Heartlines

You could say:
‘They came, they saw, they conquered’
but that would not explain
how they survived
how they thrived

Goodbye
Farewell
So long…
bright
light
skies
until…
New skies
grey – fog – smog
drizzle

Closed shores
‘No Irish, no dogs, no Blacks’
Closed doors
Closed minds
but buoyed
by memories
Friends
Associates
Communities emerged

Strong
bold
determined
to make a good life
to make life good
to bring about change

Like others before
them
who came, saw and conquered
The Mother Land

Beating to a different rhythm
Listen
The earth is breathing
In
Out
In
Out
Trees steady their stance
Branches quiver

A pregnant pause

Betwixt and between
Creeping along the path
A blue haze beckons
As it stitches a luxuriant
Curtain of bluebells
Delicate but strong

As we are and as we might be

Myrna Moore

I rise, a latter-day Phoenix, trailing
thunder and acetylene flame
in my wake, aimed at the broad acres
of Heaven. Star traveller, space nomad,
technology’s bright archangel,
I will fly into God’s blinding eye,
the blue eye of genesis.

The thin rind of atmosphere, biology’s
comfort zone, blazes with the sun’s
lancing light and ahead lies
the star-strewn expanse of eternity.

My soul screams in terror and ecstasy,
but I know that no matter how deeply
I probe the nest of galaxies,
the umbilical cord will not be severed –
behind me, the blue flame of Earth
still burns brightly.

Bill Fitzsimons

For days the ocean has unleashed its ire,
a frenzy born of elemental spite –
winds have raged that will not cease or tire
till all’s consumed in endless, blackest night.
The waves break fiercely on the rocks, and spray
flings lacy droplets in the screaming air,
while boats at anchor feel the lash and flay
of water whips – a scene of grim despair.

But in the depths where silence still prevails,
the shark yet glides and seeks the silver ghosts
of fish and other prey, their weaving tails
now teasing. While Poseidon drinks his toasts
to calmness down below, chaos reigns on top,
where banshee winds still wail – and never stop.

Bill Fitzsimons 2012

Tiny orb of light that in my hand grows,
I chide you as if you were a child,
You come with lynx-and-eagle eyes
To help me summer-clean my house.
You burn inside my head with freezing fire,
And though I chide you, sun,
You are welcome in these rooms.

Orb of light, you expand and throw
Your beams on every speck of dust,
You cast the deepest, longest shadows,
Impossible to scrub away, and yet
Your fire-finger with its golden touch
Lets bounteous sparkles loose
To catch on dull accoutrements.

Incurable hound, you lie on sofas,
Pent-up ball, whimpering in your sleep,
Huge, brooding furnace,
You flare into brute and natural
Temper at the sound of threat. Not true.
I hold you tenderly in my hand, dear orb,
I will not chide, you are too bright.
Unfurl your wings, magic beast of fire,
And take up residence in the clouds.

Linda Marshall

I will go to Spain
– the heat won’t worry me –
to sit in cantinas with gypsies
playing frenetic guitars.
The clap and stamp of their hands and heels
will make frills and flounces flash and flick.
I’ll ache at passionate love songs and laments
I don’t understand
and drink red wine.

I will go to Ireland
– the rain won’t worry me –
to sit in bars with gypsies
playing fiddles and bodhrans.
The clip and clack of their reeling feet
will make skirts curl and swirl.
I’ll weep at melancholy love songs and laments
I don’t understand
and drink black stout.

I will go to India
– neither heat nor rain will worry me –
to sit under tamarind trees with gypsies
playing sitars and tabla.
The chink and clink of their belled ankles
will make silken saris glimmer and shimmer.
I’ll yearn at quavering love songs and laments
I don’t understand
and drink sweet masala chai.

I will be a gypsy
– no weather will worry me –
the World will be my caravan,
it’s peoples my family,
their music – my religion.
The whirl and twirl of our dance
will make rainbows blaze
as our love songs and laments roll like thunder across the skies.

Cate Anderson