Life in Poetry

Feb. 6, 2021

A Temporary Escape

I’ve made a few attempts to start this, all of them relating our current situation. It is too awful for a lot of people. Each time I’ve stopped more upset than before. So here’s a different tack, I’m on the escapist route, to run and hide from it all. I’m regressing to happier times for some respite and relief. I wrote this last year during a workshop with the Bealtaine Writers. It was given online for us by Catherine Ann Cullen, courtesy of Poetry Ireland. Take yourselves away then, to your happy place for a while.

Comments

Triona

06.02.2021 17:51

Lovely Peter, great sounds in the poem.
You are wise to dwell on the good things.

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