Tag Archives: Irish verse forms

These Three Things: triad

On these three things the world depends:
life purpose, effort and one’s friends.

The first provides velocity:
forward motion, destiny.
The second supplements one’s sails
when wind and tide desist or fail.

The third reminds us to respect
those in the world whose paths connect
with our own journey, for a while,
and share our sorrows and our smiles.

Without these things, the world is flat;
and our adventure, nothing that
is worth much. Neither time nor health
is substitute for this true wealth.

07 JUN 2017

In Between: séadna

Perhaps there is no in between;
it’s either pitch black or light.
You inch forward or slip backwards,
fight each turn of day to night

imagining in fierce battle
you will lose your coward’s mask.
Believing in some great reward,
you ask your sword to hold fast.

There is no time for fool questions,
no need to see shades of gray.
Forget that distracting tension;
let play your guns, heroes say.

Perhaps there isn’t a middle
ground where opposing sides meet;
only space between the goalposts,
where cheats and ghosts find good seats.

18 MAY 2017

If Seeking: rionnard tri-nard

If you would seek wisdom,
the walls of your prison
must be made a prism.
To purify vision,

let light begin creeping
like mice, softly sneaking,
almost still half sleeping –
if wisdom you’re seeking.

03 MAY 2017

Day Flight: rannaigheacht mhor

Each new day is so fleeting:
like a busy bee flitting
between its sweet hits, floating,
never slowing nor quitting.

Life’s made of days flying:
sighed hellos and then goings.
Through each room we go gliding:
near colliding, then dying.

19 APR 2017

Little Bird: rannaigheacht ghairid

Little bird:
did you think that no one heard
your bright melody at dawn,
long gone before day’s first word?

Seems absurd
that your little tune conferred
on my thoughts such peaceful ease
across the breeze, little bird.

17 APR 2017

The Wild Wind: droighneach

Believe me: there is nothing evident
found in the wild wind’s sad apology
that echoes the swift, mad accident
of an empirical chronology.

The sound careens off the walls and multiplies,
pale murmurs slipping along an endless cavity
where caught words glow and briefly shine, like fireflies,
then gently fade in obscurity.

02 MAR 2017

Dawn Patrol: deibhidhe

Soon the sound that breaks the day
comes to chase our sleep away;
and the darkest dreams night grew
blink from black into lighter blue.

The world, barely recognized
through half-open, hazy eyes,
wakes slow with us, its warm glow
buried below the pillows.

Arise again and don your shield,
the ancient weapons you wield
against the dumb drones that come
reeking of rum and humdrum.

Be conscious now! You must choose.
Do not linger, or you lose
this moment’s span; if you can
still stand, battle is at hand.

Until the sound that stills the day
comes quietly to end the fray,
fight on fearless, king or pawn,
at every dawn, until you’re gone.

23 FEB 2017