Flotsam

Old woods in year end glamour gaze
on rivulets of colour born of autumns rains
that carry with them all the bloody earthy tones
on waters surface transport leafy bones
that mix with short lived shards of silver sun
and whisper sleep, your seasons work is done.

These infant bearers merge to feed the swollen brooks
that wend their practised pre-determined routes
meandering through meadows
joining streams and on to rivers
flooding outward to the coast
where older ancient movements of the sea become the host
for water worn and battered
bough and branch
cast up at last upon some distant beach
far from the requiem of waters new and fresh
through oceans roar to rest
upon a wave washed foreign shore,
to lie in exile far in time and space
from the quiet wooded glade that they once graced.

The Tiger

Its growl was heard once in Kenmare
but it was never seen.
They thought they'd found its prints in Clare
where it had never been.
A fur ball found in Sligo town
they claim came from its throat,
but some suspect a local's cat
for it wears the same striped coat.

And a postman down in Skibbereen
swears it leapt on him one night,
as from the pub he staggered home
but the beast it didn't bite,
just licked him over like a stamp
and stuck him to the ground,
where in the morning fast asleep
the postman he was found.

But I know well these stories,
sure they cannot be but lies,
for the creature seldom leaves the Pale
and when it does it flies.
It lives a life of luxury
surrounded by its pals,
the other fat cats of this Isle
the other likely lads.
It's never seen a field of hay,
it cannot milk a cow,
it doesn't know the price of bread
or the purpose of a plough.
It knows that fish swim in the sea
and are caught in great big nets,
but it's not surprised the dopes get snagged
for none it's seen have heads.

I hope that this wee beastie
realises pretty quick
that all its fun and frolicking
could make it pretty sick
If it doesn't come to grips real fast
with the debt it owes to us
and start to share its wealth around
this patronising puss
will find itself back in the zoo
on valium and prozac
a wasted opportunist,
a crippled Celtic cat.

^