Before the famine

Before the famine

On the western tip of Europe
reaching out to Dingle Bay,
a cottage sits, thatched, gilded and always lit up
by the influence of God, or by rainbows
from the mountain rains and the sometimes sun.
Did I dream you into being?
Lying overgrown and ripe, in need of care,
your mellow garden is steeped in wild flowers
while turf is stacked against your stony walls.
Through a wooden door of oxblood red
you welcome me quietly into chiaoscuro light.
Ancestral memories have always sung to me
of your whitewashed walls and your truckle bed.
Now I yearn to sleep there by the glow of oil lamps
in the little alcove beside your hearth.
There, upon your paved floors of slate, lasting and true,
are patchworks and flowers,
a scented geranium in a metal pail.
A crucifix hangs upon a wall,
a rosary by its side.
A meal has been laid on the table:
there are foods that are staple:
potatoes, bread, butter in churns
and the purest honey from the hive.
Cait O’Connor

Painting by James Anderson

Snapshots

There is Another Sky

There is another sky,
Ever serene and fair,
And there is another sunshine,
Though it be darkness there;
Never mind faded forests, Austin,
Never mind silent fields -
Here is a little forest,
Whose leaf is ever green;
Here is a brighter garden,
Where not a frost has been;
In its unfading flowers
I hear the bright bee hum:
Prithee, my brother,
Into my garden come! 

Emily Dickinson

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Think of me on Sundays

This poem is inspired by a meme on
Yolanda's Perfectly Imperfect blog.



Think of me on Sundays.


Think of me on Sundays…

For if I were a day I’d like to be a Sunday; quiet and reflective.
If I were a time it would be night with my hours full of moonlight and wonder.
If I were a planet it would surely be the one that’s lost,
just out of reach, still waiting, borne on imagination.
If I were a direction it would have to be west for it is my spirit’s home,
to where I am drawn, from whence I came.
If I were a piece of furniture I’d love to be the bentwood rocker
on your sweet New England porch.
To calm you down I’d rock and soothe you off to sleep;
you’d be forever cradled in my arms of polished wood.
If I were liquid I’d be pure water in your streams or in sea water’s waves
or in cascades that play God’s music in their waterfalls.
If I were precious I would not be gold but would dress always in amethyst
encased in silver so I could lie at all times near your heart.
If I were a flower I’d want be the wildest rose, persistent, understated, seldom found.
If I were weather I would be in Ireland’s rain
so my drops would be gentle, soft and warm.
If I were an instrument I’d be uilleann pipes;
you’d hear me and I’d touch you somewhere deep within,
If I were a colour I’d have to steal the blue of summer skies
and be unapologetic in my crime.
If I were an emotion I’d strive hard to be thoughtful, always deep but wholly kind.
If I were a sound you’d hear me in the waves on oceanic crossings.
If I were an element I would strive to dance within the fire
that lights the blessing candle in your home.
If I were a place I’d be an island, small and safe, protected,
a haven for the poor lost souls and rescued beasts of burden on this Earth.
If I were textile I’d be the softest silk in pastels
or cotton paisley in bright colours, depending on your mood.
If I were a song it would always be the rebel’s tune
played loud and always shouting for a cause.
If I were a city I’d be Dublin, I’d feel at home there
and would sincerely hope you’d stay.
I’d be the doorway in a photo, a piece of history or art.
But if I were a gift for you I’d like to be a book,
one of wild, unruly poems, unstructured, wrapped with care, 
something to treasure all your days.
I’d hope you’d bring it out on Sundays .

Think of me on Sundays…


Cait O’Connor

A Nice Song

The Joys of Gardening

Dear Diary,

In my garden there is a large place for sentiment.  My garden of flowers is also my garden of thoughts and dreams.  The thoughts grow as freely as the flowers, and the dreams are as beautiful.

Abram L Urban

My garden is not huge but it wraps itself around the cottage and there is more than enough for me to cope with, I am so lucky to have the mountain stream flowing through it and the beautiful views. I have taken photos before for the blog but I shall try to take some more this week.

The growing season is short in this upland area of Wales and certain plants just will not grow and those that do are way behind those at lower altitudes.  You soon learn what keels over at this altitude in this acid soil and what thrives I am a bit of a fair weather gardener which probably explains why I am writing today about the joys of gardening. We have had so many weeks of real summer for a change. 

Shall I list these joys?  There are many.

To start with working with the soil ‘earths’ me which does me the world of good as I live too much in my head most of the time.  I love the feel of earth in my hands and the smell of it too.  Although I have to wear gardening gloves there are some jobs that I just can’t do properly with gloves on.  Transplanting seedlings for example, or potting on. 

There is the solitude too which I just have to have at times and I enjoy my own company very much but I am not always completely alone, I am joined sometimes by M who helps out with certain tasks.  I am accompanied at times by a dog or two or a cat and always surrounded by birds; some watch from a distance, some are braver like the robins and the blackbirds who watch patiently in case some tasty morsel is turned over and laid out at their feet,  (Do birds have feet?).  I am watched by squirrels and sometimes spied on by birds of prey like the red kites who swoop above me.  There are more bees this year which is good news and always butterflies around me.  Sometimes there are sheep in the field across the river and they will stand and watch my movements from afar. I wonder what they are thinking.  Perhaps they wonder what I am thinking,

Tending a garden is similar to the practice of meditation because I concentrate fully on the task in hand and become totally absorbed within it.  I am happy and purposeful and the garden seems to be the only place where I can put aside, if only for a while, any worries that I may have.  It is rewarding when a job is done, a ‘corner’ or a bed sorted and improved, an area cleared of weeds brings much satisfaction and reward for much hard work.  And it is ongoing as plants GROW (usually).  Weeds GROW too but I have learned to enjoy, well perhaps enjoy is not the right word; endure perhaps, the chore that is weeding.  My thoughts wander and I often find inspiration while I am doing it.

Gardening is physically exhausting sometimes and I have to limit myself in case I overdo things but at least it beats going to a gym and it is so lovely to be out in the pure fresh Welsh mountain air. The best advice I can give is to take it in small doses and set a time limit - stop when you are still wanting more and then there is the next day to look forward to.  A bit like writing I guess.

Yesterday I gardened in soft rainfall - West Cork weather I call it  - which suits me well.  It was warm but with the softest of rain, real Irish weather, rain that started off more like a mist but soon became the sort that quickly makes you wet through without you realising.  But for me it beat the sweltering heat any day, I was so happy.

Gardening presents challenges which for me, being an Aries, I relish.  However, being an Aries my enthusiasm is apt to wane before the job is finished.  I must try harder….  It is an inexpensive hobby if I restrict myself when I go to garden centres (very hard) and if I wanted to I could grow a lot of my own food…perhaps one day.

Just lately I have begun to see the garden as somewhere I can be creative rather than just somewhere to sweep, cut back, weed and tidy. This is quite exciting.  Just recently our phone line was down and I could not go on the net for a week - I turned to the garden as the weather was so inviting.  I realised that my life had become out of balance because I was spending too much time indoors looking at a computer screen, both at work and at home. I have had a few days off work and am just starting to feel rested.  Pottering is one of my passions and I have been concentrating on practising this one a lot.

Well I must sign off now.  The garden is quite tidy but the cottage needs a clean.  Not today though, I am not in housework mode (or cooking!). Maybe it will rain soon.  I found this quote recently, it is so true.

God made rainy days so gardeners could get the housework done.  ~Author Unknown

I must leave you with a poem. 

My dear cat Molly roams among the roses  - she’s not black but is pure white -  but I still loved the poem by Amy Lowell. I hope you like it too.


A Black Cat Among Roses

A black cat among roses,
Phlox, lilac-misted under a first-quarter moon,
The sweet smells of heliotrope and night-scented stock.
The garden is very still,
It is dazed with moonlight,
Contented with perfume,
Dreaming the opium dreams of its folded poppies.
Firefly lights open and vanish
High as the tip buds of the golden glow
Low as the sweet alyssum flowers at my feet.
Moon-shimmer on leaves and trellises,
Moon-spikes shafting through the snowball bush.
Only the little faces of the ladies' delight are alert and staring,
Only the cat, padding between the roses,
Shakes a branch and breaks the chequered pattern
As water is broken by the falling of a leaf.
Then you come,
And you are quiet like the garden,
And white like the alyssum flowers,
And beautiful as the silent sparks of the fireflies.
Ah, Beloved, do you see those orange lilies?
They knew my mother,
But who belonging to me will they know
When I am gone.

Amy Lowell

Bye for now,
Happy Gardening,
Cait.












   

 Dear Diary,


Well it has been a long time since my last posting. I have missed you all but I've had a little holiday from work and from blogging and have been spending hours battling with weeds, trying to tame my unruly garden.  I hate pulling up weeds as they are after all just living plants that are unwanted and have landed up in the wrong place.  But I have been resolute and cast out any guilt feelings.  

And hasn't the weather been heavenly?  In between pulling up weeds I've been enjoying watching Wimbledon, it's always a treat for me to sit down and watch the tennis at this time of year.  (No Safin to drool over this year but never mind).   And I've been enjoying the World Cup too, I really love to watch good football, I always have done and while I was growing up I was a Crystal Palace supporter.  I'll say no more about England's performance in the World Cup though, it's really best forgotten.

I watched two good films this week - Julie and Julia with Meryl Streep. such a good one, especially if you love cooking and it's based on a book which was originally a blog. (a true story). The other one was The Queen with Helen Mirren.  Neither films are new but I hadn't got round to seeing either.


I  will sign off with a poem, something that just came into my head. 



Positive Thoughts


The trouble with you is you are always buried
deep beneath the negatives. Shall I list them? 
Can you spare me that much of your precious time?
I thought not and in any case upon them
you and I should never wish to dwell.
You lie so deep sometimes, submerged and overwhelmed
and guarding you, on high alert and always dressed to kill,
the thought police are on permanent patrol.

I must never give up the search for you
for positives parade in many ways,
are found in truth in all our days.
Sometimes the human heroes we encounter on our daily round
are truly saints or angels in our lives.
We almost disregard them as we heed our demons’  daily noise,
ignoring at our peril all the value in a loving, kindly face,
a baby’s smile, a laugh, a hope, a rush of love,
a real belief, some words of comfort and a strength of will,
an angel’s intervention in our life.

And unbeknown to us, amidst the graveyards in our minds
we give unholy funerals to them all
when we should seek their daily resurrection
and speak, for all to hear of good news, in a mantra
or some well-worn, bright, but long-forgotten silent prayer.

Cait O’Connor

Bye for now,
Go mbeannai Dia duit,
Cait.

The Palm Reading

I crept in with sunken palms
chasms of no confidence,
a fortune in my hands for all to see,
a map of lines which I had carried lifelong, hidden,
with an eager, sometimes far too trusting, sympathetic heart.

She swept in on an air of frankincense and cedar
under an aura of rainbows, all sparkled silver and old gold.
Her tourmaline ring hung on red- ribboned silk
for she dowsed and read the tea leaves,
clouds and water, mirrors and a crystal ball.
She even saw weird shapes in dripping, melting wax.
All yielded secrets to her as she scryed.

She said I had a Water hand,
(intuitive and compassionate,
artistic and emotional, but seriously gullible
and far too unworldly for this tainted planet Earth).
My heart line was deeply curvy
(I liked the sound of that)
but I was without any minor lines.
(Well none to speak of).
No crosses or triangles, no sign of little squares.
But then she found the writer’s fork, (quite rare)
which showed a poet's soul
(kind and true with sensitivity).

On my return home, still elated, I created in her name
a bouquet of words, as we poets often love to do.
She knew the lore of flowers, threw runes,
read faces and the Tarot,
always kept her Angel cards at hand.
And when we’d bidden our farewells
and I’d looked deep into her kindly eyes of green
I had no doubt that I  had left with her the secrets
of my very special ‘poet’s life’ of dreams.


Cait O’Connor 2010

Your Song

I have given up on 'X' and 'Z' too so this will be the finale.
I have been looking forward to this one. It takes me back quite a long way but I still remember when I heard it, discovered Elton John and bought his first album.

I am a big fan of Bernie Taupin's lyrics.

Your Song

It's a little bit funny this feeling inside
I'm not one of those who can easily hide
I don't have much money but boy if I did
I'd buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no
Or a man who makes potions in a travelling show
I know it's not much but it's the best I can do
My gift is my song and this one's for you

And you can tell everybody this is your song
It may be quite simple but now that it's done
I hope you don't mind
I hope you don't mind that I put down in words
How wonderful life is while you're in the world

 

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss
Well a few of the verses well they've got me quite cross
But the sun's been quite kind while I wrote this song
It's for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do
You see I've forgotten if they're green or they're blue
Anyway the thing is what I really mean
Yours are the sweetest eyes I've ever seen

Alphabet of Songs 'W'

Dear Diary,

We must be the change we want to see in the world.
Mahatma Gandhi 1869-1948

Nearly finished the alphabet!

'W' has been a delight to search for as I have found so many gems.

Too many and so very hard to choose a favourite.

Songs like:

While my guitar gently weeps by dear George Harrison, God rest his soul.

Wuthering Heights by Kate Bush - the first song I heard after giving birth to my daughter and loving it instantly.

Wind beneath my Wings.

Waiting for a Girl like you.

White Flag by Dido.

White Ladder by David Gray.

When you Love Someone.

So hard to choose just one but in the end I chose this one not only for its music but also for its message of hope for the children of our world.

Wind of Change by the Scorpions

And finally just for Frances and just for fun and just because it is such a good one.



I might have to give up on 'X' unless anyone can help me out here?

Can't wait to do 'Y'.

See you soon,
Cait.

For Vincent

'V' wasn't so hard after all. This just happens to be one of my all-time favourites with beautiful lyrics too and Vincent is the name of my late brother, the one I never got to meet, I missed him by a matter of days, God rest his soul.. Why on earth did I think that this letter of the alphabet would be a challenge?

'W' should be a breeze (hold on Frances) and I can't wait to post 'Y'. 'X' will be hard as will 'Z'. But then I shall be back to more 'normal' blogging, I am quite looking forward to that but I hope you have been enjoying the music, I know I have found it fun searching.

In today's choice I hope you enjoy not just the music but the delicious works of art too.


Vincent

Starry
starry night
paint your palette blue and grey

look out on a summer's day
with eyes that know the
darkness in my soul.
Shadows on the hills
sketch the trees and the daffodils

catch the breeze and the winter chills

in colors on the snowy linen land.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they did not know how

perhaps they'll listen now.

Starry
starry night
flaming flowers that brightly blaze

swirling clouds in violet haze reflect in
Vincent's eyes of China blue.
Colors changing hue
morning fields of amber grain

weathered faces lined in pain
are soothed beneath the artist's
loving hand.
And now I understand what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity
how you tried to set them free.
perhaps they'll listen now.

For they could not love you
but still your love was true

and when no hope was left in sight on that starry
starry night.
You took your life
as lovers often do;
But I could have told you
Vincent
this world was never
meant for one
as beautiful as you.

Starry
starry night
portraits hung in empty halls

frameless heads on nameless walls
with eyes
that watch the world and can't forget.
Like the stranger that you've met

the ragged men in ragged clothes

the silver thorn of bloody rose
lie crushed and broken
on the virgin snow.
And now I think I know what you tried to say to me

how you suffered for your sanity

how you tried to set them free.
They would not listen
they're not
list'ning still
perhaps they never will.


Don McLean

The Moor

I just had to share this lovely poem with you as well as post my 'U' song.  I hope you enjoy both.

Next it is 'V's turn..... may this be a problem I wonder?

First the poem by a fine Welsh poet.


The Moor

 

It was like a church to me.
I entered it on soft foot,
Breath held like a cap in the hand.
It was quiet.
What God was there made himself felt,
Not listened to, in clean colours
That brought a moistening of the eye,
In movement of the wind over grass.

There were no prayers said. But stillness
Of the heart's passions -- that was praise
Enough; and the mind's cession
Of its kingdom. I walked on,
Simple and poor, while the air crumbled
And broke on me generously as bread.

R S Thomas 1913-2000

 

And now for something completely different.

The First Time Ever I Saw Your Face

Dear Frances of City Views and Country Dreams fame must be on my musical wavelength as she picked this one too. I found this version on YouTube which features more than just Roberta Flack and she still has a great voice, don't you agree?

It brought tears to my eyes.

Enjoy.

Summertime

Several folk had the same idea as me for 'S'. It just has to be Summertime.

And it is Summertime; the sun is showing herself a wee bit today though it could be a tad warmer.
Never mind, just  listen to Ella Fitzgerald, what a voice, what a song!
Enjoy.

Summertime

Summertime
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

One of these mornings
You're going to rise up singing
Then you'll spread your wings
And you'll take to the sky

But till that morning
There's a'nothing can harm you
With daddy and mamma standing by

Summertime,
And the livin' is easy
Fish are jumpin'
And the cotton is high

Your daddy's rich
And your mamma's good lookin'
So hush little baby
Don't you cry

George Gershwin

Any suggestions for 'T'?

Raglan Road

This is my choice for 'R'.  There were lots to choose from but my love of poetry won out.
It is a fusion of a much-loved poem by a much-loved poet -  put to music and sung with raw emotion by a fine singer, Luke Kelly -  God rest his soul.  I hope you enjoy it too.

Raglan Road

On Raglan Road on an autumn day I met her first and knew That her dark hair would weave a snare that I might one day rue; I saw the danger, yet I walked along the enchanted way, And I said, let grief be a fallen leaf at the dawning of the day. On Grafton Street in November we tripped lightly along the ledge Of the deep ravine where can be seen the worth of passion's pledge, The Queen of Hearts still making tarts and I not making hay - O I loved too much and by such and such is happiness thrown away. I gave her gifts of the mind I gave her the secret sign that's known To the artists who have known the true gods of sound and stone And word and tint. I did not stint for I gave her poems to say. With her own name there and her own dark hair like clouds over fields of May On a quiet street where old ghosts meet I see her walking now Away from me so hurriedly my reason must allow That I had wooed not as I should a creature made of clay - When the angel woos the clay he'd lose his wings at the dawn of day.  Patrick Kavanagh

Que Sera

Up to 'Q' now, nearly finished the alphabet!

I have had a comment saying I seem to be avoiding 'proper blogging' by posting these songs but the majority of people who comment seem to be enjoying them. For me it's a case of having started (the alphabet) so I shall finish but I shall try and do a bit of a blog alongside the song when I have the time. It does actually take a lot of time searching for songs, re-listening to them and deciding on a favourite; any journey into nostalgia can while away the hours whether it is going through old photos (another job waiting for me and I have chestfuls to sort) or listening to old songs again. And they do all seem to be old songs, why is that? Is there no contemporary music with esteem worthy of mention? There is of course and I would love to post some - any suggestions would be very welcome.

The garden has been calling me too and a myriad of other things fight for my attention on my days off. I do long to write my more usual type of blogs again with pictures, poems, photos and of course blessings and I do apologise for their absence. I shall try and make up for it in future posts.

Well Q is a bit of a cop-out I guess. The song does remind me of my childhood but I can't say I love it. I couldn't find anything else, though I expect someone will come up with one and I shall kick myself for not thinking of it.

Here it is anyway, it's a cheerful song for sure so sing along do, I bet you know all the words..  A friend told me only this week  that scientists have recently discovered the benefits to our health of singing and humming - apparently they do wonderful things to the brain and help with problems like anxiety and depression. There does seem to be an upsurge in interest in singing lately.  (I sing all the time but only when there is no-one around.  How about you?).

Enjoy!



Bye for now,
Cait

Love Songs

I spent days thinking I would never find a 'P' song and now I have three! I am posting two of them simply because I know a lot of people dislike Celine Dion but the first is The Power of Love Personally I love her voice and have asked to be able to sing with such power in my next life, that's all, it would do me. I defy anyone to say she cannot sing!

The Eric Clapton song, the very gentle Please Be With Me is an old favourite of mine from one of my favourite albums 461 Ocean Boulevard. It takes me back but it remains a very beautiful song. I hope you enjoy it.

Going back to powerful voices simply raw with emotion. The third song? An absolute classic, it's
Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin. I haven't posted it but if anyone wants me to I will.

So it's all about love folks - as most songs seem to be: the striving for, the celebration of, or the grieving over its loss.

Enjoy.

(Any suggestions for 'Q'?)




Please Be With Me

Oh my word, what does it mean?
Is it love or is it me
That makes me change so suddenly?
Looking out, feeling free.

Sit here lying in my bed,
Wondering what it was I'd said
That made me think I'd lost my head,
When I knew I lost my heart instead.

Won't you please read my signs, be a gypsy.
Tell me what I hope to find deep within me.
Because you can find my mind, please be with me.

Of all the better things I've heard,
Loving you has made the words
And all the rest seem so absurd,
'Cause in the end it all comes out unsure.

Eric Clapton

On a Bus to St Cloud

On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota
I thought I saw you there
With the snow falling down around you
Like a silent prayer
And once on a street in New York City
With the jazz and the sin in the air
And once on a cold L.A. freeway
Going nowhere
And it's strange, but it's true
I was sure it was you
Just a face in the crowd
On a bus to St. Cloud

In a church in downtown New Orleans
I got down on my knees and prayed
And I wept in the arms of Jesus
For the choice you made
We were just gettin' to the good part
Just gettin' past the mystery
Oh, and it's just like you, it's just like you
To disagree
And it's strange but it's true
You just slipped out of view
Like a face in the crowd
On a bus to St. Cloud

And you chase me like a shadow
And you haunt me like a ghost
And I hate you some, and I love you some
But I miss you most...

On a bus to St. Cloud, Minnesota
I thought I saw you there
With the snow falling down around you
Like a silent prayer


Trisha Yearwood

Here sung by Gretchen Peters.
Enjoy:

Nothing Compares to You

The Man With the Child in His Eyes

It's Lola and Layla!

I have taken the liberty of posting two songs for the letter 'L'. One is especially for Frances in New York but I love it too and it certainly takes me back.


LOLA

I met her in a club down in old Soho Where you drink champagne and it tastes just like cherry-cola Coca-Cola] C-O-L-A cola She walked up to me and she asked me to dance I asked her her name and in a DARK BROWN voice she said Lola L-O-L-A Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well I'm not the world's most physical guy But when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine Oh my Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well I'm not dumb but I can't understand Why she walked like a woman and talked like a man Oh my Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well we drank champagne and danced all night Under electric candlelight She picked me up and sat me on her knee And said little boy won't you come home with me Well I'm not the world's most passionate guy But when I looked in her eyes well I almost fell for my Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola I pushed her away I walked to the door I fell to the floor I got down on my knees Well I looked at her and she at me Well that's the way that I want it to stay And I'll always want it to be that way for my Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Girls will be boys and boys will be girls It's a mixed up muddled up shook up world except for Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Well I'd left home just a week before And I'd never ever kissed a woman before But Lola smiled and took me by the hand And said little boy I'm gonna make you a man Well I'm not the world's most masculine man But I know what I am and IN BED I'm a man And so is Lola Lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola lo-lo-lo-lo Lola

Enjoy!







I am a huge Clapton fan and this song means a lot to me.

LAYLA


What'll you do when you get lonely
And nobody's waiting by your side?
You've been running and hiding much too long.
You know it's just your foolish pride.

Layla, you've got me on my knees.
Layla, I'm begging, darling please.
Layla, darling won't you ease my worried mind.

I tried to give you consolation
When your old man had let you down.
Like a fool, I fell in love with you,
Turned my whole world upside down.

Let's make the best of the situation
Before I finally go insane.
Please don't say we'll never find a way
And tell me all my love's in vain.