MY DREAM IS A TREASURE
I've just been to heaven with someone so true
I dreamed about mama last night.
She never closed her eyes in sleep till we were all in bed
And on party nights till we got home she often sat and read.
We little thought about it then for we were young and gay
Just how much mama worried when us children were away.
We only knew she never slept and when we were out at night
That she waited just to know that we all came home alright.

While sometimes we'd stay away till one or two or three
It seemed to us that mama heard the turning of the key.
For always when we'd step inside she'd call and we'd reply
But we were all too young back then to understand the reason why.
Until the last one had returned shed always keep a light
For mama couldn't sleep until she kissed us all goodnight.
She had to know that we were safe before she went to rest
She seemed to fear the world might harm the ones she loved the best.

And once she said when we are grown to women and to men
Perhaps i'll sleep the whole night through i may be different then.
And so it seemed that night and day we knew a mothers care
That always when we'd get back home we'd find her waiting there.
Then came the night that we were called to gather round the bed
The children are all with you now the kindly doctor said.
And in her eyes there gleamed again that old time tender light
that told that she'd been waiting just to know that we were all alright.
She smiled that old familiar smile and prayed to god to keep
Her children safe from harm throughout the years and then she went to sleep.

To The Man In The Moon

To the man in the moon.
Why are you so bright when I be so blue?
I walk steadily and you follow in a glow.
As I'm feeling so very unsociable.
Your patience is so very tranquil.
While I'm left feeling so very gizmo.
You are never shallow.
To the man in the moon.
Left me feeling like a sideshow.
You softly tell me not to wallow.
As I quietly tiptoe to the window.
With all my sorrow.
The man in the moon gives me a gift of a nights rainbow.
Only to bestow a beautiful glow.
To the man in the moon.

ccjones

Ode to the phisher is in "Silly Poems" above.
Mick
:)

"And the flowers had the look of flowers that are being looked at."

That's all I can remember of T. S. Eliot. Flowers could have been roses - then roses are like that aren't they.

Mick
:)

"Poetry is not a turning loose of emotion, but an escape from emotion; it is not the expression of personality, but an escape from personality. But, of course, only those who have personality and emotions know what it means to want to escape from these things."
T. S. Eliot

"Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves."
T. S. Eliot

"The business of the poet is not to find new emotions, but to use the ordinary ones and, in working them up into poetry, to express feelings which are not in actual emotions at all."
T. S. Eliot

Samuel; our grandson
I welcome you Samuel into your brand new world
More happiness then I imagined I hold in my arms
More welcome then silver more welcome then gold
A joy in my heart impossible to describe
A pleasure to hear, a sight to behold.

May you see through the eyes of angels,
May you travel on their wings.
May your ears for ever hear the music
Of the birds as their songs they sing.

May your flowers never lose their colour
May they never fade and die
May they keep their wonderful perfume
Though summer has said good bye

May the stars light your way on the darkest night
And the soft breeze touch your face like butter fly wings
May your moon always be full clear and bright
And may you enjoy Mother Nature with all her wondrous things.

May GOD walk before you
To smooth your path through life
May happiness fill your day’s
And free from worry and strife.

Where ever life brings you
If you travel north south east or west
Remember you will always have our prayers
As we wish you the very best.

That's absolutely hysterical Sam. It's too cute not to put on here!

Forgive the rudeness but this is a true story! A little eight year old boy in a rural national school in County Kerry wrote the following for his teacher who requested a eight-line poem!

When you paddle in the sea
First you shiver, then you pee
And the waves that licked your toes
Suddenly Fizz up your nose
And you stumble Oh the shock
Then the water shrinks your cock
But it's sweaty summer weather
And it's great fun altogether!

Memories of a national school teacher Brid once had and the darkness that his power could plant in young minds.

POWER

Little heads look up and listen in awe
As the teacher explains the past.
Many will place it deep in their heads
For others a minute it won’t last.
The teacher has a face inscrutable:
Hard for them to know his depth.
Obsessed with Irelands past,
Into which every subject is swept.

He is aware of the subtle power
That allows him to convey
Beliefs and bitter prejudice
From a distant, irrelevant day
That embeds a seed in a young mind
which one day will deliver sorrow:
Drags the shadows of the past
To block the sunshine of tomorrow.

He knows no better, of course,
For he is twisted in such a way
That he cannot tell the night
From the bright light of the day.
His song has long since ceased,
The orchestra has left the stage.
The audience have moved on:
He remains, holding the prop of rage.

Sam Maguire
November 2006

This is one I composed five years ago when we Irish had lost the run of ourselves in that era of greed called the Celtic Tiger.

ADVERSITY

Don’t tell about your tepid problems
That arrive devoid of any merit:
Or try to load me with all the troubles
That you seem to inherit.
You have merely climbed a foothill
That you thought was a mountain:
Saw a garden sprinkler
That you thought was a fountain.
Unfit you are to speak of adversity
When others have lost a child
Gone in a different direction
To the grave, or to the wild.

You’ve merely scratched the surface
Cut a layer wafer-thin:
Thought you saw so much blood
That you’d be forgiven all sin.
Your charity is a devalued coin
Thrown carelessly into a box of tin
When what’s needed is your time
To help make the losers win.
See yourself as I do now
Dancing alone on a gilded floor
Demanding the grand entrance
Whilst the rest use the side door.

Sam Maguire
May 2004