© Joe Canning 2018. All Rights Reserved.
The soles of my feet are in heaven,
Basking in the warm glow of turf flame.
Wafting scents from a million year sod;
Give pleasure to the welcoming nostril;
The remainder ascends to the cosmos
Ancient peat hisses in gentle disintegration.
The Titan that is Earth welcomes the emanations.
Reclamations of old oak unearthed by the cutting spade
A gift from damp earth dried for human creature comforts.
The yesteryear clock coerces me to slumber in its ticking.
Returned have I to the environment abandoned by forebears.
Ecstatic am I in the glow of my pressurised kerosene contraption.
Dark shadows are thrown to the whitewashed walls,
I imagine tormented faces watching from rough plaster.
Ghosts of the past? Perhaps, but company nonetheless.
The faded brass pendulum swings in hypnotic movement.
The wind that rattles my door is no longer frightening,
The Banshee, is long departed now with those she came to claim.
Sometimes I hear my heartbeat in my tranquility.
It duets with the timekeeper that clings to a supporting nail.
When dawn blesses the hill I miss the shadows, shapes.
But morning tells me I must work the good earth that sustains me.
Like those praying in the old picture, I will pause for the Angelus.
At twilight I will relax in the company of haunting souls.