Fuel to carry on

Fuel to carry on

Lakeside solitude enfolds and protects,

drawing shadows to the light,

bringing on the gentlest unburdening.

Serenity and reflection,

mirrored at all degrees,

leaves me grounded within

a glowing sphere of peace.

I am bound to the moment,

ensconced so deep in the now,

seeing all that lies within and without.

My guardian, deep-held and tentative,

acknowledges a readiness to step beyond,

to cross this threshold and taste release.

The faithful gathering in Dromineer

has infused in me a belief,

a tactile sense of hope;

fuel to carry on.

nature's cathedral

heart and soul raised on high

true bliss encountered

Inspiration

orange lily bliss

glowing without request

inspiration flows

A moment shared

It rained like swallows’ tears
the day I caught your
final breath.

Wisdom of a lifetime brushed my cheek
as I whispered ‘I love you’,
a thousand unspoken words
trapped like canker in my throat.

Fifteen years have crossed my path
and still I cry for moments lost,
searching for that unseen crack in space
where I could slip inside and make up
for all that should have been.

Each breath reminds me
of our moment shared,
when you held on for me to wake,
to race through corridors of fear;

I did not need technology to know.

You left me with your final breath.
I whispered in your ear,
and know you heard me.

Writing is...rewriting.

Books aren't written- they're rewritten.  Including your own.  It is one of the hardest things to accept, especially after the seventh rewrite hasn't quite done it.

- Michael Crichton

Her sun-bleached touch

Her sun-bleached touch

Morning sweeps her sun-bleached fingers

through my waking dreams.

She tempts me from my night-spun depths,

surreal into the now,

and sings her sweet aria,

heard only by my grasping child within,

then plants her jewels; sparkling, budding,

there to suckle and ferment,

to grow, to be discovered,

as if forever mine.

I am unaware, of course,

but she, my constant muse,

her kneading touch, so deep and knowing,

keeps close, as one,

and leaves her diamond crumbs,

without request.

Her flaming heart,

her rising sun,

shines strong and bright

against the shadows of my night.

She finds me in the mire and lifts me free,

where I awake, refreshed,

ready for the day.

The empty page awaits,

resplendent in the early morning light.

I’m driven, pulled, tormented,

embroiled so deep within

that need to make a mark;

a life,

to ease my pain.

To shine.

My pen pumps hot within my grasp,

and I feel,

deep down where Morpheus lurks,

the tantalising burn of her

sun-bleached touch.

The richness of the moment

After eight years living in Sligo, I can honestly say that one spot from all the beaches, mountains, forests and glades that fills my heart and soul with inspiration and genuine awe is this constant frame of Lough Gill from what I call 'Sector 13' deep in the Hazelwood domain. I might only pause for a minute during my walk through the woods, or some days I'll sit and relish the astounding magic of Nature's womb, where the richness of the moment smothers me in a heartfelt cocoon of belonging, akin to being held by one's mother, when the deepest pain is soothed and banished by the one love you will only appreciate when it is gone.

If I die tomorrow, because there will come such a tomorrow, spread my ashes around this sublime spot and let me forever be a part of its glory.