Jul. 29, 2021
We live with the loss of Aoife in an elegiac way now, which is occasionally painful, but has mostly gentle reminders of her brilliant life with us. This is that time of year again, her anniversary, and so, I have written yet another Aoife piece to catch the sense of it all, and to help us remember. I can feel myself tear up as I write and that, strangely, is comforting. Enjoy.
Rachel Merriman
25.11.2022 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
Kate O'Neill
28.12.2021 08:30
Food for the sole as you step into it.
Margaret Dromey
30.07.2021 12:23
Another very beautiful and poignant poem Peter - well done.
Clíodhna
29.07.2021 23:45
Beautiful poem Peter. And the photo of the empty bench is really powerful too.
Latest comments
25.11 | 22:15
Grief is experience through the mundane. Simple but powerful. The accompanying image really compliments the poem.
07.11 | 11:14
Hi Peter,
A great observation! Social media can be a scary place... I also need to reduce my time there
Hugs,
John.x
06.11 | 16:24
A great one, Peter, in the context you describe. I don't read social media myself, I doubt my equilibrium could stand it. 'The balance of his mind disturbed' yes, I think it would be.
06.11 | 15:59
Yes, gossip is a weapon of mass destruction.
In my business as well as personal life I have zero tolerance.
Echoes of the Old on the New Battlefields
Warrior chiefs of the GAA were early on the field to prepare:
Posts and cones positioned to mark territories
Very young novices came later by parents’ chariots
clad and shod for the ensuing battles
Firstly, paced for speed, resilience and flexibility,
then marked off into opposing teams
Each warrior chief led a young squad of hopefuls
in further exercises to bring them to fit levels
There followed a huddle, an exhortation rant,
responded with clamour of intent and enthusiasm
Skirmishes began, speed across the field, hunt for the ball,
to be delivered as the goal, or to be prevented at all costs
Warrior chiefs egged on, instructed, altered the field of play
the young ’uns complied with fighting spirit
For every fall and hurt spells were cast on the side line
till fitness returned and they were entered back into play
Scores mounted, roars enhanced, casualties grew,
novices flagged and regrouped across the fields
Between bouts came the talks of encouragement
Stay back, pass, pass, pass, keep the pace.
Old hands passing skill onto new palms with dedication,
a gift of generous wisdom gladly given
Peter Clarke
20th April 2024