Deirdre

 

When fate

the king

the hero out of stories

comes swooping in on a white charger

sweeping up in uncompromising arms

and muting protest with a mouth

tough as a final demand

and the bailiffs already at the door

is it love?

Do I get to say

I’d rather

with this kind of dream

or is it as unnegotiable

as the small print at the bottom of the loan?

I pat the horse and offer it an apple

but it never breaks step

not even when I fall

and my head hits

that providential stone.

 

 

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I take my sorrows to the river

I take my sorrows to the river
That curls and glides and ambles by
To bathe them in the golden light
That streams and pours from a placid sky.
The sullen ache that tints with grey
The garish kingcups with golden leaves
And turns to lead the dancing lights
The silver thread that the water weaves.
Bearing its burden of broken dreams
River runs heedlessly on to the sea
With never a thought for broken hearts
For the transient sorrows of you or me.
Bathed in dew the earth unfolds
Ravelling up the shades of night
And swirling the morning’s silver skirts
Sewn with longings of golden light.
It takes my hand, the new day dawning
And shows me the place where I belong
Where sorrows dissolve like river mist
Into the beauty of the blackbird’s song.