Falling Apples Read online

  FALLING APPLES

  I’m up to my eyes in apples,

  Lizard like upon the trunk;

  Heavy branches to be shaken,

  Fishing for the furthest fruit:

  Ripened red and yellow faces

  High on top beneath the sun.

  I’m in a ball filled bouncer

  But I’m careful not to fall-

  Just now I ducked my head

  From flying fruit going down

  To hop like heavy hailstones

  In a shower upon the ground.

  DIVERSION

  Sonny O’Dea, our Master’s mate,

  Closed the gate and lifted the latch

  Of the door painted in national green

  After he tied up his jennet outside.

  His brown hat had no ribbon band,

  It was turned up here and up there.

  It sheltered him in the wind and rain

  And shaded his face from the sun.

  His coat, a corn bag from his barn,

  Was fastened with a single horse nail;

  His step so slow had a ring of steel

  From the tips of his hobnailed boots.

  Over the road we could see him come

  And Sonny O’Dea didn’t have to knock;

  It was just our grammatical grilling time-

  That blasted blitz for us at two o’clock!

  So with one voice we sang in chorus

  ‘Tá fear sa halla’ (‘A man in the hall’);

  We knew we were in for some fun

  As the Master would answer the call.

  Sonny spoke out like an Indian chief,

  The Master’s voice was always even-

  Whatever was said we hadn’t a care

  Once they had a long conversation;

  That would help at the end of the day

  To shorten a little our long education.

  THIS IS YOUR CAPTAIN SPEAKING

  ‘This is your Captain speaking’

  The voice ground out with gravity.

  I suddenly sat up straight in my seat

  To hear what was the calamity!

  Yes, we had ascended successfully,

  Levelled off and headed for London-

  But somehow we were lacking in thrust

  So my feelings were somewhat deflated.

  ‘We have been told by Shannon control

  That a hatch has been left open’-

  ‘Oh Lord our God’ I said ‘What?’

  And he added ‘There’s no safety risk

  At all and we are returning to Shannon.’

  As he turned around there wasn’t a sound

  Nor a sight of our pretty hostesses.

  I thought of the news on Five Seven Live

  And cast the bad thought from my mind;

  After all of this crisis without any crash

  We had our hatch shut up in Shannon.

  Beside me sat a young businessman

  With a hint of a beard of maturity

  Who had been asleep quite oblivious,

  But on the second time round

  He awoke back on the ground

  And I told him of all that had happened.

  Needless to say he was taken aback,

  Thinking he was landed safely in England;

  So we laughed at our lot as airborne we got

  While the Captain made up for delaying us!

  And all of a sudden the staff reappeared

  To serve tea from behind the drawn curtains

  And instead of landing in London at five

  We were happy we landed at half past, alive!

  OVERHEARD

  ‘I should have known

  He’d want to get up on the wall.

  Hold on to him that’s all-

  And don’t let him fall!’

  CARNIVAL

  The half moon begins its harvest climb;

  This night is sure to be as bright as day.

  The turf fires kindle and flame into life

  In the hillside homes this evening time.

  From across the Racecourse and the river

  Carnival sounds drift in the still cool air

  And rainbow rows of festive lights in town

  Send up a crowning glow that spreads

  And floods the gently sloping fields afar.

  LAKE TE ANAU

  Stopping at Lake Te Anau

  Felt like we had stumbled

  On some masterpiece of art

  Then made a part of it;

  To be of no other tableau-

  So perfect and untamed.

  Breathless at the stillness

  Of lake water pastel blue:

  Nature’s ancient mirror

  For the clearest of a sky

  And Keplar snowy crested-

  True reflections in Te Anau.

  SIESTA

  Sliabh Mish in Summer:

  Her lows and highs beyond

  The fields that lie

  Beside Tralee at Boherbee,

  Where in the sun

  In front of Dunnes

  The shoppers

  Filter in and out;

  While sleepy breezes

  Find their way

  From Tralee Bay

  To fill the afternoon

  With sea wine from

  The Maharees;

  Or to have sweet reveries

  Of sharing a siesta

  With that mountain,

  Guardian of the town,

  Beneath its eiderdown

  Spun from clouds

  In bridal white that lie

  On curves and crests

  Along a blue horizon

  Of a day in time.

  SKYLIGHT TO THE STARS

  Skylight of pine like a picture frame,

  Only eye of my sleepless musing;

  What strikes me at this hour of dreams

  Is the single star that looks at me

  From the depths of our lovely universe.

  I’d love to know if the builders charged

  For your beacon light so gifted;

  As I lie on my back my thoughts of black

  Slip away with the blind I’ve lifted.

  Now I think of today by the River Rhone

  And hills so high with slopes of trees

  Where hosts of village houses stand;

  St. Galmier, its square with cafés there;

  A fruit shop of reds and yellows;

  A church of stone standing all alone,

  Its walls being cleansed by craftsmen.

  While alas I lie and look on high

  And muse on the higher heavens

  I have found it wise to think of time

  For the dawn has stolen my star away

  And all that’s left to me today

  Is a frame with a bright blue canvas.

  THISTLEDOWN

  Thistledown: flight so light,

  Floating summertime on river air;

  On the bank first kisses.

  ALLURING

  A woman’s smile can haul her sailor boy ashore;

  With just a single kiss she lures him on her line.

  OUTSIDE

  Afterwards

  Under the eiderdown

  We lie inert;

  Alert to night winds

  That hurry up the hill,

  Playing ‘hide and seek’

  Among the trees;

  Lulling us to sleep,

  Sure of ourselves

  And the only sounds

  Outside.

  SOLITUDE

  Aux revoirs à la porte ouverte

  Un très beau Dimanche en été;

  Dans le ciel un avion brillait;

  Chez moi c’est très solitaire.

  En ville à l’
heure de la messe-

  Le secret de la paix à la Place;

  Personne ne bougait, ne parlait;

  Avec le journal je suis rentré.

  Mes chiens m’ont bien reçus;

  Au téléphone un appel amical-

  Voilà ma fille qui s’est levée!

  Encore tout a bien tourné.

  Encore une fois je pouvais voir

  La beauté de montagnes au loin;

  Comme un train d’un tunnel noir,

  Je suis rentré dans la lumière.

  ALONE

  Goodbyes at the open front door

  On a Sunday morning in summer.

  An aeroplane shines in the sun;

  At home I can learn about solitude.

  In the town it’s midday mass time-

  A time and a place to be peaceful,

  A short truce in the struggle of life;

  I purchase the Sunday Press paper.

  I’m welcomed in home by the dogs

  And a friendly telephone caller;

  My daughter awakes at it’s ringing,

  Once again my world is revolving.

  I am able to admire the day’s beauty-

  The far distant mountains before me;

  Like a train from a tunnel emerging

  I have returned to the lap of creation.

  STEPPING AWAY

  Using pints for punctuation,

  Farming friends around him,

  Holding earthy conversations:

  Man to man discussions

  On someone’s lock of cattle

  Or a lovely score of lambs.

  Turning his back to the bar,

  Measuring his every step,

  He employs a walking stick

  To aid his disappearance;

  Exiting black swing doors,

  Writing off another night.

  In good humour going home,

  Unconscious of the loneliness

  Of the silent sleeping village,

  He sits into my waiting car

  And we leave the streetlamps

  To the phantoms of the night.

  SWAN DELIGHT

  These are the dark days of the winter, short and stormy;

  The wind and the driving rain rebuff the flowerless furze.

  The sycamore and the beech that were so fair out there

  Stand bleakly staring into space, uncertain of their fate.

  And I am thinking of the swans in the bog of Ballinagare.

  They have never left my mind, come rain or come shine,

  Ever since three cygnets grey swooped above my head,

  Over the rusty metal bridge that spanned the broad river.

  All three flew low and wide around and then they landed

  Downstream with muffled whoops of cygnet swan delight;

  Heads held in the air, graceful as the Viking ships at sea;

  They were close to me where I was the undercover man.

  My water skiers with loud whirring of their musical wings

  Skimmed along the surface of the river to westwards fly

  To their chosen spot where they could swim alone, apart;

  At that I felt a touch of loss to think of mine gone far away.

  But one evening from the road I saw them all assembled,

  All a gaggle in a green bog field beside the flowing river;

  Seeing five more fly in to land the rest below paraded,

  Their chanting windpipes all in tune in a place deserted.

  WHERE HEMISPHERES MEET

  Self-contained in self drive cars:

  Families, my daughter’s and my own,

  In a blue Focus and a light blue Fiesta,

  Driving always in formation-

  Our sights were set on Milford Sound.

  We stopped at times by chasms.

  Stunned by haloed mountain peaks;

  Boundless acres of countless sheep.

  Eating at a roadhouse at a cross

  Where the chimney with its log fire

  Filled us with New Zealand lore.

  Now the evening’s endless mountains

  Throw the cloak of twilight round us.

  Daughters in exile in Australia

  Travel with us on the road tonight;

  So far, so long, now all together,

  Hemispheres had found each other.

  OASIS

  The warm balm of the velvet breeze

  Wafts around the bungalow gable

  By the sheltering sycamore trees,

  Caressing my face at the table.

  Soft stepping, white bibbed and black,

  The cat settles down in the sun

  And on the leaves he lays on his back,

  Russet bed by the autumn spun.

  The simple song of the robin red,

  Plain chant of the solo singer;

  Stepladder up to the hedge ahead,

  Standing by for a tasty trimmer.

  Black and white and quick and low,

  Magpies cruise with crackling chatter;

  The cars gone by on the road below

  Restoring the peace that they shatter.

  SOFT TRAP

  A Painted Lady butterfly

  Delays delicately nearby,

  Her freshness never old.

  Wings of words unspoken,

  I’m weightless in her space.

  Then a ripe red apple falls

  With a faint silent sob,

  Soft trapping me in sunshine

  In the orchard by the stream.

  At last I have to walk away

  But I leave my pain behind me

  Where quietly clamour now

  The sniping stinging wasps.

  SOUND EFFECTS

  In South Kerry from a narrow mountain road

  That hung above the farmsteads by the sea

  I saw a cattle run and heard the cuckoo call:

  A sudden motion towards the surging ocean

  And a voice saying it’s summer time again.

  There were roadworks at Coomakista Pass

  Making wide the wayward route to Waterville:

  Giant kango hammers cracking roadside rock

  At Caherdaniel; machines to move mountains.

  In the Golden Cove behind the Sneem Hotel

  Six strong oarsmen dipped their oars as one,

  Striking the evening silence with an even beat

  As slowly a lonesome swan took centre stage,

  Cruising at a steady pace on waters of ebony.

  HER APOLLO

  His characters all came alive,

  Stepping on the stage of time:

  The playwright and the poet,

  Words flowing like good wine.

  On the mall of the main street

  His statue stands forever,

  Cap in hand and in his stride-

  A man for walking by the river.

  Passing the Apollo of her dreams

  His widow softly touched him then,

  Knowing that unseen angels

  Were taking gentle care of him.

  OUR LAUGHING CAVALIER

  Johnny our postman flew off on his bike

  Across the bridge on the river low down;

  As alive as a hare just sprung from his lair,

  He was primed up for doing his rounds.

  As merry a postman as ever I have seen

  Who possessed the great gift of the gab,

  Though we lived at the end of his daily run

  Yet he’d still be as fresh and as full of fun

  As when he threw his bag up on his back

  At the door of his little thatched cottage,

  That was perched on the side of the street-

  The main road that ran through the village.

  He’d whistle and sing as if he were king

  And his heart was so light on his bicycle;

  He’d sit up like he owned half of Ireland.

  At the time there were men in their fields

  Who work
ed with ponies and horses.

  They’d all say “The postman! ” then wave

  And exchange a few words on the weather;

  If he had his way it wouldn’t rain ever.

  All the news still unread in his satchel,

  As he pedalled and freewheeled ahead,

  Would not be as bad as anyone thought.

  He hoped for them all ’t would be good.

  Our laughing cavalier, down off his bike,

  Would half dance in our path to the door,

  Deliver the mail to my mother awaiting

  Then maybe he’d waltz ’round the foor.

  As he talked he would look at you straight

  And you saw that his eyes were so brown,

  Filled with laughter and lovable roguery-

  He helped you forget the day’s drudgery.

  RIVER FIELDS

  There is something in the setting sun

  That speaks to me of death and darkness

  As the dying moments of another day

  Are suffused with a splash of crimson.

  Now the surface of the Feale turns red

  By Martin Daly’s low lying river fields,

  Near the large crucifix at Convent Cross.

  THE BALLAD OF BRYAN MCMAHON

  It was on the eve of Valentine

  In the year of ninety eight

  That the Master’s name so resonant

  Was marked absent on the slate;

  So delicate were the daffodils

  After days of winter strife

  When the soul of Bryan Mac Mahon

  Went through the Gap of Life.

  So silent now the river Feale,

  They had shared the sun together,

  For the Master of all masters

  Has called Bryan to Him forever;

  Our nation maker is close to God

  Whose gifts he’ll hand us down:

  Like words to lips and songs to sing

  In his native Kerry town.