Rejected Verses 91-96

 91. The mystery of evil

 

The mystery of evil

I cannot deny it

I cannot conceal

Life’s ugly side

The sickness and suffering

We cannot hide.

 

Mountains have glens

Rivers have valleys.

Are we defined by our paths

Or by the hills on the journey?

 

Each coin has different sides

And so has every story

The battle to love and strive

Keeping us all alive.

 

The ying and the yang

In prose and in song

To challenge our focus

On the new horizon.

 

A glass that’s nearly full

Some is missing for sure

Perhaps never there

In the first place.

 

The cup of life

At times spills over

Sometimes running short

Accepting that’s my lot.

 

Wisdom starts with thanks

For all we’ve got

Choosing to forget

What we’ve not.

 

 

 

92. American humble pie

 

 

He’s not my king

I bow the knee

To no man

Even were he fit

To be a king

Which he’s not.

 

All that glitters

Is not gold

In the Trump empire.

Scratch the surface

And you’ll see

Something awful, something ugly.

 

And while he grasps

The lectern every night

With hunching shoulders

His eyes look fearful

Fearing truth break through

Surrounded by reporters

 

The dam is filling up

By night and day

With dirty water

And who can say

When the wall will break

And carry him away?

 

Weep not for me

You craven followers

But for your families

Heirs to his crazy kingdom

Partners with him

Complicit in his crimes.

 

Shame on you so called

Followers of Jesus

For you will never find him

On your private planes

But in the fields and dusty lanes

Of nameless border towns.

 

America, America

You have sold your soul

To a three times huckster

In a cheap pawn store

No redemption for those

Who value money more.

 

You who would make

Your country great again

And turned your back

On a turning world

That in turn

Will turn away from you.

 

 

 

 

 

93. Blessed are the taxpayers

 

Blessed are we

When paying our taxes

When paying the wages

Of doctors and nurses

Of teachers and postmen.

 

Jesus was friend

To collectors of taxes

That paid for the bridges

And the roadways to Rome

We’re still walking on.

 

Joyful the hand

Signing the cheque

Happy the letter

Confirming tax paid.

 

The letter from Revenue

Will be treasured and framed

Hanging on walls

With family portraits.

 

For in paying for them

You were honoring me

In the young and the old

In humble city flats

And in nursing homes.

 

 

 

 

94. It was a house of two halves

 

It was a house of two halves

Joined in the middle by stairs

The product of two ancient houses

On busy Castle Street in Sligo.

 

Grandad was a greengrocer

He owned McDonagh’s the Dairy

Above it he raised a big family

Early in the twentieth century.

 

Buying next door, he rented

The ground floor to a turf accountant

Joining the floors above

In a crafty uneven monument.

 

To a five-year-old in the fifties

The magic of going from floor to floor

To the smell of oil paints

Of paintings lying behind doors.

 

One of the thirteen children

Was gifted young Bernie the artist

Who had painted for his supper in Rome

And had sketched in stately Salamanca.

 

Eleven of thirteen grew to adults

Two boys minded the store

Where the poor were never turned back

Whose accounts were seen no more.

 

Lily was child number four

Born in Glenties, Donegal

Born the night a man died

In the station the floor below.

 

The family moved south to more peace

And James reinvented a career

From policeman to grocer

A transformation took only a year.

 

I sat on his lap aged four

And played with the watch

That hung from his waistcoat

As we sat in the kitchen

That led to shop in on the street -

 

Where the smell of tea in their casks

Clashed with the smell of the milk

Unpasteured in great heavy churns

Dispensed to people with pongers *

 

James and Mary McDonagh

Lived with their brood in two houses

Joined in the middle by steps

A palace to a young lad of four.

 

. *Sligo name for a steel milk container.

 

 

 

 

95. Isolation. Day 7*

 

Everything familiar now seems strange

The new normal is not normal

What seemed important now grown small

What we took for granted is no more.

 

 

Our lives but a number on a chart

Our deepest fears find an echo

In our deepest heart.

We stand on ground zero.

 

 

How we yearn for more innocent times

How we would welcome back

The troubles of just last month

If only we had known.

 

 

A century born on certainty

Is ravaged by impotence

By a foe invisible and formless.

Time stands still in silent queues.

 

 

One thing for sure when this is over

Things will change for we have seen

And will not be fooled again

By false tin gods or vain pursuits.

 

 

The time will come to exit homes

And blink in broad sunlight

To drink the freedom

That only justice brings.

 

*24^thMarch 2020.

 

 

96. One day nearer

 

One day nearer, one less fever

In a world worn down with dread

Each day passing brings survival

Closer to each family.

 

Look not down, look straight up

At the goal that’s nearing every day

Let not terror forge our footsteps

Let our courage overcome.

 

Let’s pray for doctors and for nurses

And the heroes in our shops

Please pray for army and policemen

For politicians and all who lead us.

 

This too will pass of that I’m certain

I look forward to the feast

When we toast all those who helped us

And those we met along the road.

 

To salvation.

 

 

May 2020