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Irish strength

When the crown killed

Our children with hunger

Feed through greed

A nation learned to fight

By

Talking with words

Rhyming lyrical beauty

While saying nothing at all

A rich culture

Devoid of material wealth

Adorned with tales

And sceals

Of Swans sailing across

The wide sea to heavens door

Silence holds the strength

The foreigners never could

Sense within the feelings

Of the mothers in the uplands

Who dug stones with hands

Worn of nails

And skin trailed with tears

Wept for children

Starved

A genocide fed

Of potatoes rotted

And crops on ships

Set sail for English lands

Frankie mcgivney writing of a march day after listening to a historian waxing lyrical with mr tiernan

Tears drip from blue

To yellow trailing the pain of fear

Tanks roll where babies should crawl

Missiles roar the screams of war

Silk blankets flutter in the dark

Covering the devils incarnate

While air raid sirens cover

The old sheltering the young

Death can’t kill the soul

Of the brave

With pockets filled

For the sunflowers to grow

Freedom can’t be taken

From the spirit of the people

Frankie mcgivney

Excuse the language but fuck you putin you evil Humpty Dumpty bastard

Random

There you are and he milling the spuds and no bother on him while the blood floated in the air and the roars evolved to screams and the light fading to dark.

The beef didn’t meet the appearance of steak and toughness would be the word best used for a texture hidden by an over zealous salt shaker

And he told them to stop the swinging

Why they asked sure isn’t the damage done

Because the juice from the cow is all I have an inclination to enjoy

Sure we’ll be finished soon

So will I so just hold on until I put the fork down on the plate beside the knife in a patrolled fashion or perhaps with the top slightly touching

And the sound from the radio is a song from a time when he was young and bolde and seeking truth and he will be humming it for the day

There was no need for what they had done but he couldn’t be telling them when he was the one who bred them into the ways of his heart

Her smile drifts from the shadows. Laughing at the strange ways of him knowing she wouldn’t be having it any other way apart from the unusual touch of his mind upon the world

The cat on the wall beside the bush where the sycamore watched the blackberries erupt in autumn yawned with the mundanity of the scene

The napkin slipped to lie on the once proud floor

I’ll be heading then he replied

Give ma a hug for us

Right then

The wind smelled of a factory in need of closing as he stepped outside and wondered where the madness ended and the sanity began

Frankie loving the words spilling from his mind

Gentleness

He could see it in her eyes the way she looked at him from behind the screen. her hand reached out to touch her son who had returned. The reinstated gentleness in him as obvious to her as the colour of the fields or the taste of hot tea after a walk of a stormy day.

The blood flowing in his veins cleaned and cleared, his mind behind his own eyes softer, more aware of the world around him, with memories fleeting but still there to be welcomed for the precious time until they flittered back behind doors not locked but jammed shut in need of prising open when the inclination would come upon him. Sometimes they just swing open on their own accord. A glimpse of beauty wrapped in a gift of feelings and images and heightened sensory delights.

he recognises in himself the words of the nurse. “when your mother says no she means no” with a smile on her lips for the respect for a woman of determined mind while it roams in a desert of uncertainty and fear.

In himself he embraces the gentleness. his words comforting his soul as he listens to conversations and recognises a calmness he lost among the chaos and the process of living.

not that the time between gentle tides was anything but filled with wonder and joy too. the ebb and flow on the sunny beach needs the ocean’s scream to sing the mellow tune of peace.

(c) Frankie McGivney 10/05/2021 (feeling blessed)

Dancing

I stroll down slow

On account of knees

I need of a mechanic

Of a medical inclination

The darkness of the night

Is cracked gently by the red

Of the sun waving farewell

To a moon heading for the

Land of kangaroo fields

The tunes in my mind

Pitter patter with a smile

I cast to the side

My frog eyed slippers

And with a breath deep

In my soul

I

Dance

In

The

Kitchen

On

My

Own

(C) frankie Mcgivney

Pitch

At 6 there are cars on the roads and the sky is sometimes pink or Scarlett red

Peoples day have begun while others grab the last few days of winks in scratchers of various states of dishevel

At five the ladies stand at the bus stop and I wonder where they go when they disembark and the men in hi vis jackets stand waiting for the vans I don’t wonder so much for them. One building site is just like another.

But their numbers are sparse at 5. More scratchers are full of snores and fears of chores

The radio man whispers to me as I stroll playing songs I could never forget and half way along the tiredness falls away. My eyes open and I feel alive.

I do a bit of workday planning before I stop myself and focus on the walk. I sweep a tide of calm filled nothingness through my mind and the moon appears as the trees suddenly have leafs and the air surrounding me is felt on my skin

There is a new walkway around the town I take for the desire to prevent my heart from succumbing to the rigours of inactivity.

It’s a tunnel through trees and bushes with blackberries and fields of corn. There’s a secret passage way some teenagers have dug in to the wilderness and there’s a field of cattle. The peaceful scene of them lying in the moonlight green resonates in my mind

Through the pitch darkness I feel the morning efforts of determined spiders catch across my forehead and I imagine-their journeys along the same path I walk stretching a strand of web way beyond the 2 metres now associated in our minds with social distancing.

And it is pitch dark with the fear I should feel crawling along stretching out to touch my mind. Who is waiting in the shadows? Will someone knock me out with the one punch challenge? Will the spirits I sense in the tingle in my spine manifest themselves in a sudden light of revelation.

But I don’t feel the fear beyond the realisation that I should surely be a bit apprehensive of walking in pitch darkness in the middle of the night a little too far from civilisation .

Instead I relish those steps where I am completely alone. I can’t see the path with the darkness yet still the wonder of millennia of evolution allows my eyes to adapt just enough to make out the minuscule difference in shades of grey and black.

I would welcome the spirits I would welcome the one punch attack I would welcome the friendly hello In the darkness I would welcome the cry of an animal in need of help I welcome the darkness and it’s beautiful silence and it’s clear air and it’s purity.

Along here it doesn’t matter who I am or how I look. It doesn’t matter what people think it doesn’t matter if one eyes drifts it doesn’t matter if I’m obese it doesn’t matter if I think differently it doesn’t matter if I look like an escaped member of a difficult hospital for the demented it doesn’t matter if I earn a million a year or scrape by on free bread and berries

The darkness accepts me for being a part of the nature around me

I am part of the darkness of the ecosystem of the night as much as the spider and the sleeping fly

I turn the radio of and I listen and I hear the wonderful whispers of the nights silence as it reveals its innermost secret. That none of the human concerns matter here. All that matters is been a part of the morning moment

Frankie loving his 5 o’clock walk to work

Love

Inside her heart

She can fly when she dreams

She can sing when she walks

She can smile with her soul

And love with her eyes

She can touch in the lark

And pray to your mind

She can dream for you both

And make love with her words

She can snuggle from afar

And in the brown of her eyes

She can reflect what yearns

Inside my heart

Frankie Mcgivney writing stuff that matters

No longer I lie

Without a whisper to touch

The skin beneath my hope

My eyes fluttering to dream

I relish the Twitter , the tweet

And the tune they sing

Betwixt the green and brown

Calling to new lovers to hear

The beauty of their mellow

Song drifting in the air

(C) frankie Mcgivney the moments before sleep listening to my travelling companions among the leafs upon the trees

Rainbow

Today the voice was lost

I watched instead a rainbow

Shine where a floating bee

Stood stately in its turn

Pondering left but choosing

Right beneath the infra and ultra

Violet red and blue and green

The only sky I saw was blue

Ignoring the tempest of the news

The world smiles back

A mirror to my heart

I flew above the virus touch

On wings of dreams

And thoughts of love

(C) frankie Mcgivney

Lark’s call

Listening in her chair

Creaking in its age

Watching dew caress

Web lines of her spider

Crisscross the splinters

Worn from her lovers

Gift upon her porch

Orange melts to blue

Drowning in the tune

Twittering to twist

Between the green

Interrupted in crimson

Swirling yellow jade

Feathers enveloping

The yearning song

Of a lark’s lover’s

Heart

(C) frankie Mcgivney