Poems of the Twilight and Dawn

Index

Alone

Bergin

Cherry blossom

Confession

Cretan dreams

Definitions

Dreamer

Emma

Evening rain

Falling rain

Garcia

Hamish

If

Island

Lakescape

Lost humanity

Masked Medea

On the edge

Phoenix

Porthcain

Questions

Requiem

Reverie

Shadows in the night

Sprite

Trembling on the edge

Voyage

Waterfall

Wladek

Ancient magic

Change of tune

Church yard

Contrasts

Death camp

Departures

Dublin town

Erin

Fallen hero

Fisherman

Gnothe seauton

Harlequin

Inner storm

Jackdaw mind

Last dream

Lost youth

Mespil Bridge

Passion

Pictures

Primal yearning

Remembrance

Return

Sailor of needs

Smile

Sylph

Untitled

Waiting

Witness

Primal Yearning

Boy as man

and man made whole

in the rebirth

of childhood’s

stilted pantomime.

Fluctuating patterns

spiral, flow

forever weaving silvery threads

of a dark, subliminal tapestry

in which the tiger stalks

the jungles of the heart.

Scratch the polished surface

hear the anguished roar

as suffused in blood

it stalks the lonely paths

yearning

for the primal dawn

when the light shone clear

and cancerous time was still

not born.

Rich is the confusion

as thoughts cascade

and base nature lies bare

beneath the mask of age

Child is man

and man is child

once more

longing to be free.

Harlequin

Ancient eyes, set deep

in distant, long-forgotten

reverie,

were my dreams caught

in the drifting pools

hid behind the mist ?

did my fears

trickle and flow

within the depths,

within the masking

grin ?

Was that a day

of days

when the kaleidoscope of chance

span and rolled

and the leering harlequin

smiled and beckoned

and pointed to the dawn ?

Was that a time

before time

when all stood still

and the stream ebbed

gently

in the illusion

of a faint and fragile

hour ?

I knew you not

and yet

in that sepia moment

in that half reflected look

I find

myself

grinning back.

Reverie

Thinking of a place

and a mood

and a time

a thousand years

back

locked

into the heart

and into the mind.

A delicate bubble of memory

glimpsed and felt

with it s fragile scent

luring me back

again.

It was sweet

then

boys aware

and awakening

to the possible,

to the horizon

and touching the coiled spring

of momentary illusion.

Timeless,

and yet caught in time,

it was a dream

and is a dream

whose shadows call like sirens

a song of grief

entwined

in the mirage of

seamless joy.

We were alive

then

in a time of great living,

and though hidden

by its mystery

the picture glows

awhile

a conscience lingering

in a memory

a sadness

bathing in the twilight

of the distant,

innocent

dawn.

Lost Youth

Long time gone

in a room purple

in the imagining

warmth percolates within

tap tap mother tap

a heart rekindled

amidst lost youth

waiting

tea-pot in hand

a rare smile

flicker, flicker

on the face

child-like

pressed against the window pane

but the music drifts

comfortably by

swirling in the smoke

the casual conspiracy of friendship

secured by secrets

half-shared

and jokes half-recalled

that spiral in the air

and rest

in time itself.

tap tap mother tap

Cocooned in naiveté

they fail to heed

the desperate plea

of age

come scratching

at the door.

tap tap

and gone

the silence on the stair

mute testimony

to the sadness

left lingering

in the air.

Shadows in the Night

And she died

one night

one cold, melancholic night

drifting early

into a morning

of mist rising

frost forming

on the breath

And she died

gaunt in the towers

pale skeletal form

hardly reflecting

the life gone before

a shell of weary bone

hardly affecting

the crisp white sheets

now her shroud

And she died

the flashing eyes now still

the rage and passion spent

the childlike yearnings

finally futile

in the passing

of her dreams

And she died

and all was quiet

save the breathing

of the stones

save the gentle murmuring

of the wind

in the tall guardian

trees.

Lakescape

The lake quietly

moves

in the cradle of its valley

A silent green audience

rustling shy

appreciation from the tiers

of carved and solemn

granite.

Capricious breezes

strut

the amphitheatre soaring

high above;

Rocks frown

frozen fisherman caught

in the turn

of the wind,

crouched in time,

they gaze forever

at the indeterminate shades

below.

Water melds blue,

a silvery smile

flickers faintly by

in the translucence

of the watching eye

and occasional squalls

tease and nip the waves

like frisky shepherd dogs

cajoling their flock.

Ghosts of distant memory

chuckle here

and summon the soul

like a prodigal son

finally

returning home.

Smile

Momentarily caught

in the half light

of a half smile,

you blossom and delicately flower,

a gently coloured radiance

amidst the shadows,

so darkly edged around;

A silhouette of mood and sound,

you borrow from my dreams

the rippling cadences

of silvery laughter

and form in the sunshine

a golden reflection

of mellowing hues.

And instead

of coldness I revel

inwardly,

in secret memories,

in times shared

in sweet embrace,

in the soft tenderness

in your smiling eyes.

And, for an instant,

for a fragile, bubble-blown instant,

I am transfigured,

within the subtle warmth,

within you.

Erin

Land of mist

Land of dream

Land of the dance

And land of the rolling

stream.

Island of sorrow

Island of rain

Island of god

And island of dark and inner

pain

Land of the Gael

Land of the Scot

Land of mystery

Land that we somehow

forgot

Island of the Muse

Island of the vale

Island of imagining

Island where the nightmares stalk

and wail

Land of beauty

Land of rage

Land of maelstrom and magic

Land of struggles

from a different age

An island

of paradox

An island sublime

An island of faces

An island of time

beyond time.

Witness

Waiting

between a cross reference

waiting

as images coalesce

and sing

a softly discordant melody

suffused

in deeper meaning

I count the moment

of each breath

twitch, turn

every movement tinged

with the potentiality

of its death.

A gallows gallery

hid behind

the perspex window frame

of their numbness

watch, wait

witnessing

the victim caught

in the final struggle

in the mute, unconscionable net

of immutable destiny.

Childhood pictures,

the lost chords

of a fading, half remembered tune,

flicker and fold

into the crease of the hospital bed

as dreamlike reality

flits in and out

each gesture, each look

a memory

of the echoing past

a memory

striving to be held

in the scrapbook recollections

of the mind.

Waiting

between time

Waiting

hypnotized and paralyzed

the snakehead

holds the eyes

and prepares to spit

its poison

in the grieving

of the dead.

Porthcain

What men worked here

in time

stretching by wearily

as teeth hewn from brick

rose ragged

above the storm lashed hills

and machines sculpted from bone

toiled long

before the fury of the forge ?

Once the heart of battle

a redoubt in the pulsing smoke

relentlessly

pouring forth from the fallen slopes

it watched

as sweat-lined Titans strove

with straining muscles locked

and created

a bitter cauldron for man’s desire.

But now the serried rocks tower

uneasily

like guards above the prison walls

and the shadows

echo with the calls

of those ancient men of stone

now absorbed

by a quiet earth they worked

so unquestioningly.

And the waves gently break

on the silent beach below

darkly

mirroring the slow and timeless

decay

an irresistible recapture

by a land they defied

so briefly

in a time when iron and steel ran

like veins

upon the sand.

Cherry Blossom

Born in the dawn

exhilarant caprice

clusters of pink

flutter

shyly on the branch

and dance

in eager glee

to the soft entreating tune

of an early morning breeze.

Fierce-handed manacles

of wintry grip relent

and as the curtain grey

slides wearily aside

small carnivals of colour

leap forth

like ballerinas young

chattering at the bar

pirouette, arabasque

below their fans of green

arced on high

they frolic, giggling in the sun

coy cheeks flushed

in secret dreams

and skip their pas de deux

with imaginary paramours.

Trees grown cold

in icy embrace

gently creak and chuckle

Victorian nannies proudly clucking

at their mischievous brood

twirling, spinning

pliet, degagee

toutous spreading wide

in the glowing

of the midday light

and then

gone

a carpet reddened white

the final curtsey

to the sweeping rain

and only

memory lingers on

of youth

of hope

of a freshness bold

to drive away the shadows

that make us all

grow old.

Church Yard

Clear bell chiming

through the gravestone fog

early mist rising

in this land of god

Young child leaps

through the moss-covered tombs

a lark flitting

as the sunlight looms

Quiet sleeps this stone-clad world

of long forgotten souls

as cloaked in care he skips

the brooding bastions of miner moles

Silver strands of spider web

laced with the gleaming jewels of dew

sparkle in the burgeoning morning glow

and in his yearning conjure dreams anew

Chuckling canopy

of twined and slender brocade

shields and lures the shyly seeking eye

beneath the roll and fall of ancient furrough

a glaze of green hovering and drifting bluely by

Lilacs waft the easy swimming air

paddles of purple stirring in the brew

choirs of primrose bristle and trimly trill

to the soft fingered touch of the hanging yew

Faint burr of grasshopper melodies

catalyze, contain the stillness of the hour

shaded in the eloquent creaking of the elms

that parade and drape before

a brown and crumbling tower

A sanctuary of old

a sanctuary discovered again

A green cathedral to absolve and heal

a haven of peace to bury the pain.

Waterfall

Trickle quietly

kitten

frisk-footed

tumble down

the mountain’s

ragged side

Scuttle scamper

over moss-coat rock

and stone

paws gently

playing

with the dew-drop jetsam

and the bubble in the flow

Chuckle chatter

jaw mouthing

a deathly rattle

at the shadow

instincts of a hunter

preparing for the kill

emboldened

creeping

with delicate

menace

through scratched and torn

ravine

and valleys

green in the echo

of the fringing tree

like cat

stalking the scent

purposeful

intent

body slicked back

molten lines

flowing

irresistible on

sleekness

only broken

by the flicker-tailed ripple

pulsating beneath the skin

and shark-finned branches

that rise with jagged ear

above the staring face

ever on

broadening

quickening

the legs begin to bound

a wash-wave sweeping

the frowning bank

teeth gleaming sharp

behind the frozen snarl

until

the final surge

of clawing muscularity

leaps and pounces

on the air

unleashed fury

brown-white

growling

torrent

cascading

down

tigress

upon its prey

devouring

the pool below

then sated

and full

the river wanders on

froth covering

a smiling jaw

anger spent

ready

to roll and sleep

between

the gentle cushions

of the softly-moulded

hill.

Death Camp

Whips lash

Doors crash open

A stark light

Spits out

Its horror anew

Snarling dogs, men snarling

Life itself reduced

To whirlwinds

Of screaming insanity

Amid the red river

` Amid the rocks

And falling blows

A tide

Of broken humanity

Ebbs and flows

A mother clutches emptily

The space once her child

Hollow eyed in hollow thought

A man calls for his god

Small drabs of memory

Swept aside

In this hurricane

Of hate

Rushing relentlessly

Forever on

The grey faced torrent

Floods through trees

Bound by wire

Barbed in steel

Heaven's path they call

This twisted incarnation

Of hell

Cold men coldly

Calculate the pieces

Of soiled merchandise

Twisting by

No conscience here

Among the numbers

No memory

As those of mothers born

Kill mothers

As children die at the hand

Once of children

The suppliant waves

Finally break

Before the hard cliff doors

Before the cathedral

Of this godless faith

And stripped

And naked

And shorn of all

They seem to pray a while

And then are gone

To die

In this carnal adoration

Of death itself.

Smoke drifts

Through the whispering trees

And time moves on

Faint echoes of fading cries

Carried on the breeze

And time moves on

Only the stones

Stand still

Mutely defiant

In the weeping

Rain

Only the stones

Remain

Silent prophets

Of what we know

Will come

Again.

The Mespil Bridge

Cramped within the flowing

a toadstool arch

a bridge between the bridges

sat squat

above the muted muttering

of a lazy weir

and pools of stagnant beauty tinged

with effluence

A fall of water

an aspiring waterfall wears

the battlement crown

of painted wood

A lock that boats

will never near

stays locked

and with its gangplank boast

creaks in the dreaming

of the faraway sea

A wind-ruffled reach

carved and manufactured stream

that seldom more

than a brook has been

conceals its secrets

badly

mill-pond windows

in the oily sheen

reflect and serry

the youthful, hopeful avenues

that grace and line

its tarmaced banks

and a poet

we thought we knew

lazes a while

in deep, metallic trance

below the scurrying blue

amid the ducks and the daffodils

and the busy, oh so busy

travellers striding through

Lost in reflection

reflections of loss

an island of peaceful green

defies the crowd

the cars and the hurtling mass

edged and hostile around

illusions upon illusions

meld and abound

a tapestry

of uncertainty

and here

Ireland

can be found

Trembling on the edge

girl-woman

one-eyed

peering from the softness

of the nest;

awkward in limb

trembling on the edge

of flight

she is desperate

to hold,

be held,

the fragments

of the picture

dissolving

in secret renewal

of past forms

abandoned

forsaken

as toys of childhood.

She clutches the trails

of dream

in fear

of nightmare

strange hybrids

of feeling

that grow inside

threatening,

strangling

the child within

as fun-fair mirrors

distort

the inner eye

and elephantine shapes

grin back

like thieves

stealing

the grace

and poise

of youth.

The shadows

hover round

and darken the soul,

spectres

transforming, though,

into silent messengers

of the dawn.

Return

In the end

I shall fly

away

to the mountains

of the mind.

Returning to the spring

I shall silently sing

an aching, ancient

melody

and floating softly

through the valleys of my youth

strip back the coiling mesh

of time.

I shall be as foam

upon the sea

tossed and guided

to the depths

when life was naught

but curious mystery.

I shall turn

and burn inside

the coolness of the fire

that cloaks

the empty space

within.

And finally

I shall be

nothing

save

the breath of air

in a cold

and elemental silence.

Sprite

Sleek spirit

slender sprite

of a southern sea

tread your slow-dancing step

across the glistening lights

of a tranquil harbour bay

Feline feet

that leave no print

stalk your pulsing prey

through the ebbing intricacies

of silhouettes fluttering fleeting

upon the brooding

night-time wave

Like a proud, majestic galleon

of a desert caravanserai

you wander from the wastes

to an oasis laced in stone

and rest awhile

beneath the blinking tower beam

within the arching

of the spit

then, bored of land's constraint,

slip the straining leash

and slide contentedly

back

into the depths

back

into your silent mystery

a slender sprite

maiden of the southern sea.

The last dream

And go I shall

to the final, unbounded

mystery;

And dance shall I

as a leaf tumbling

in the teasing of the wind;

And rise with each fall

constantly

transmuting;

And fall again,

like flotsam

perpetually turning

on the turbulent tide.

I was here

at the start of time

and sing I shall

the final chord;

I am the dust of the stars,

I am the flickering of the fire,

and in the dying

shall I live

again.