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Sandra Bunting

Walking with Botius and Canrella

This church has a smell,
closed in, unwashed, decaying.

Out in the rain Our Lady
beckons in a grotto among wild roses,
raspberries and ferns,
woodland at the back.

Lichened gravestones
stand over lumpy ground
that may open up, suck you down.

But you take a liking to
Botius O'Sullivan and Canrella Cadogan,
imagine them walking with you,
soft drops catching in your hair,
the three of you outside, breathing free.

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John Walsh

Worlds Apart

Long, a long time after,
I watched
the blackened rocks
that the waves beat,
seethe.
It was a day to be alone.

Was it over and done?

Toss a pittance into the beggar's lap
and catch his whispered blessing.
That's all he has to give us,
worlds apart
like the sky and the grey sea
at odds on the horizon.

Was it over and done?

I scrounge driftwood memories from the shore
as the sand tracks withdraw.
And the flame burns concentric,
licking the darkness,
while the rags of loving lie ashes
in the back of my mind.

Was there a hint of a smile
as he passed me of late?
Does he know how these things turn
that make men yearn?

Was it his eyes that reminded me of yours?
Moonlit on the bed,
hard like the blackened rocks,
cold as the midnight shore.

For Marilyn