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A Wordsmith's Rebellion

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Poetry

Ash

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Succumbed to scent of a travelling kind,
Wafting patience envelopes the sky,
A noble pursuit dressed up in a suit,
Boxer like treasures to try.

Inhaling the peace, dragging the release,
Sifting through snippets gone by,
A passerby, preoccupied with clouds,
Nostalgic pleasured replies.

Gratifying smiles greet outsiders pride,
When boxes crumple to trash,
A philosophers aide – smoking is hailed,
All beings and things turn to ash.

Understanding

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By Richard Ankers
A persons ability to judge something and act upon it never ceases to amaze me.

Continue reading “Understanding”

A Path

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~~ Passing by construction work on dusty, damaged and hollowed pedestrian roads, I always find myself gazing at the hard-hatted labour, which intrigues me ~~
Beneath the tarmac surface lies layers upon layers of gravel, bedrock and foundations of ancestral manual labour. Modernity forages pavements with machines which plow trenches of pebbles, boulders, dirt and dust into broken fabrics of generations laid bare before us; exposing the furnished historical simplicity if stumbled upon; for the most part – red coned obstacles in our pedestrian bustling way. The dust of manual labour – a timeless tradition, we scuffle the path carelessly beneath us daily. We walk the tarmac polished road paved ahead of us, as the mortal dust settles – knowingly susceptible to the elements.

A Grand Tale of Seanchai Folklore: A Tribute to Little Gran

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More than a pub name, Seanchai storytelling is an art form and a way of life.

When I ‘made a face’ (a scowl or was talking tripe) as a kid, which unfortunately adults had to put up with (apologies in advance), I, and many others were spun the old Irish saying; ‘If the wind changed, your face will stay like that.’

So, the years preceding youthful innocent wisdom, (which beset my young mind at the tender age of ten years or so, can’t be sure) I believed naively that very Gaelic tale. Yes, I actually believed that my face, when infused by sin and riddled with Catholic guilt, would remain fixed in place like a statue, forever unchanged, until a time, should the Heavenly Father (God forbid) decide to pardon my petulance and arrogance and allow my face to move a muscle to grimace, let alone, asking too much of Him and perchance to smile. Continue reading “A Grand Tale of Seanchai Folklore: A Tribute to Little Gran”

A Swallow’s Flight

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A scarpering Light, the bird took fright,
Too glaring of a sound,
The heartbeat of a leaf, a welcome relief,
To rise above the crowd. Continue reading “A Swallow’s Flight”

To Wander At Sea

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To Wander at Sea,
Where the heart should be,
Lest devils forget the score,
To know thy place,
Where oft mind nor race,
Grow silent at the shore. Continue reading “To Wander At Sea”

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