Universal Child

How many mountains must you face before you learn to climb.

I'm gonna give you what it takes, my universal child.

I'm gonna try to find a way to keep you safe from harm.

I'm gonna be a special place, a shelter from the storm.

And I can see you, you're everywhere, your portrait fills the sky.

I'm gonna wrap my arms around you, my universal child.

And when I look into your eyes, so innocent and pure.

I see the shadow of the things that you've had to endure.

I see the tracks of every tear that ran right down your face.

I see the hurt, I see the pain, I see the human race.
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I can feel you, you're everywhere, shining like the sun.

And I wish to God that kids like you could be like everyone.

How many tumbles must it take before you learn to fly.

I'm going to help you spread your wings, my universal child.

I can feel you everywhere shining like the sun.

And I wish to God that kids like you could be like everyone.

And I wish to God that kids like you could be like everyone.


Annie Lennox

Minus 18

Sorry it is yet another poem and not a proper blog. It is so cold in my study that I am not keen on spending much time at the computer; the log fire is much more inviting. There is not much on my mind these last few days other than keeping warm.

I hope normal service will be resumed as soon as possible.

I was inspired to write this little poem though.


Minus 18



I have walked this day in sunshine
and in the lighted snow,
have found there can still be joy
amongst the cruellest, fiercest cold
for I have trod amongst diamonds
and as frosted jewels surrounded me,
I was made rich.

Two well-fed dogs ran beside me;
covered in white, all sniff and snuffle,
racing and falling, they would laugh and rise again.

Among the maiden snowfall,
across the field and by the frozen river’s side
lay snow prints of a record-breaking, freezing winter’s night;
fine drawings in a stark and saddened monochrome;
lines drawn by otters, foxes, badgers and the rest,
all had crossed this hardened, whitened winterland
but were they writ in hope or desperation?


Cait O’Connor

Just a pic and a poem

 Maxfield Parrish 1870

Morning

Dark or light, the day is given;

her kindly presence surely follows night.

Sure, like rain or death and taxes,

she is granted to me with each dawn

and if I’m spared, must always quietly rise.

She is dressed in white this morn,

layered in time, folded in hours

stitched with hope and clothed in mystery

and I can play her as I wish.

I can stretch her out or hold her close, 

sing low and soft or seek out beauty in her dance,

measure out in hours or seconds all its spice,

savour all its sweetness in my moments,

rub in truth and knead delight,

speak a prayer with grace

or quietly weep,

spit her out and run away.

Cait O’Connor

Frost

How can one keep from joyfulness
or a whispered thanks to God?
I didn’t exactly order it
though it was ladled last night
in my falling-in to sleep
and cradled in my dreams.
But it came unbidden to me;
hoar frost, a mist and sunlight
have dressed this mid-November morning.
and I need not ask for more.
From my window of white diamonds
a heron stalks the river
gazes at the bridge,
is standing, statuesque, in meditation.
I watch too, in a similarity of stillness
but who will weaken first?
with a call to breakfast or to prayer?



Cait O’Connor

Dear Diary,

Our River

It’s been too long again since I last blogged.   I can offer no worthy excuses; there is only life as usual and a respiratory virus that is doing the rounds which has laid me low and sapped my energies..  But whatever I am doing I would rather be writing and am with you in spirit if nothing else.

I am on the mend now I think because I have spent time this weekend beginning to put the garden to bed.  This I have delayed as long as possible in order to shorten its winter sleep.   Everything looks bedraggled though as it always does at this time of year and I don‘t think I have ever cleared up so many leaves as I have this year. -  I long for one of those attractive, inspiring winter gardens full of colourful touches  like winter jasmine, hellebores, viburnum, mahonia and witchhazel, I read that there is even a winter flowering cherry called a Prunus Autumnalis Rosea.  I do have a daphne which is always a delight when it flowers and a dogwood with its gorgeous red stems.  And my much-loved cyclamens which seem to like this Welsh upland.
Come spring I will have forgotten all about these ideas for winter and I will never get around to planting any winter brighteners for next year.   Never mind,  I will look forward to January and the arrival of my snowdrops because from then on the only way is up.  I quite like the snow when  it comes because it bestows its own special  beauty on the garden, frosts do too and my favourite of all are the hoar frosts.  There are lots of red berries this year which tells me that we are in for another hard winter - I must prepare myself for another hefty leccy bill.  I always enjoy being in the garden as my mind can wander and I often get ideas or inspiration to write something.  It is certainly relaxing but exhausting at the same time which is probably what a body needs to be well.

The dark evenings are upon us which means the days are short; thank God for log fires and our ancient Rayburn which we have resurrected of late as it has been soooo cold.  Winter has its many blessings and as long as I can keep warm I am happy but even so, time outside in all weathers is essential to keep that black dog at bay.

There was an exciting happening last week.  M saw two otters playing in our river - in the daytime!  I was indoors at the time so I missed them and was naturally green with envy.  We are wondering of they have made a home nearby and will be on otter watch from now on.  I shall keep you posted.

I will leave with a song, it is so well-known, is somehow eternal and the subject is peace - on a day when people think of the dead in warfare both past and present I always wish we could have such a day to try and bring about peace in our time with maybe the wearing of white flowers.







Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.