I Am Said I (Huruma)

I have fallen in a heap Of stones on the beach At the quieting of the evening Waters gathered up As milk in a basin  In the crook of a mother's arm A place to uncover wounds Wounds heavily bandaged Wounds un-nameable Wounds that I protect From touch for fear Of further pain too much For me to bear Uncover these wounds For I have run out of options Every treatment tried I am hemorrhaging And have not even strength To touch the hem of Christ But let The Touch come upon The waiting of the open sore That I have become I can do no more than wait now (Killiney Beach August 29, 2013)

For nearly six years now since my mother died, I've been travelling down the distance from Dublin to Galway first of all to visit my family and secondly to keep the gardens of home in check. It sounds posh to say "gardens" as if I own an estate. The housing estate of Mervue that was built by the corporation in the 1950's was well planned, thoughtfully providing a lot of public and private space. Our family home is one of six terraced houses in Ceannt Avenue where we were given three gardens. One small one at the front, another small one at the back and then the big back garden that was used in our youth for growing vegetables. It was my mother's garden. It was she who cultivated it when she was young and strong enough to do so. In later years she turned it into a lawn edged on one side with lovely shrubs and small trees. And she left all of this to me before she died, wanting me to have a place of my own to come home to.      I'm no Diarmuid Gav...

For nearly six years now since my mother died, I've been travelling down the distance from Dublin to Galway first of all to visit my family and secondly to keep the gardens of home in check. It sounds posh to say "gardens" as if I own an estate. The housing estate of Mervue that was built by the corporation in the 1950's was well planned, thoughtfully providing a lot of public and private space. Our family home is one of six terraced houses in Ceannt Avenue where we were given three gardens. One small one at the front, another small one at the back and then the big back garden that was used in our youth for growing vegetables. It was my mother's garden. It was she who cultivated it when she was young and strong enough to do so. In later years she turned it into a lawn edged on one side with lovely shrubs and small trees. And she left all of this to me before she died, wanting me to have a place of my own to come home to.      I'm no Diarmuid Gav...

Sunset in the dust-rise Of the cattle coming slow Across the desert plain Before the herdsman With his son and mother Bound From the stream returning Past the silence of the grinding mill Turned off A whisper in the air To the fire Those dotted fires Spread out and rising To the falling of the night Pink to purple haze Then dark… This evokes a longing It  has wedded me My heart to them forever At home and quiet This unified motion of grace The smile upon their face

(In honour of Mother and Father) I want to feel  The heart of the Mother The flesh-pang of the Father  All dependent She throws herself In front of a car To save the life He holds a hospital hostage That the child can be treated And live It is instinct Not reason That will do anything To spare the fruit Of loins and womb Such love Does not pause To think things through Only they know How to pray With such desperation To take God on At the coalface Fighting to the last Drop of sweat For the last Drop of blood For life they wrestle With Life Demanding A blessing and a declaration No matter what The injury to self It is the only prayer Worth praying The only worthwhile way In it they are most Like God +++ Jesus left Gennesaret and withdrew to the region of Tyre and Sidon. Then out came a Canaanite woman from that district and started shouting, ‘Sir, Son of David, take pity on me. My daughter is tormented by a devil.’ But he answered her not a word. And his disciples went and plea...