larki dil diya dur

the light speaks your name

fun with rodge and jane

Clear September afternoon at Yum Yum's cafe in the town of Naas. School children drift by on main street, poignant in their way as the falling leaves.
I am sitting at a window seat with the Mammy, hatching a coffee and regaling her with an account of my favourite film scene in cinematic history.
The scene in question is from the James Bond film Live and Let Die.
Roger Moore as Bond was trying to persuade the astonishingly beautiful voodoo priestess Jane Seymore to give him a bit of a kiss.
Jane was having none of it.
Rodge says: "Let's ask the cards."
He produces a deck of Tarot cards and selects one.
He holds it up.
It's the lovers.
Jane, who has genuine mystical powers, looks troubled.
Rodge shuffles the deck.
Jane picks a card.
Again it's the lovers.
Jane feels she no longer has any choice in the matter and proceeds to a rumbustious bout of slap and tickle with Rodge who looks duly pleased with himself.
Presently we see that the deck of cards contains 52 versions of the lovers.
Apparently British Intelligence issues all secret agents with a deck like this just in case.
Anyhoo.
As usual I am now trying to apply the lessons learned in James Bond films to my own life.
"Some of these Tarot card young ones will do anything the cards tell them," I inform the Mammy earnestly. "The trick is getting the cards to fall the way I want them to."
The venerable parent shakes her head.
"I have to ask you something," sez she. "Didn't I hear you criticising Jackie last month when she consulted a Tarot reader?"
Jackie is my sister in law. The Mammy may indeed have heard some such criticism from me. For I was very small minded a month ago.
I avert my gaze and look sheepishly out the window.
"What was it you said?" persisted the Mam. "Something about dark forces, and unleashing powers no one understands. You told her she was meddling in the occult, didn't you? You seemed to be dead set against it anyway. What's caused you to change all these deeply felt principles?"
I sat back in my chair and took a sip of the jaded bean which is coffee.
"Lil old pal," sez I cheerily, "have you seen this girl?"

mystical morning

Dawn at the old chateau.
Clear mist drifting over the fields.
Aunty Mary's hens performing Handels 12th Cockadoodledoo Chorus in D Minor.
Ah, the beasts must die.
Entering the kitchen I am met by the Mammy already in situ, quaffing a coffee.
I switch on the kettle with one hand while pushing Paddy Pup's snout out of my face with the other.
The Mammy contemplates me sagely for some moments.
I flump into a chair.
"Why does she call you the king of cups?" enquires the aged parent out of the blue.
I favour her with my famous Paddington Bear stare. There is only one way the Mammy could know anyone on the planet has ever referred to me by the name she's just mentioned. The aged p must have been browsing through The Heelers Emails.
"Had a good read did we?" I enquire somewhat bitterly.
"Well most of them are a bit boring," quoths the Lilt. "But anyway why does she call you that?"
"I think it's to do with Tarot cards," I reply wearily.
"Oh," sez the Mam realisation dawning, "I thought it was because you drank so much coffee."

an autumn storm at kilcullen

the evening concerto has begun
sweeping through twilight from the fields
a masterwork of music at random
rain drums on windowsill and eaves
its offnote lyric rhapsody in grey
as squalls gust lustily in sprays
a bullock bells forlorn out of sight
light sound shadow harmonise
at once a dreary monotone of night
at once a heady gloriole of praise
that says it all about this place
it's torn me in my love and hate for it
village prison earthly paradise
small town insensate to my spirit
oh universe in me and i in it

ripples in the sky of time