What choice do you have if you are a wave?
You are pushed, you are pulled
By the tide, by the moon
You can’t ever resist a rock in your way
You are compelled, repelled
Never long, always soon
You’ll eventually be awash on another shore
Without a care where you land
It could be The Velvet Strand
You’ll be carrying little creatures from near and afar
You’re a wave after all
Fáilte Ireland, says the sand
The long straight stretch
is now the signal
that I’m almost home
after the twisty roads
To the west
Troon Mountain looms large
to the east
is the hazy outline
of The Four Peaks
that rise nearly 8,000 feet
The faint white moon
is still high in the
relentless blue sky
A hummingbird hovers
before me in mid air
deciding which blossom to attack
for the best drink of nectar
The bunny rabbits are busy
Their fluffy white bottoms
earning them the name
desert cottontail
Quail hurry across the road
with a stream of tiny chicks
Cute and goofy
of little brain
Wrens and finches
chirp and call from
the tall saguaro
that are almost past blooming
Prickly pears have never
been more purple
While the fiery orange flowers
of a showy shrub now rule
Bougainvillea,
bursting with magenta petals
are luminously vibrant
and create a floral fiesta.
Granite rock formations speak.
I’m a spirit in prayer
I’m a nut cracked open
to reveal my treasure
The McDowells loom large
Tom’s Thumb largest of all
Pinnacle Peak cries out
Hey, what about me?
I was your first love!
The lizard has the last word.
The tiny one with the long tail
asked for my attention
Next came a bigger,
beefier specimen
to grab my attention
Last, the exotic
green striped lizard
commanded the highest point
of a majestic rock
Pumping itself up and down
to remind me:
It’s time to take an internal audit
and that all important things
are born in our dreams
Goodbye Scottsdale,
I’ll see you in September
Saguaro blooming
Troon mountain
Cactus in bloom
Cracked nut rock formation
Fiery orange flower
Desert cottontail rabbit
Troon mountain with rock outcropping
White cactus flower
Hummingbird
Tom’s Thumb
Lizards sunbathing
View of Pinnacle peak from the driving range of Troon Country Club
Pinnacle peak
Prickly pear
First Maeve
and now Seamus
Their spirits have left this land
that I still inhabit
I cannot carry their mantle
No, nay, never
Just keep writing
Give people a reason to read
I’m not the raconteur
or Nobel Prize winner
Just in the land
where they are no longer
They touched your lives
altered your world
That won’t change
but you will
She wove a tale
made you feel, laugh
He wrote with passion,
touched and taught you
They gave us a richer world
They shed the gifts they were given
They bled so that we could drink
They died but not in our hearts
The brilliant sunshine has returned to bid me farewell
Waves are lapping, not crashing as before.
The mighty Atlantic takes on the deep blue of the sky
Forms a sharp line to define the horizon.
Magpies returned a few days ago from their summer haunt
To join the jackdaws, pied wagtails and chatty starlings.
A giant ladybug beckons me at the start of my walk
She is a big smooth river stone with a smile on her face
People park by the school to get a better look at the castle ruin
They hurry away with their cameras en route to the Cliffs of Moher.
A little car pulls up on the curb by the church and the window comes down
What time is Mass, do you know? Not sure, eleven or twelve I think.
My only other conversation is with a horse, just before I reach the little harbor
He wants a treat. He insists. He taps his foot on the ground. Again and again.
I haven’t got anything for you I say. But I’ll try to come back with a carrot.
Or a sweetie? Do you want a sweetie? His ears perk up. Yes, a sweetie he says.
March moon is rising
higher and higher
Clearing the clouds
now blue, once on fire
Giant and glowing
The Way, it is showing
This is east
I am Luna
A perfect ball
Oh Fortuna!
Full as can be
over jagged mountain ridge
It is magic to see
for this world, a bridge
Follow me, she says
I will bring you home
You won’t go astray
or ever be alone
it whistles around the windows
and roars down the chimney
the wind
it brutishly bends the bushes
and defeats the gulls
the wind
it chases the young hare
into its meagre wet form
the wind
it darkens the sea
and whips up the white caps
the wind
it blows torrents of water at us
from the angry Atlantic
it switches around
and pelts the red wooden door
the wind
the black night has fallen
and window frames tremble
the wind
there is no let up
of the ceaseless battering
the wind
it howls and bellows
I rule your world
The Wind
