LOVE IS THE BEAT

AFTER THE STORM

As I remember

You were not unfamiliar with storms,

On the sea and in the Temple.

You calmed the one

And caused the other.

In both you made the point

That you are Lord of all.

Quieting winds from fishing boats

Upsetting thieves and tables

Settling once for all

The question

Is God for us or against us.

With every move you made

The answer gave

Love is the beat

Of the Omnipotent heart,

The cross-winds you faced

Salvaged our soul-drown

And made a place

For God to live

In hearts – surrendered.

Gerard O'Shea

THE FULL LONG AGO

Painting by Egor Zaytsev (Russia)

PAST PRESENCE

Dressing the Christmas tree
Used to take all the family
An hour or two to do,
Back then the house hummed
With laughing children,
As each shiny bauble was hung
On the welcoming fir.
Their shouts of glee
Twinkled like the crowning star
Bright atop the highest bough.

Now she does the task alone,
Her eyes twinkling at memories
Of the full long ago.
Each glimmering trinket
Unlocks some olden scene
Of the family gathered
Around the open fire,
Flames adance
Reflecting in the adorned tree
Light drops of time’s passage.

Gerard O'Shea

WATCHING MY STEP

Cleeves bank runs from Limerick city to Barrington's Pier alongside the majestic river Shannon.The path is named after the once nearby Cleeves factory which used to produce a world famous toffee and other sugary confections. The bank was a favourite haunt of childhood conjuring up dreams and adventures inspired by the great river as well as giving the opportunity to cast a line and discover the delights of fishing from the riverbank for the first time. Later the bank became a leafy route for walking the dog and my mother in her later years daily walked 'Judy' along its path delighting in the natural beauty and peacefulness of the place. Walking along the bank recently brought a tide of memories to mind and caused some reflection of the future and my own mortality, so the poem below. ~GOSh.~

ON CLEEVES BANK

I’ve walked this track as boy and man
Through sunshine days and rain,
And left the path quite reassured
This way I’ll pass again.

But now I take each careful step

As though this one my last,
And gently tread the sacred spot
A blessed noble task.

 

Gerard O'Shea

 

 The view from Cleeves bank

DOON LAKE, BROADFORD

JULY EVENING

A cold pasta meal

By this windswept lake

Deep in county Clare,

Fingers nipped

In unseasonable cold -

Scurry back to car

And window sealed warmth,

Sipping hot tea.

Settling after chocolate 

To write these lines 

Of record...

Gerard O'Shea

SOW SOW POEM

KINGDOM SLIPPING

‘Alas for those who are at ease in Zion…’

Amos 6:1

In his thirties Jesus knew a thing or two
About the human heart,
When He told the story of the Sower,
And the tender seed of faith
Being choked by life’s weedy cares.
He knew how the concerns of this world
Creep up and stop us in our tracks
And we let the Kingdom slip us by.

Should have listened better
To the Master,
Could have known a thing or two
About this wicked heart.

Gerard O'Shea

A PAPAL PUZZLE

THE X (IV) FACTOR

Pope warns children over celebrity culture

Fame and fortune do not bring happiness, the Pope told thousands of schoolchildren in a warning about Britain’s celebrity culture. ~ English Telegraph ~

The Pope touched down on Scottish soil
To the applause of waiting crowds,
And in the bird-house Popemobile
Winding his Celtic pilgrimage down through Princess Street
To cheers and flag waving adulation.

Back home and on the throne

Later in Glasgow in an open field
He celebrated mass
For a congregation of 60,000.
The following day in a London classroom
He warned the vulnerable young
Against the cult of celebrity
And the lures of wealth and fame,
Which, according to the visiting Pontiff
Will not bring true happiness.
This is rich advice indeed
From a man who lives in grand seclusion
And is waited hand and foot.

Distinctive hand made red shoes

Perhaps if he had stayed close to the Master
As his sole exemplar,
Rather than mimicking
The vulgar pomp of Pagan Empire,
Then he might by a simple holy life
Have much to teach the youth of London
About peace, love and happiness.

Gerard O'Shea

AT FANORE

SECRET

This sea demurely purrs for the tourist hordes
Emerging on the sunny days
To exclaim breathlessly, “ This is so beautiful”.

In the winter these waves dash above the stony shoreline
And the surging sea heaves so hard that nothing can sail on her,
Then her true wild heart is unleashed
Without sight of a coach or bike.

An awesome power and majesty
Reigning in the occult winter.

Gerard O'Shea

ELEPHANT HUNT !

As encountered this very morning

On Encountering An Elephant
Outside the Hunt Museum

After tea and crumble
And convivial discourse
I came out of the Hunt
Not to find a horse,
But an elephant no less
To greet me in the yard
Though gaudy and ceramic
Its hide felt really hard.

And its eyes were sad
And its head bent low
So affected was I
I found it hard to go
And leave this little fellow
An exhibit out of doors
No trees or rippling ponds
Or verdurous jungle floor.

Alone outside the Hunt
With rain swift on its way

I wonder is he dripping now

Neath skies of molten grey ?
And in time he’ll remember
This Limerick wind and wet
Cause as everybody knows
An elephant can’t forget.

Gerard O'Shea

Postscript - The elephant pictured above is apparently the Irish painted entry in the International Elephant Parade to take place this summer in London. The Cork born artist, Bill Griffin prefers fingers to brushes when it comes to expressing his artistic vision in paint. So now you know !

THE ISLAND

The Grand Parade in Cork resembling Venice ,

in the flooding of the last few days.

ANOTHER DELUGE

.

The water rushed in
Set free from the broken banks,
Submerging domestic life
In it’s swaddling ooze.
.
Stranded upstairs
Land dwellers look out to sea
Where lately lawns were trimmed,
And streams of murky brown
Torrent through the garden swing.
.
Dogs and cattle call
Alarmed at this fluid pasture
While experts crow again
Of changing climate
And further plans of action.
.
Meanwhile the island sinks
Beneath swamped hopes
And tidal waves of disappointment.
.
What Ark will now save us
From these foolish habitations
Built on the shifting sands
Of our heart-wrenched plains.
.

Gerard O'Shea

COMING SOON

A SUDDEN END

.
When the midnight cry goes up
Above all we have and hold
And a thousand rushing winds
Swirl about the soul -
When stout hearts break for fear
At this sudden visit down
A King of glory to descend
A world to bend beneath his crown-
When all the seas will vomit
Their briny store of dead
And earth itself surrenders
Those long interred in it…
Then as old is conquered
And new is blossomed out
This aching world will weary bow
And find all mysteries out -
When lion and lamb lie down
When gun and bomb dissolve
And stony hearts become
Bounding hearts of love
Wont that be the day
That will
Wont that be the day.

.

Gerard O'Shea

LIGHT AND SHADE

.

EBB AND FLOW

.

This morning on an Autumn walk
I passed the wooden church,
A funeral hearse was parked outside
Waiting in the lurch .

.
This afternoon I homeward went
Again I passed that place,
A wedding car now there parked
Festooned with silk and lace.

.
Two occasions on one day
Beneath the self-same sun,
One life fading, ebbed away
Two hearts joined a life begun.

.
A door closing, a door opening
A sombre dusk, a radiant dawn
Two celebrations on an Autumn day,
Tides coming, tides going.

.

Gerard O'Shea

MUSING THE WOUND

.

ACCUSED

.

I stepped on glass
In the domestic setting
Of a familiar boudoir
And felt the grating
Rasp of jagged shard
Against my skin
Until the crimson stream
Oozed from the pin prick wound.

.

Listen to the primal sound
The drumming of blood flow
Synchronised rhythm of life
Pulsing a rock beat
An anthem to die for
Someday.

.

Later to percolating coffee
Twin angels
From Timoleague and Schull
Divine reminders
Of the winding freedom
Of West Cork
And the healing
In the glance
Of radiance.

.

I bleed no more
Wound tide stemmed
Cleaned and balmed
I take my first step
Carefully
Towards complete
Redemption.

.

Gerard O'Shea

HERALD OF SPRING

A solitary sentinel near Kilbane in County Clare ~ (Antoin)~

.

The prim and proper Primrose,

Sits smiling in the sun,

A woodland testimonial

Since time itself begun.

.

Gerard O'Shea

TIPTOEING FOR LIFE

Croagh Patrick in Mayo, where the saint

is reputed to have prayed and fasted.

.

HOLY YEARNING

.

Before we learned to fly
Hills were our only launching pads
From which tired plane dwellers
Could hope to touch the clouds,
The nearest any Mystic got
To catching ethereal bodies…
Grasping concepts of timelessness,
The pulpit-places for seeking Prophets-
Men burning to talk with holy God…

Hilly peaks of prayer and meditation,
There, on windswept worlds apart
Gathered Seekers of a world beyond,
Those not satisfied with ‘seeing’
Grown tired from ‘hearing’
Jaded with earth’s solid bread
Tip-toeing on mountain tops
For food Celestial

.

Gerard O'Shea

TRUTH AND SILENCE

This book is a con...Truth is not found between

the covers of it or any other tome, but in a man...

When asked 'What is truth?' by Pilate,

He said....nothing -

and that silence has spoken more eloquently

over the centuries

than all the clamour and endeavour

of philosophers and thinkers

who have sought to fill it

with their own ideas and theories

.

MARKET FORCES

.

So many truths
Expressed in the check-out queue
Of seeking souls
Particles of meaning, high shelved
Out of the reach of the immature-
Two for one price packs of instant karma…
Soluble truth grains
Ideal for that mid-morning
Sense of nothing pick me up…
Yellow packed morsels of cake
For the bread demanding mob,
More than empty heads
Will be lost in this revolution…
Mistress Truth still tantalises
Even in the black shadow
Of Madame guillotine.

All’s not yet lost in this cost-cutting war
The truth has relatives
Long distanced, non-visiting
Like Real and Soul Integrity
Where the kindly guardian
May, even after closing time
Allow the briefest visit.

As for me I think I’ll trust
In other than the Princes and their chariots,
And lye back as an infant child
Enjoying all the sustenance
Dropped at my feet
By kindly ravens.

.

Gerard O'Shea

THIS HECTIC LIFE

"Country fields of clod..." (~GOSh.~)

.

RUNNING STILL

.

There are no longer enough still spaces
To forge the stuff of poetry
In the whirly-gig of busy inconsequence…
All significance lays slaughtered
A mute offering stretched on the sacrificial altar
Of our deadlines and zippy onelines,
Speeching away the Centre of the universe,
Filling every gaping quiet with noise and knowing,
Street-wisely consigning to our priority gutters
The last vestige of the merest hint of mystery…
And strewed about the cluttered floors of our dwellings
More opinionated bric-a-brac,
Flashed at the speed of light from our darkened minds.

We stumble with the agility of youth
Striding across the country fields of clod,
As if to stop and breathe that air
Would squeeze the breath of life from us
And reduce us to pitiable creatures
Lingering in the shadows, making sense of it all
And realising, at last, that this race
Will not be won by the swift.

.

Gerard O'Shea

SANDSTORM

We walk all our days in shadows

As we skip along life's sands

The ocean in our ears

The end always at hand...

The sun upon our backs

Sweet voices in our head

And still the awful silence

Pounding out the ancient dread...

.

Every day is a months journey

Each step forward takes us home

All our vain posturing

Just leaves us more alone...

Strangers in our sorrow

Evicted from our souls

Behind in all our payments

Seeking streets of gold...

Gerard O'Shea

THE LIMERICK MARKET

'ANYONE ELSE FOR THE ORANGES ?'

.

The Market in Limerick city is a hive of activity on Saturday mornings when traders set up their stalls to display their wares for the perusal of the good citizens who flock to this traditional place of commerce. In previous times the stall-holders were mostly farmers selling their home-grown produce but nowadays there is a wide variety of items on display, from car accessories to cheeses...from home made pastry pies to ever so slightly out of date chocolates! Ostensibly the Market is about trade but in fact its all about meeting people and acts as a hub of community right in the heart of the city...and long may it do so.

.

The market teems with life
And jangles to the sound of gentle trade,
A bit of haggling is still kosher
For the older ones who dare,
For all the rest this sunny bazaar
Is worth its weight in gold
The market stalls that dot the streets
The trinkets bought and sold.


A melting pot of rich and poor
All colours of the world jostle here
And always there is an old acquaintance
Lost over time who suddenly appears
Or an overheard remark of jovial bargaining
The wit and the humour fly through the air
A phrase that puts a smile on the face
And lightens the heart and eases all care…

Vegetables laid out in naked rows,
Their glistening skins
Spilling the very essence
Into the May warmed air,
Fruits and flowers of exotic hues
Seductively stacked
To lure the jaded eye to stop and stare.

And jams and pies and home baked bread
And the aroma of pastries to wake the dead,
And beads and books and coats and chocs
And tools and mats and well-oiled locks,
From a needle to an anchor can be found
Strewn on a table, spread on the ground,
All human life and all earthly fare
Are yours for the asking
At this City centre Fair!

Gerard O'Shea

BUSHPLANT ROCKS

BUSHPLANT in fine form at Brandon's

in Ennis over the weekend.

.

STEPPING OUT

.

Nuala danced for life

Gasped for every breath of soul

As she climbed the stairway to oblivion...

Lulled by the rhythmic thrust

Of Bushplants searing tunes,

She swirled dervishly

Shadow dancing on the floor

Dreamy eyes fixed to an angel point

Hovering on the bar-room wall _

Nothing at all can distract her

From this astral gliding

Time and space subsumed

By the ocean and Infinity -

Nuala steps out of dull routine

And for an hour or two

Breaks almost free..

Long may her heart and soul

Clasp together slow-set skirting

Across the slanting floor..

And may some gentle guide

Usher her nimble spirit

Beyond the tears and shattered dreams

To a place richer in substance

Than any spot on earth.

Gerard O'Shea

AN APRIL DAY

O'Briens Bridge ~ (T Carey) ~

There is a stillness here trapped by water

A place where time hangs suspended

Caught like a dragonfly in frozen elevation...

Pressed like a precious flower

Between the pages of a yellow book...

Every bush and tree and jumping fish

Performing to a symphony of calm,

And the ochred furze on riverbank applauds

As the swan and water hen lithely skim

Their silent, graced ovation...

And every breath and bough that stirs

Cranes a neck to see the ebbing light

Of such a sweet and pleasant April day.

.

Gerard O'Shea