I don’t want much from life.
I’ll settle for a job that pays 80 k
and 4 holidays a year, I think is ok.

I’d make do with a penthouse in Malahide
With on street parking for my 4 wheel drive.

Material possessions, I want but a few,
Just everything Nike and Sony too.

As for my partner, I don’t want much;
smart, good looking and royally flush!
By Richard Kelle

Nature
I have found a place so profound
On my own, without a sound.
Beside the lake, close to the sea
True nature revealed to me.

I am here to escape
I am here to find.
A moment’s relief,
A spiritual bind.

The air is silent
The mind is clear.
Thoughts are superfluous,
Heaven is here.
By Brian Kelly

A Summer’s Day
Summer time and the day will be warm,
A Monet Print of colours today.
“Peter, please take the Singer to the garden
We cannot afford to waste the good day”
She sang as she sewed; her feet moved in rhythm
The bees and machine droned the very same tune.
Butterflies stopped to whisper to flowers
And they, in return, filled the air with perfume
Your dress is now sewn and isn’t it lovely
A cauldron of colours to mix with the day.
By Carmel McCarthy

Labels
They labelled him this; the labelled him that
Sometimes they even labelled him brat
But he was more than that.

They labelled him good: some labelled him bad
They labelled him sane: some labelled him mad.
But he was more than that.

Labels are concepts: words are not things
We’re an awful lot more, than the labels that cling
By Carmel McCarthy

An Old Man And His Cat
There was an old man who lived in a big hat
He was all alone except for one little cat
Feeding his cat with bread and cheese
The cat meowing with an occasional sneeze
He changed his diet to add a little milk
The cat licked the plate as smooth as silk
Now the old man and his very fat cat
Are truly happy inside their small hat
By Stephen Carter

As always, we welcome contributions to
The Poetry Place, which can be sent to the
‘NewsFour’ offices at 15 Fitzwilliam Street,
Ringsend, Dublin 4.

Cranes and Crosses
On St. Brigid’s Eve,
Driving home from work
Eleven long armed cranes
Hang from fragile clouds
Over homes in Ringsend.
Men relax, having climbed
Down from their cages-
After spending a long day
Suspended between earth
And sky, moving fixtures
That have turned an empty
Site into a living space.

The interweaving of stark
Metal above my head takes
Me out of the city and
Away from chilling greyness
Of cement and glass, where
Apartments, hinged tightly
Together, are modern homes
For single people, sharing
Alongside smart google
Operators who puff smoke
From cigarettes outside
In the cool frosty air.

I am back in the last century,
Walking on purl stitched soil
Patterned by cattle footprints
Where we pulled green stalks
From damp earth, sucked dry
Coconut flavour from inside
Stems, savouring the vapid tang.
With a scissors we cut bundles
Of the taller rushes, carrying
Them to our homes, where we
spent hours weaving fragile
crosses for St. Brigid’s Eve.
By Mary Guckian

Solitaire
Each one went their separate ways
Love one shared, stripped bare.
Seasons changing
in the dim night air.
Their children have
all gone away.
Silently alone two old people
sit by the fireplace,
Deep in thought thinking
Their siblings will come home today.
By Dolores Duffy

The Parting and the Joining
I saw her face again today,
Not smiling as it ever did,
But in my mind, her face did stay,
A lovely, smiling face, she never hid

Then one day she flew, she flew away,
And as she flew, she left a token,
So now alone I face each day,
The token is my heart is broken.

I wished her well, amidst my tears,
She flew but did she have to fly,
I loved her dearly though it now appears
That as she flew she cast her die.

For today I saw her face again,
Not the happy face that once I knew,
Her eyes met mine through tears of rain,
Her smile, her smile, oh how it grew.

We met, we talked, we kissed and kissed again,
We loved for all the past was now forgiven,
Our hearts did beat as hearts should beat,
In unison for now there was no pain.

Our lives are new and intertwined
Our hearts and minds do dance and sing,
No thought of parting will e’er cross our mind
We are happy now as birds are, upon the wing.
By A.E. Mouse