams.
Holding you
I know that I am safe;
but only for seconds.
You escape me and I do not know
if this is chance or just
the way we are.
Your voice I listen for
amid the babble and the crush
in which we live
and when I think or when you
give, some proof
of caring
I quickly find some sign
our lives weren't meant for
sharing or for love.
Yet still I know that
you are somehow mine;
I think in some far distant year
you will think of me
and I of you
with knowledge
If we do I hope that fear is fone
and all that will remain
is memories of laughters
wild nights and stories sadly told
and heard
between two trusting friends.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

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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.

1.

Sweet, I kiss your lips

Sweet, I kiss your lips;
it is a way to say those words
the words we say so often
but cannot say enough.

Sweet I kiss your lips
to transfer from my heart to yours
the feeling that you bring
of joy and love.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

Sunshine in April...

Is there anything more encouraging than sunshine in April? It's just late enough in the year to make us all think we'll have a lovely summer and early enough not to panic about spare tyres and wobbly bits.
One of the many sources of inspiration I have, and one of the most important is our heritage and history. Another, on a personal and less cerebral note, are my friends and family and last Easter Sunday I managed to combine both. Three of us made a trip to the Rock of Dunamaise near Portlaoise:




Beautiful place, seen at its best on such a lovely afternoon. We sat on some rocks and discussed the 1916 Rising, Countess Markievich and what we'd do if we won the lottery. Two people extremely dear to me, and a sublime afternoon - days like that are lucky and blessed.

1.

Smoke Rings

Smoke rings



In haste
smells and sounds are punctuation
to the sermon.
Drifting lights, like
smoke, smudge the
water,
glitter,
twist,
in haste.


And You stand,
Your hand upon my shoulder.
I inhale your scent and almost weep
for fresh spring mornings and the taste of autumn-
You have taken me from the bustle,
You have restored that most bittersweet of senses-
You have stirred in me the embers of lost hope
And in remembrance I burn incense,
for You
have kissed me from my drugged sleep
And in faith
for You,
I leap.

1.

in morning mist

DSC00074
Originally uploaded by charlesbyrnemusic.

In morning mist
and just before the day
awakens fully to the noise of man
stand on the brink
of some windswept shore
and think of me.

Stand and whisper
the name you called me
when you and I were heavy with sleep
and sated, in our bed
and in that moment
call me to you.

I will come,
in the kiss of wind
or the sudden flight of gull
I will never refuse to answer your summons
if I have to fly
from the world beyond.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

A riddle for today

Happiness is not a cuban cigar

not today

Happiness is Belgian Chocolate

and diamonds on a left hand;

Can you hand me happiness?

I doubt it

but I wear it on my hand. That

is my riddle for today.


Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

January is Freezing

Posted for no other reason than that it's freezing out today My feet are so cold - I feel about 90 years of age moaning about my aches and pains. So I was reminded of this poem, about a different kind of cold and a different kind of freezing.



January is Freezing

Cold light seeped in, through misted frames
Casting a golden glow over smoke rising
from the cigarette in my hand and hanging over the grill;
tobacco and bacon and fried eggs.
The smell of a Sunday afternoon.
I lean elbows on a crumb-laden table
and watch a sullen shadow cross the mahogany,
cast by a bottle, like an alcoholic sun dial;
and it is strange to have you sitting here again,
your shoulder touching mine, your cup warm against my hand.
The scattered cartons of a late-night ill-advised meal
one lone rice grain welded to a fork,
careless reminders of a moment of mad abandon.
Shivering gratefully and huddled against the draught
I try to normal out, without the pain.
In the enervation of a Sunday hangover, still
sourly tasting the delights of the night before
I cannot ask you where have you been,
I can only watch the pearls of rain,
mingling with the icy glass and sigh





Geraldine Moorkens Byrne January 2003

1.

Toast and Belgian Chocolates An apology to Aengus ÓG

An Apology to Aengus Óg (Work in Progress)



Usually I find the first lines of a poem come unbidden; sometimes an almost complete poem arrives in the head but more often it is the "kernel" the little grit in the heart of the pearl, fully formed and pointing in a given direction. Occasionally those lines end up being the middle or the end but again, more often than not it's the start.

Of course I often find I am incapable of living up to the promise those heaven sent lines show, but if that happens I just put it aside and come back. At the moment I have a neatly wrapped present from the muse and have to try to build something worthwhile on it. For a variety of personal reasons i want this one to come out well (which of course means my most heartfelt sentiments will sound trite and clichéd and my deepest emotions facile and shallow!)









Toast and Belgian Chocolate





We breakfast on toast and
Belgian chocolate;
dine on kisses,
sleep on promises
soft as feather beds.
It's not meant to be this easy, you said.



I disagree. I have fought my battles
and plead my case - Aengus owes me
for the many nights of lonely heroism,
stoic facing down of single combat.



We move in a shy dance
through past and present;
signpost failures,
and flag our successes;
with some aplomb
lay both at each other's feet.



I remark His presence
in the irony
of our sudden being -
laughing at our surprise
and tricking us out
in His favours, while we stare.



I owe Him an apology, unreserved
for the simple pleasure I recieve
in the giving and recieving of a kiss
warming cold lips before we leave.



January 2007 Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.

Breaking Faith with Aengus óg

This was my "anti-love poem" a few years back. (I think I may well have to write an apology to Aengus now, as it seems He was merely keeping my schedule free to meet a lovely man :) )Aengus óg is the ancient God of Love in Ireland, with a reputation for both protecting lovers...and having a jape at our expense when we try to find love. Written for a Valentine's day "Anti-Love Poem" event on the PPP.


Breaking Faith with Aengus Óg

I no longer love thee,
Aengus Óg.
I ll burn thee no more incense.
I ll leave no meat nor mead nor gold;
my faith in thee has grown
stone cold.
I no longer love thee, Aengus Óg.

Too many tears and
sleepless nights;
too many phone calls unreturned.
My heart has burned and froze and crack'd
and ached, for every lover
lacked.
I cannot longer stand the rack.

Too many faithless, fickle
men
with cruel intent and wand'ring eye;
with hand and mind and deed have broke
my soul and put it to
the Yoke,
and made me, but their secret joke.


No, no longer will I love and lose,
nor wait until another choose:
I no longer love thee,
Aengus Óg -
I'll burn thee no more
Incense.

Geraldine Moorkens Byrne

1.