Life in Poetry

Nov. 8, 2019

On Arrival in the Seomra*


Six months paperwork lies piled on the desk,
eight dry fountain pens need to be refilled,
one computer switches on, lights up, waits,
three notebooks spread themselves on the table,
six books of poetry wait to be read.

The writer scribbles, scratches, more in hope
than delivery. Five times in the hour
he wonders when coffee will be ready,
looks dejectedly at the near-empty page,
hauls himself up, lumbers towards the kitchen.

Peter Clarke


*Seomra: room

Comments

Clíodhna

09.11.2019 20:10

The tenacity of keeping on and keeping on showing up... Know the feeling!

Michael Foley

09.11.2019 18:18

Walking around an empty page, always finding something else to do. Getting started is a challenge. I know the feeling. Well expressed Peter.

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.

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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