Margaret O Driscoll Poems

Fragrance drifts from the Guelder Rose
Lacey blossoms of Summer cream
I sit under it's leafy shade
Drifting into a daydream
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Fenceless fields of young wheat
Soaked by swivelling irrigation
Roadside lines of cherry trees
On my way to the train station
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Looking into the future
sitting on a wooden crate
light suit, waistcoat and tie,
a long cigar to drag on as time goes by
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Bull frogs loudly croaking croaking
Amid pond lilies in the midday sun
A black swan displayed his annoyance
head held high strutting at everyone
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He checks his neighbour's bee hives
He's the only one still living there
His neighbours have fled the war
The town in ruins, shops all bare
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In the doctor's waiting room
Pharmacy adverts on the screen
Patients waiting patiently
I flick through an old magazine
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Their work dictated by the tides
Some days they picked at first light
Baskets strapped to their shoulders
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The old museum, cramped and small
Crammed with artifacts wall to wall

Photos of planters houses on display
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Setting off in the cool of morning
A mist veiling the bay
A holy well at the base
Stations of The Cross mark the way
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Hemmed in all Winter behind four walls
On the first fine day the beach calls
By a deep channel flowing into the sea
I follow the tide mark, checking debris
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