Margaret O Driscoll

The sands of time eroded that
broad smile from your face but
of that carefree ebullient character
I still can see some trace
...

Awed by its architecture
I step inside
Gigantic Gothic arches
rise on either side
...

Seeing a loved one dear to you
lying in their final bed
Is an image that stays with you
long after funeral prayers are said
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Manicured ornate show gardens
To attract visitors, the goal
Flower beds neat and fancy
But the wild calls my soul
...

From the chateau gardens
I heard the most melodious sound
A nightingale loudly proclaimed
it's presence to all around
...

I took a trip down memory lane
along the byways last September
Pointing out familiar places
and events I well remember
...

A quiet cove far out of town
A rutted road on the way down
A long fishing net by the roadside
Waves splashing rocks, incoming tide
...

It felt strange going back there
I'd almost forgotten the way
Suddenly it came back to me
at the turn off down to the bay
...

Velvet reed mace by the lakeside
Swans glide on the mirror serene
Buttercups gold among grasses
In heat haze a calming scene
...

Climbing to the fort in humidity,
at the end of the lane I stop
Pin cushions of Devil's Bit Scabious
Amid flowering spreading Stonecrop
...

The miscellany of the murmuration can be heard by all around
Then the starlings swoop down, strutting swiftly
Yellow beaks probing in the ground
...

Looking into the future
sitting on a wooden crate,
light suit, waistcoat and tie,
a long cigar to drag on as time goes by
...

Fenceless fields of young wheat
soaked by swivelling irrigation
Roadside lines of cherry trees
on my way to the train station
...

Under a huge canopy of mahogany
Teak, ironwood and palm
Dark jungle gets even darker
Streaks of lightening, sudden calm
...

A line of cabs by Heuston
I hail the first one in line
The taxi driver seems pleasant,
'Going to the RDS, that's fine'
...

A hot Summer's day
market stalls everywhere
Smoke rises from the barbeque,
customers queue in the square
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A bird hide fashioned in willow
with a high wooden bench to sit on
A long discreet viewing slit -
a moorhen appears, then it's gone
...

Primroses grow by the old stone steps that lead on to a secluded rock
In that quiet glen in Penal Times
a priest prayed there with his flock
...

A regular task
Almost elbow-deep in suds
Steam rising from the tub
A bar of Sunlight soap
...

He took the scythe from the shed
on a warm Summer's day
Carried it over his shoulder
to the meadow, to cut hay
...