Gréachán

🙏 thank you

The wind unroots old griefs,
yet still they cling to me,
Like ivy gripping hard
to fading memory.

>

But time,
won’t dissolve
what’s relevant,
while the rest drifts off.

<

Thus pain becomes the seed
of what I must become,
And I am carried on,
as rivers are, by storms.

#vss365

🔥🔥🔥🤗

Poem 2 - The Held Tongue

... as lichen on the age-

worn wall where secrets gather like the dew
that settles on the meadow grass at dawn,
each drop a word withheld, each bead a true
and relevant confession never drawn

into the light ...

#vss365 #poetry

Shhhh

The tongue rests quiet, pressed like leaf to stone,
a muscle learning stillness, learning weight,
perhaps it holds what's better left unknown,
what's relevant to grief but not to fate.
Like rivers pausing at the waterfall's edge,
the mouth becomes a garden, silence its hedge.

#vss365

🙏 🙏🙏☺️☺️☺️

Thank you 🤗

That sometimes silence is the best and most eloquent reply.

A universe of one

... peace is not a thing that must be found ...

In others' eyes, nor in their arms' embrace,
But in the achievable estate of grace
That springs like moss on stones no foot has pressed,
Where solitude itself becomes a nest.

#vss365
#poetry

This is the body's own theology:
the held moment when the soul meets flesh's single, achievable deed to be.

2/2

#vss365

Pneuma

Consider the lung's cathedral space
where air becomes intention; not yet word, not yet reply,
not yet the yes or no, but poised in grace
as dawn is poised above the sleeping field, as seed within its husk must lie.

1/2

#poetry

What moves through you
moved through them:
the swallowed stories,
the edited histories,
silence
running red and faithful
through every generation,
pulse by quiet pulse.

#poetry
#AnatomyOfSilence

The quiet at the corner of the eye,
not tears, but the place just before them,
where the muscle holds
and learns the measurable weight
of not letting go.
The body practicing a stillness
it will need later.

#vss365
#AnatomyOfSilence

The
tree
adds
one
measurable
ring
each
year
but
when
the
sapling
becomes
a giant
is not
identifiable.

#vss365

What measurable things,
the hand, the hour,
the distance ‘tween
seeing and the seen.

Only this remains,
you/me touching power,
the single point
where all that is convenes.

2/2
#vss365

I’m painting again…

The circle watches,
still and whole,
while brushstrokes flirt
in measured breath;

The line, a thread of
will made visible,
intention piercing through
the field’s vast depth.

1/2

Mist

She walks outside and weeps, but who could know?
For thy soft veil transmutes her tears to dew,
Makes sorrow seem the weather’s common gift,
And renders all her measurable grief new.

#vss365 #poetry #Ireland

The church bell tolls soft-
muffled through the white,
As if
the very air
has turned to wool,
And Heaven stoops
to touch my mortal sight.

Grief, when hidden
in thy misty dress,
Becomes not shame,
but common humanness.

In such heavy fog
there is a tender grace,
That tears may fall
and leave no bitter trace.

For my wet face
is but the morning’s face,
And pain is hid
within her misty dress.

I think you’re right.

Thank you :)

Waiting

Thus do I hold hard absence like a seed;
Specific, singular and small as prayer
That waits within the dark to grow its need,
And learns what silent rootwork I must bear.

2/2
#vss365 #poetry

Waiting

So does the bulb entombed in winter's keep,
Wrapped in its papery shroud of patient brown,
Store up its golden fire whilst frost lies deep,
And all the garden's glory tumbles down;

1/2
#vss365

Just let me lie here patient as the land
That trusts the sun though blizzards blind its face,
That knows the rose is coded in the strands
Of all the things that winter can't erase.

#poetry

… or … to the sky.

Beneath the frost,
specific dreams unfold!
The crocus sees
its purple pierce the cold,

The acorn swells
with oakwood yet unborn,
Each grain of wheat
imagines fields of corn.

They sleep in earth’s
dark womb and prophesy
The green
resurrection of the sky.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

#vss365
#poetry

So souls descend through
gardens green with grace,
Where every leaf
reflects the Artist’s face,
Till earth and heav’n
in one movement blend,
And sorrow finds its
rest, and life its end.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

2/2

The brook runs swift where
willows bend and pray,
Each ripple speaks what
silent stones would say;
A raven stoops and
in that downward flight
God’s action cleaves the
membrane of the light.

1/2
#vss365
#poetry

The starling’s song
dissolves
in evening air.
And I see now,
the branch is bare.

The river carves
her stone
with patient silt.
Reality is
her rise must wilt.

I am
No longer wrestling
what the seasons bring,

But rain and root and
every breathing thing.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​

#vss365

This clay, compacted
from the morning dew,
Shall crack like autumn leaves
when time proves true;

What thinks the oak it
differs from my bone?
Both root in earth, both
unto dust are sown.

#vss365
#poetry