Wild calls of abandonment
comes rushing down the mountain
in the guise of mist and rain,
the cover of winter invites adventure,
a test of the elements against
the temperament of man.
Carry yourself across the crags,
the land-crashed hills, earthen downs,
come trail through skyland and cloud
to Heaven’s peak, where God will whisper
the secrets of life to those that brave
the blind summit of today.
Here is your deepest breath,
all affirmation comes,
interwoven with passion and privilege.
The fire of achievement burns away
season’s frost, man, one more step
along his kindling journey.
Ireland’s glossary of peaceful terms,
whether it be permissive attitudes or
love-thy-neighbour, were slumping in supply.
The avocet, wading through the ripples of
lets-pretend-peace and guarantees,
decided not to simply allow hope to subside:
letting its bill come into the process,
it said, “Each of us should be teetotal,
as if drink and war were of the same genus.”
Starlings over Albert Bridge,
their echolocation finding home.
Once burrowed in,
they lay claim to the air.
You cannot challenge torpor or song.
Let their mosaic settle.
Imagine this avenue of portcullis trees
formation of immovable spruce,
each an auburn
sentinel on grass clumped as hairnets,
against the blemish of evening wind;
with every guarded flower
an insect entangled sweetly
and sap, an announcement:
see Spring become.
We only dream and curse the branches