JOHN ANTHONY FINGLETON

JOHN ANTHONY FINGLETON

OLDEN DAYS AND OLDEN WAYS

(In Ireland)

It was the time of the horse and plough,

When corn fields were scythed by hand,

And milk was churned into butter slabs,

As they all lived off the land.

The apple mash was strained through straw,

To make the cider drink,

And summer turf was cut and stored,

To provide the winter heat.

Hay was raked into high stacks,

Then covered from the storms,

While the women spun their spinning wheels,

To turn sheep wool into yarn.

Prayers were said before each meal,

Then around the fire old stories told;

And all work in the fields would stop,

At the sounds of the Angelus toll.

© Fingleton (Meán Fómhair 2017) (Löst Viking)

BEFORE THE RAINS

The sky is clouding over,

The wind is building up,

I think a lot of rain is going to fall,

The little birds that know these things,

Are singing in the trees,

A warning to all creatures, great and small.

Outside the cars are speeding up;

People rushing through the streets,

The Café, is stocking up its chairs,

An old lady with some shopping bags,

Is shuffling as fast as she can go,

While a young couple, lost in love, don’t really seem to care.

The darkening clouds get deeper,

Like an army gathering force,

Preparing for one final great attack,

A hazy frightened Sun peeks briefly

Through one gap that still remains,

Then decides on the better part of valor, and quickly scuttles back.

© Fingleton (Meán Fómhair 2017) (Löst Viking)

THE RETURNING

The time has come to return again,

I have been away, far too long;

Searching far and wide,

For God knows what?

This same elusive unknown thing.

Has made me stand on many battlefields,

Love on many distant shores,

Break bread with beggars, and with kings.

I have been to their treeless deserts,

Crawled through the choking dust,

Of their drought soaked desolated lands;

Walked in their ruined Eden’s of damnation without demand..

My skin is scored with many scars,

My mouth, crushed by many lips;

And sometimes I think

I hear voices in my head;

I have distilled fear in others,

But also drunk from that same cup,

Fate has taken many, many friends -

But left me here undead.

© Fingleton (Meán Fómhair 2017) (Löst Viking)

JOHN ANTHONY FINGLETON