I cannot believe that I let the first anniversary of this blog pass by. It went up on the 4th of July last year. So there, I’ve done it now, it’s officially noted. I have had great fun and pleasure in sharing these poems with you and getting your very encouraging feedback. Thank you all for that. It continues to sustain me and also challenge me.
It is now at the end of July and coming into the first of August, I am, as always, at this time of year very conscious of Aoife. It’s fourteen years now. So here is a piece that came to me in the past few weeks.
As usual, read, enjoy, share and let me know what you think.
On this quiet summer morning
sitting easily, coffee in hand
the feeling of her wells
from his toes, reaches his eyes
which moisten from behind
brings him to that distant place.
Her absence fills the room
he feels held in time past
wrapped in sorrow past
hurting in pain past.
This sharp burst
catches him by surprise
after all this time
Makes him aware
of the permanent ache
that lies beneath his skin.
Peter Clarke
21st July 2018
Tom McLoughlin
30.07.2018 23:55
Lovely words Peter. It is true, I guess, that you never really forget your own family
Catherine D
30.07.2018 16:56
That is really beautiful. Your sadness and your love for Aoife is palatable.
Leo S
30.07.2018 11:35
Ah Peter.
Touching pain.
I have no words that aren't trite
no wisdom even half-right.
Gone and not-gone, no contradiction there,
love knows that.
Brid Brophy
30.07.2018 08:18
Beautifully written Peter. So emotional
Brian Conway
30.07.2018 05:08
Eileen and I are so moved by the power of your words.It is hard to believe fourteen years have now passed
Jack Abell
30.07.2018 01:38
Thank you Peter for sharing your pain so beautifully written.
Clíodhna
29.07.2018 11:38
I know her so well and still miss her. Thanks for this Peter.
Phil
29.07.2018 10:19
Thanks Peter. The poignancy and the pain captured in a beautiful way. Best wishes.
Marguerite colgan
29.07.2018 07:31
16 short lines and the page is full , her presence, though it is her absence. His feelings toe to eye and a tear-burst. Thank you for inviting us in this summer morning of rain-tears.
Margaret D
28.07.2018 21:30
Absolutely beautiful PETER. I can feel the pain. She was beautiful and a lovely person and what a huge loss. She left her mark.
Rosy Wilson
28.07.2018 20:09
Very moving and so well composed. I loved it when you sent it to me. Thanks
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024