The scythe shone
in the sun
lapped at the whetstone
to sharpen its appetite
it sang
in my uncle's hands
swung through space & time
beholding thistles & nettles
I laughed
following at a careful distance
as the wilderness
fell before his step
& the easy
swung sung motion
of its shining
like a little God
bringing death & destruction
to the years
that had flowered
& flourished
into glorious weeds
beautiful in themselves.
Now the sky
& clouds
moved into the emptiness
created
opening
forever a path
into summer
& time.
* * * * * * *
SUMMER HOLIDAYS
The house
had been
asleep
but had awakened
startled out of its dreamings
by the sound of children’s feet
& the scrabble of voices.
The sunlight
had been dragged in
the open door
where it sat shyly
at table
partaking in
the little human’s
open enjoyment
of time
and what
it would bring
this newly
minted morning
this summer
of holy days.
* * * * * *
PICKING EGGS
The sun comes
& sits
at the end of the bench
nearest the door
strokes Sam
the collie.
It waits for me
to eat
my soldiers & boiled egg
that has just come
out of a hen
not so long ago
& which I gathered
in a basket
by myself.
'Picking eggs! '
I called it.
Milk cools
in a churn
I can smell
the top cream
from here
the big clock
ticks out big
tocks
Sam
whimpers in a dream
chasing the unseen
outside is summer
& a future
that stretches as far as
forever
& a present
that can never
...end.
Beautiful evocation of a time that lives forever in the mind in such pristine remembering. Opening a path into summer indeed. Marvellous and wonderful
What a wonderful experience this is, to have followed that path into 'forever summer...and time.' I am so proud that you and I share this love for 'what was, and will never be again...' The way we grew up, country kids, both of us, and following those paths into summertime cannot be duplicated with modern mechanical tractors, for the softness of the time has changed, hasn't it? Thank you, dearest Donall, for the dedication, for you know I love your work, and I am honored that you thought of me.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
The perfection of the word painting here...of summer being dragged indoors and sitting at the table with the little human...is beyond compare, as are all your thoughts and memories of such a happy, happy childhood. The greatest treasure of all...a happy childhood...and you tell it perfectly!