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Oh this is bliss!

  Oh this is bliss Oh this is bliss!    Sitting in the garden  This is heaven, nothing better  An April sun is shining With a gold and silver lining.  Happy us and happy here No need to grab a boat or plane, With weather just like this Who needs the coasts of Spain? No tickets are required No custom forms filled in The only thing we need Is a deck chair in the corner Sheltered from the northern breeze That climbs up from the sea Happy to abandon everything For everything is free To those who treasure simple things The call of robins in the trees The cozy heat in sleeping streets And lo! The pigeon coos!  This April day when time is stopped And clocks are frozen in their march  When time eternal smiles and beams On a country yearning cloudless skies.  Windows now thrown open wide Welcome Spring and Summer Come together hand in hand  Oblivious of a timely sequence.  We are the blessed witnesses Sworn to mark this occasion Reminder of ...
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The cleats are tinkling.

  The cleats are tinkling The cleats are tinkling in the harbor This breezy April noon The hazy sky that’s full of promise Not immediately    but soon.    The flags are fluttering  On the backs of boats  That bob within the bay That brighten up the day.  Men in beards don life vests Skillful as they guide The little skiffs with skill Along the waterside.  It’s an April day in Dublin Grateful is what we say A cheery sun and northern wind Four seasons in an April day.  Behind the pier the vibrant sea Throws waves upon the shore Spray thrown up in waves We cannot ask for more. 
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Don’t alight this train

  Don’t alight this train Don’t alight this train Unless retired and cosseted Discussing golf and holidays  While the young folk toil.  We are the silver travelers On our way to Rosslare strand Discussing wine and starters While the young folk toil.  We’re busying trying hard To find time between the golf The bridge and weekend breaks While the young folk toil.  We travel free, this golden group, More entitled than before  Unaware that while we chatter The young folk toil.  Opinionated and entitled Frustrated by the smallest things  Complaining of the service While the young folk toil.  Voices float along the carriage The April sun shines in All is bright and wonderful Unless you’re born too young. 
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Nora, Nora

  Nora, Nora Nora, Nora is her name, I hope Her lunch companion called her One hundred times or more While talking for an hour.  Oh where Oh where is Uncle Colm When you need to intervene To get a word in edgeways  To free the hostage from this hell? Dear God, it’s Nora once again The name repeated  So the victim cannot move if named A cunning provincial plan.  Will she flee in silence or scream out When her sanity is spent  And patience has deserted Her table by the sea? Meanwhile at a nearby table Silence reigns where a couple  Have said everything that needs saying In sixty years of marriage ceasefire.  Twenty females outnumber men By ten to one and where are all  The husbands? Are they dead And left their widows dine? Nora’s dining partner silent now For at least ten seconds.  What clever husband escaped Some years ago, alive or dead?
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Bless the world.

  Bless the world   Bless the world my soul  Bless the good it gave For our soul’s a miracle Mined from distant stars.  Raised above the ugly Spared from all the evil We are witness to the truth Our souls have come from diamonds That return to stars Over a million years from now For nothing is destroyed Merely changed in form.  Age and illness will destroy  Our looks and early health Leaving only spirit glowing In the darkness of the night.  We stand ready for the final journey Along the road that leads  From life to death and on From death to life eternal.  
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Ninety-five

  Ninety-five I’m reaching ninety-five I’ve only just decided  Surpass my dear old mum Who got to ninety-four.  That’s twenty long more years To enjoy this mortal frame Before I take my leave  For a distant galaxy.  Alas my father, Kevin,  All he reached was fifty nine Living with poor health The last nine years of life.  I’ll try to make him proud By reversing birthday numbers Fifty nine to ninety five Is now my big objective.  Shoulders back, arms are swinging  Lifting feet and legs are pumping Bending knees to save the cartilage  Moving hips to help the flow Get up and out of comfy chairs Keep dancing when there’s no one there Embrace the rhythm, feed the spirit Turn back the clock, be young again. 
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The Weather

  The weather It won’t get better, it will get worse We are caught within a climate curse We will keep sinning- for there is no winning Til the water comes through the door.  We are heedless to the warnings Pointing fingers somewhere else Flying jets to preach climate justice The blame is our’s of course.  Only hermits in their hideouts Only sisters in their convents  Only tribes in deepest jungles Lead blameless lives without reproach.  When sea waters breach our storm walls When the farmer no longer farms When foreign travel is out of reach Will we reflect and start to think?   Nothing surer than our decision To do what’s right not when we should But when we’re forced to turn around  And save what’s left, what’s remaining.  And so the future’s very clear Our current hopes and current fears Will be replaced by pressing needs Hanging on for grim survival.  
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