Monthly Archives: September 2015

A Lid For Every Pot

That night, when she was nineteen, she lay her head upon her mothers lap in disbelief. She asked her mother, when? ‘When will it be my turn? Why do they leave? How do we know they are the one?’

Her mother stroked her hair, dried her wet face and said ‘there is a lid for every pot’. Through her choking tears she cried ‘then I must be a frying pan!’ Her mother replied with a warm smile ‘a frying pan can be covered too.’

Love introduced her to a few pots, with many she was burnt. Some brought strange obnoxious fumes into her life, others she allowed boil away her sense of self and peace.

With another she created one of her best dishes, but alas they did not fit. That love was highly flammable and lacked nutrition.

So she cooked alone for a peaceful mind, some of her best dishes she created in that time. She was her own lid, her own pot, no longer did she need to be covered. She was content.

Then without notice or desire her world suddenly changed.

Someone walked right into her kitchen, armed with new flavours. She quickly realised that her mother was right that night.

Now they cook together, try new things, they do not cry over spilt milk. Breaking bread together, they value all their ingredients.

She feels covered, life finally tastes good.

An Peann

A World Without Labels

What would it be like to live in a label free world?

Where no one was rich – and the poor no longer exist.
What if there was no such thing as gender, just individuals full of splendour.

No such thing as unemployment,  just people fulfilling roles with enjoyment.

What if our children were your children? And a parent was a person who cared about someone, not because biology designed but simply out of a love that was inclined.

Imagine a world without addiction, where there was no such thing as diction.

– Just people sharing with conviction.

– Homes for the homeless.

Where the word ‘depression’ wouldn’t cause shame or repression.

A label free world without ammunition, non violence and a new type of recession.

A weapon of mass potential which could rid the world of consumerism and capitalistic obsession.
How about a world without war mentality? No food stamps or political criminality.

A world without banality.

No death penalty or murder, no rape and no one hurting.

Imagine a world with no labels, no borders, no need for torture.

A world without wars, no need for soldiers, no machine guns, bombs or revolvers,

just people standing shoulder to shoulder.
What would it be like, to live in a world without labels?

An Peann

The Girl with Autumn in her Hair

The Girl with Autumn in her Hair

Autumn is humming; there are whispers in the trees
Golden green and mandarin sheen, mingle with red hues in the gentle breeze.

The Girl with Autumn in her hair, dances through the air,
touching nature with her magical coloured fingers.

It is the season of many colours, where the leaves all paint each other, in a sea of eclectic splendour which wash the ground.

As she moves from place to place, her red beauty will finely weave and trace all that is green to its final calling.

The Girl with Autumn in her hair is here to shake the branches bare. She sprinkles the dust of coloured melodies from treetops as leaves fall aground.

Humming with unfathomable beauty, touching nature is her duty.
She paints her season with a redness so profound.

An Peann

Concrete Feather Bedding

Concrete Feather Bedding

Framed in the window light underneath Dublin City lights.
He lay down upon his concrete feather bedding.
With no jacket for the night or no blanket in sight he sought rest upon the darkened pavement floor.

This atrocity of night is the Cairdeas Angels plight, they hovered in the hope he would soon awake. They tried to make him stir, but his mind and sleep undisturbed were only destined to a darkened coffin morning.

Where Homeless Ghosts meet the Angels placed at their feet a duvet to give warmth to this young man’s life. The bitter concrete slabs were now relieved and glad, without a doubt these actions saved this young man’s life.

We are lucky in our homes, in the warmth on our mobile phones; we are not looking for some concrete feather bedding.

Who are responsible you say, for those who live this way?

Homeless ghosts do not bicker; they know the cruelty of night’s bitter, they want to save the living ‘dying’ on our streets. If we really want to help, check your hot press room and shelves.

Give a duvet, save a life. Help the Cairdeas Angels plight. Or the ranks of the Homeless Ghosts set to increase.

An Peann

Photograph taken last night by Cairdeas Homeless Action.

Denying who you are…

Denying who you are…

Denying who you are will be the only true regret you will ever own.

Listen to the whisper of your intuitive voice. Do not be silenced by the roars of conformity or pressured by the mimicking nature of everyone else.

Fear will rob you of your dreams, deny you love and take your sanity hostage. It will encase you in a world you do not belong. Fear masquerades as a powerful army of thoughts. That army can be overcome by one. Be your own victor.

Deep inside, under a misplaced sense of pride, may sit regret. Bound and gagged – yet quietly mad, it waits for your consent to be acknowledged.

Time waits for everyone; it is never too late to find you, to be you. Our age is but our place in time from the hour we are delivered until the second we say goodbye.

If you have a dream, live it. A song, sing it. A picture, paint it. A voice – let it be heard.

Denying who you are will be the only true regret you will ever own.

An Peann

We Are All Relevant

We Are All Relevant

The homeless families on our streets, cold and tired, disillusioned, feeling beat. You are all relevant.

The little lost girl in tears, without her parents and full of fears, this war, your people’s plight. You are all relevant.

The parents working all hours just to make ends meet, the mortgage paid but there is little to eat. You are all relevant.

The woman in the shop dressed in a Monsoon frock, counting pennies as she shops. You are relevant.

The girl who seems to have everything money can buy, but goes home where she sits alone and cries. You are relevant.

The addict who brushes his girlfriend’s greasy hair, caresses her face with loving care, as she sits on a bench in the cold morning air. You are relevant.

The Father who cannot see why he should go on, lost his job, now the house may be gone. You are relevant.

The wife who is looking at her husband’s packed cases in the hall, her world collapsing before Santa calls. You are relevant.

The unemployed, struggling to get along, people singing the judgement song. You are all relevant.

All our lives, where they stand and where they meet, through triumph and defeat, are all relevant.

An Peann

Photography by Jerry Uelsmann