Off the coast of Galway a noddy boat could skip between the islands and pull in close at a harbor dock. The highlight of the week was when the fishing boat came into the harbor. They'd be handsome bachelors on it, so the single women went down to the harbor with hot tea, something to … Continue reading Bakers From the Western Islands By Elaine Reardon
Gay’s Phone in by Maureen Byrne
The line is bad, I can’t hear you Gay, I can hear you fine, so fire away, I feel so bad, I wish I was dead, You should see the sunrise up at Howth Head, Listen Gay, there’s a lot at stake, I must stop you there, time for a break, O Gay you know … Continue reading Gay’s Phone in by Maureen Byrne
Oh, The Jungle Drums Deep Within by Mort Murphy
This is true for me Concluding the series: What If I Have Misunderstood?What if I have misunderstoodEver since childhood; all the years longLabelling as “bad” that which is goodBranding true love, life, and me all wrong (Accepting the gift that true love had always offered but I, in my severe mental illness, refused) Oh, the … Continue reading Oh, The Jungle Drums Deep Within by Mort Murphy
Riding The Wild Sea Horses Of Strandhill by Mort Murphy
(Knocknarea (Hill Of The Kings) is reputed to be the burial place of Queen Maeve, seated upon her horse. Surfers, including big wave riders, come from all over the world to the North-West coast of Ireland) Storming sea horses race high Up, up, pounding thunder into the sky Roaring, snorting, strong is their sea foam … Continue reading Riding The Wild Sea Horses Of Strandhill by Mort Murphy
Blessed By Their Shunning By Mort Murphy
From the series: What If I Have Misunderstood? Our paths will meet at that cornerSeeing me, puts down his headSpeeds up his paceAnd veers away into evasion; fled Best friends before me in the checkout queueOnly one shopper and trolley betweenThey see, dead now their eyes, looking pastMy very existence deleted from being seen And … Continue reading Blessed By Their Shunning By Mort Murphy
Rejoices, Celebrates, Parties by Mort Murphy
From the series: What if I have misunderstood? Oh, how I laugh todayBut it was not always that wayI feared the wrecking knowingOf the deeply hidden truth showing That Step 4 breaks my heartI feel my faults are off the chartBut I am taken to Love’s callAs written by St. Paul “…Love rejoiceth not in … Continue reading Rejoices, Celebrates, Parties by Mort Murphy
Detaching With Love by Mort Murphy
This is true for me May I give gratitude and pray that my loved one is blessed for bringing to my awareness, once again, this unconscious neediness in me to suffer cruelty, neglect, being devalued. Lord, I humbly ask that your will be done, not mine when setting my boundaries from addictively attaching to suffering. … Continue reading Detaching With Love by Mort Murphy
My Compulsively Attaching To Suffering By Mort Murphy
From the series: What if I have misunderstood?What if I have misunderstoodEver since childhood; all the years longLabelling as “bad” that which is goodBranding true love, life, and me all wrong I cannot let it goThis compulsive attaching is all I knowIt is too dangerous for me to be freeOf suffering from my loved one’s … Continue reading My Compulsively Attaching To Suffering By Mort Murphy
Laughing, Poverty Comes To My Door by Mort Murphy
From the series: What If I Have Misunderstood?What if I have misunderstoodEver since childhood; all the years longLabelling as “bad” that which is goodBranding true love, life, and me all wrong Laughing, poverty comes to my doorWanting to know if he may come inSays I: you are not welcome any moreThere is no room for … Continue reading Laughing, Poverty Comes To My Door by Mort Murphy
Come Hither, You Who Are Made Of Clay Mort Murphy
From the "What if I have Misunderstood?" Collection Come hither, you who are made of clayBaked in your mother’s womb, o’er nights and dayGifting energy that you may have earthen lifeBorn of a baby-carrier, yet she is but midwife You arise now, taking your place upon the landRushing forth to multiply, building upon time’s sandThen … Continue reading Come Hither, You Who Are Made Of Clay Mort Murphy