Category Archives: Weather

Where Love Has Lived

A home is not simply a building; it is the shelter around the intimacy of a life. Coming in from the outside world and its rasp of force and usage, you relax and allow yourself to be who you are. The inner walls of a home are threaded with the textures of one’s soul, a subtle weave of presences. If you could see your home through the lens of the soul, you would be surprised at the beauty concealed in the memory your home holds. When you enter some homes, you sense how the memories have seeped to the surface, infusing the aura of the place and deepening the tone of its presence. Where love has lived, a house still holds the warmth. Even the poorest home feels like a nest if love and tenderness dwell there.

John O’Donohue
Excerpt from BEAUTY

 

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Under Cavan Skies

On the 360th day of the year with four minutes to midnight we stood under clear Cavan skies.

Every star had a sharpness so bright they could make an atheist bow at their majesty.
You cannot deny what the eyes make you see.

Orion’s Belt was fastened with clarity.
A question mark backwards demanded we ask ourselves the unanswerable.

Above Orion was a red star.
Stars normally don’t impress me, they make me dizzy.

They crowd my thinking, take my breath away, make me feel small and overwhelmed. They frighten me with their boastful eternity.

They will continue to shine long after we are gone.

The Ancient Greeks once thought there was a blanket behind the skies, they believed the blanket was pierced with little holes, in which the light shone through.
Those lights are what we call the stars.

Time teaches us to believe different things.

As we stood under the lights, I listened as he told me what the constellations were called.

I listened because these past few weeks have taught us that although the stars relentlessly shine, those we love can dim their light.

People can walk out the door and never come home again.

Children can be taken before they are given the opportunity to shine.

Who’s heaven decides such fate?

Illness can meet you at unexpected places, leave or take us into his arms and walk away with us.

Walking up the yard toward the house, the blue lights of the suspended Christmas tree on the street outside, brought us back to the falseness of our reality.

Our made up world that we focus so much on, fades in comparison to the Greek blanket hanging in the Cavan sky.

Oh, the beauty and fragility of life.
Understanding that brightness can be found even in the darkest corners, can resurrect our hopes.
There is such power and strength to be found in the darkness of life, for through the darkness is the epitome of life – those everlasting twinkling beacons of night’s light.

If only we could remember to bring those stars into our day’s light.
There may come a time, you need to fight for some light, if you do just remember
that once the Greeks believed in a pierced blanket in the sky.
Anything is possible, if you are willing to see the light.

An Peann

 

The Man of Double Deed

There was a man of double deed,
Who sowed his garden full of seed;

And when the seed began to grow,
It was like a garden full of snow;

And when the snow began to melt,
It was like a ship without a belt;

And when the ship began to sail,
It was like a bird without a tail;

And when the bird began to fly,
It was like an eagle in the sky;

And when the sky began to roar,
It was like a lion at my door;

And when my door began to crack,
It was like a stick across my back;

And when my back began to smart,
It was like a penknife in my heart;

And when my heart began to bleed,

Twas death,

And death,

And death, indeed.

By Anonymous

Read by Jamie Dornan in The Fall.

Happy Halloween Folks..

Where Cold Ghosts Meet

On Grafton Street she was putting the finishing touches to her chalked coloured masterpiece.
She drew love hearts over all the i’s, pretty they were in their painful disguise.

I had seen her work before, on the ground of Henry Street, her colours then washed away by the man in the truck that sweeps.

I never made time to read them, you know how we are sometimes in a rush?

Last night, I stopped.
I stopped, instead of glancing at the wares inside the windows of the Brown Thomas shop.

I stopped, became moved without moving.
Together we read her chalked words.
Her message reminded us how we should never look down on others.
I asked her could I sit down?
Together we shared a space on the cold October ground.

Her Mother gifted her to the State when she was 12.
Pragmatically she explained, it was for her own safety’s sake.

I asked her was she not fostered?
Shaking her head she told me how her Mam still had rights at the time.
Voluntarily she entrusted her into the arms of the state,
with a promise and a hope to take back home some day.

‘Where did you grow up?’ I asked her.
It turned out we we both grew up in Tallaght.
Looking at her face, I felt I could have known her Mother.
She explained that she grew up in Jobstown, I said ‘so did I’.
She looked back at me with shock in her eyes.

She calls herself April.
She is 18 and a half years old.
She grew up running away from various Care Homes, she didn’t like the hostels, she said ‘it’s not safe to sleep on the street.’

‘I have a tent, another couple stay there too, no one comes near us.’ She assured me it was somewhere safe to rest her pretty red head.

She has somewhere to have a shower every day at nine.
She goes to Art classes in a homeless project, to pass away the time.

More than anything she just wants a real home, so she can go back to school.
This young girl has had it hard, but she is nobody’s fool.
She is waiting for aftercare, the social worker closed her case.
Eighteen years old, no longer a care for the State.

April wants to go to Trinity, she reads a lot.
To study history, even be an archaeologist some day.

I told her she was too beautiful for the streets, she said ‘ah, thanks, thanks a lot.’ She really was ever so sweet.

April grew up across the river from where I lived.
The river being a trickle that divides a multitude of lives.

I am sorry for you, I said.
I don’t feel sorry for you.
I am just sorry you have to live this life.

We hugged, longer than we needed to.

April being no fool, is burdened by circumstances.

She is just a young girl who deserves the right to go back to school.

An Peann

I asked April was it okay to write about her, she said it was okay. If you are reading this, stay safe.
You will go to Trinity some day.
Big Hug.xxx

Metal Horses

In the darkness they leave, pushing wheels across crunching gravel.

They move quietly around corners, waiting for the morning air to awaken their senses.

They walk up the steep hill, like it’s Everest, smiling in relief as they reach the top.

The sunrise stretches his red arms across the sky as they reach the graveyard on the hill.

Stopping again, they dismount to give way for another weary soul.

She puts her hand upon the clasp of his young hand, thinking, it’s time for gloves again.
I love you, he said. With a smile and a tighter grip over his hand, she loves him back.

Leaving each day in the darkness they awaken with the sunrise.

Returning home each night, they see the remain of the day nod his head at the coming of the night.

We are their metal horses, their trusty steeds, we take them safely and swiftly, from their sleepy dreams. There is a lot our bicycle wheels have heard and seen.

An Peann.

The Wind

The wind blows through the sails of our lives,
bringing us to places we never asked to see.

It changes direction, before we reach the place we wish to be.
When the wind is warm, we see hopeful promises, we vision how things could be.

The wind comes and leaves.
In grateful seasons, we dance in the breeze.
In bitter winds our hearts sometimes freeze.

To be like the little bag, floating endlessly in breeze,
landing gently, touching the tip of our daily dreams.

Listen gently to the soft breeze.
The wind knows where we should be.

An Peann

 

The Sound of the wind