I dedicate this book of poetry to all of my writing friends who have encouraged me as a novice writer to progress and grow in my work this past year 2010 – 2011. Thank you
I also thank my husband Jim and my children, James and Sarah who have had to listen to me every time I was excited about a new poem.
This is the first book of poetry I have put together in an effort to package some of my work. My first poem was “November Beach,” written about the South beach in Greystones, Co. Wicklow, Ireland in November 2010. I can see the sea from my bedroom window. It has been a source of inspiration in all of my writing. I enjoy photography and have combined some of my photographs with my poems. The cover of the book is a painting I did recently.
I currently write with a group of writers in a closed site online. A lot of us have met up face to face and have been published together this year.
Most of my poems have been published in anthologies, journals, magazines and e-zines both in Ireland and abroad. This is a special time of life for me. I have recently stopped working. My husband is working throughout Europe and is away a lot and both children have flown the nest. I have some “me” time and am using it to my benefit.
At the back of this book, I have gathered a section on haiku, my first love. I am a published haiku poet and am a member of Haiku Ireland and the Irish Haiku Society. My blog is
http://kerkedijk.blogspot.com/
Máire Morrissey-Cummins
December 2011 ©
Captured moments of Ivy
A spark
of a memory
of her arms
wrapped around me,
her head leaning
towards mine,
our hair tussled,
tossed together in the sea breeze,
played like a scene
from the reels of my mind.
Her sun dress
of white cotton
with pink roses.
Her cardigan draped loosely
around her neck.
The sun casting light
on the side of her nut brown face.
Our eyes laughing,
Grandmother and grand-daughter,
resting by the wall
on the promenade of Tramore strand.
The sound of the waves, soothing,
the colour of the sand, warming
in the yellow glow
of summer.
Her smile captured
like a faded photograph.
I think back to that day
remembering her,
I feel her warmth,
and I smile.
Ripples Under Ice
Inspired by a walk around Powerscourt gardens and lake with my daughter, Summer 2011
Draped in a veil of ivory lace
she circles the frozen lake.
Her pearl studded hair
ashen with grief
flies with the icy wind
under a star-lit night.
She stands a while
staring into the deep,
watching white lilies bloom.
A gold ring burns
her frozen finger
as she whispers the words
“I do”.
Beneath the glaze
in the depths of the lake,
she watches her dreams ripple.
They stand by the church door,
hearts glowing,
confetti scatters the air.
She looks into his eyes,
their lips touch
as snow tumbles her face.
Her porcelain skin
numbed by crystal spears,
stinging the cool night air,
piercing her yearning heart.
For fifty-two years
she awaits his return,
circling the loch by night.
In her silk purse,
wrapped in scarlet tissue,
she guards a golden locket,
a token of their love.
She holds it to her lips,
to her beating heart
then clicks it open.
Gazing at the photographs,
her true love stands in uniform
and she is smiling seventeen.
Warmed by her locket,
wrapped in her memories,
her dreams continue to bloom.
Her lily bouquet
flows in the ripples.
Loves reflections
held forever,
solid as ice.
Published in an Anthology of Poetry by www.staticmovement.com in Static V
Autumn Charms
Proud apples crisp
plump leafy branches,
ripening my autumn garden
with round, fleshy fruit.
A hoarse breeze sneezes
a cider sweet morning.
Innocent as Eve,
I pluck an apple.
I trace its firm russet skin,
moist with tender dew.
I leave it on the kitchen table
to tempt you.
Published in Riposte Magazine, December 2011 and www.greystonesguide.ie
Autumn Weaves
Silver threads span convex
on my windowpane.
A network of gossamer bridges
link wind-blown petals
to barren thorny branches,
fallen leaves to naked trees
and marry flies to bumble bees.
Perfectly formed labyrinths
designed to confuse,
tangle tender prey
stun them to submission.
Wrapped in silken lace,
an invisible world is woven
bundling my garden as one.
Published in www.greystonesguide.ie
A Dove Day Afternoon
A
dry stone wall
of moss-grown granite
staggers
lush
undulating plains
swaggers
prickly gorse bushes
bows
at a
curvaceous hollow
where a copper stream gurgles under.
Sheep
fluff velvet meadows
mirror cotton clouds above.
Stooped, they
graze
on pea green fields.
Blotched blurs clamber
to higher
ground.
Lilting
melodies
lace the trees
sweeping the air
with
Elderflower blossoms
on a dove day afternoon.
Published by www.brayarts.net in May 2011 Journal.
Another Year my Child.
Hawthorn blossoms
pearled the hedgerows
as birds
rejoiced,
chiming the air
with heartbeat rhythms,
a cotton crisp spring
as baby buds
peeped in.
I carried you,
felt you
but never got to
hold you.
Another year has passed
and I am lost
in the
black cold of winter,
remembering the day
you left me.
It has been so long
and we never said goodbye.
My
tears,
are frozen in time.
Echoes of songs
that never
were,
of dreams
that can never be.
Fog blankets the
fields.
The sky expresses what I cannot.
I see the parting
clouds,
I speak to the sunrise
of my love for you,
your
movement, your sound.
I would speak of anything
to bring you
back.
I see the spring,
but know
I will never feel your warmth.
Published in The First Cut # 4
http://issuu.com/thefirstcut/docs/thefirstcut__4
Early morning wonder
In the stillness of the morning
I open my window.
I wonder is it you
who calls me?
through the trembling leaves
warbling birdsong,
cool breeze embrace
gently touching my face.
I scan the sky,
clouds drift to the east.
I search for your face,
a sign, a trace.
An apricot sunrise lifts the dawn,
shadows streak the fields,
a path of light gilds the sea.
I close my eyes
basking in newborn rays.
I wonder could it be your glow?
I hear soft whispers
circling the maple tree.
I sense your aura
as pink rosebuds bloom.
House martins skim the trees
clipping in and out of nests.
Dewdrops drip from their beaks
to nourish their young.
I wonder can they see you?
I watch in silence
in wonder.
I had a dream of my deceased Grandmother (Mummy) recently. My father and I were visiting her after mass in the dream in his home in Waterford. When we came down the stairs to the kitchen area, I looked down the hallway to the back door. The light was blinding, the sunshine coming in from the garden. I went outside, Mummy was there in the yard. My father came out behind me and she said “I have been waiting for you” as she extended a pink carnation to him. I was down the garden path admiring the roses all along the walls and when I asked her if a rosebud would not be better she said “no, carnations last eternal”. I woke up. The dream was so real I wrote this poem that night at 3.00 am. My father was ill and I really felt his passing would come soon. The stars were so close-by and it was an unusually bright winter night.
Stars of Winter Light
The stars are so close-by,
I can almost touch them.
They sparkle an ink sky,
whisper above the tree tops.
The heavens, icy still,
this bright winter night.
I hear my father calling,
his life drawing to a close.
I hum “Oh Holy Night,”
my breath drifts the air,
opening a path to paradise,
time to set him free.
His mother is waiting,
I saw her in a dream.
She was in her garden,
the sun lit up the hall.
She held a pink carnation
to welcome him home.
He will live on eternal
in the brilliance of night.
Held forever in my heart,
I grant him his surrender
to whispers beyond the trees.
The stars are so close-by.
The Edge of Autumn
Rowan berries cluster orange
ripening an August morning.
Tart apples crisp knotted branches,
fallen, scarred fruit
soften wasp warm soil.
Blackcurrants burst sweet
bowing boisterous bushes.
Spent raspberry canes rust
birthing fleshy new shoots,
prickly with prospect.
The rambling rose laughs
sprinting the garden wall.
Thorny veins throb purple
under an waning sun.
A cloudy sea races
under a stirring breeze.
Trembling trees shudder
the call to Autumn,
their shadows dance the deck.
I stretch,
brushing off
the creeping dread
of dark days
to come.
Autumn Crisp Day
A chill pierces the early morning
cutting through my open window.
Sharp air nips past naked ankles
as Autumn nibbles into my day.
The door unbolts to a bleating breeze
slicing a dark shadow on my carpet.
A vacant sky blankets a steel sea,
as tarnished leaves snap at briny air.
Wasps sift October with regret
buzzing the dying scent of roses.
Tart apples rust gnarled branches
savouring a wind-blown drizzle.
Chestnut burrs bristle spiny green
pregnant with mahogany clusters.
Crumpled leaves huddle in garden corners,
crunching crooked for warmth.
Winter Daydreams
I wish
I was the chubby grey cat
curled up tight,
dozing in warm sunshine,
peeping behind the flowerpots
watching a garden symphony unfold.
I wish
I was the scarlet rose hips
high above the trellis,
eying the changing colours of day,
listening
to whispers among the trees,
eaves dropping
on secrets of rose buds,
or the bitter woes of poppies,
gossiping
with hot pink hibiscus,
on the dark underworld of leaves.
I wish
I was a striped bumble bee
whizzing from lilac to lavender,
or a fluttering butterfly
sipping on sweet nectar,
or a fat spider,
weaving silken webs,
spinning trapped lives to death.
How nice it is to daydream,
looking out on a barren garden,
with the promise of spring,
the hope of summer
on a slate winter’s day.
Summer Wishes
Dedicated to my Tuesday girl friends at Vincent De Paul, Greystones.
As I dream
of lying on my lounger
on a warm June day,
I hear
a choir of bees bumbling,
wind lisping through leaves,
doves cooing, courting,
the chink of cups,
tea pouring,
birdsong circling,