Storm's favor;
All at once it rains,
Never seen.
don't be fooled by the grey beard,
I'm the science fiction you speak of,
the little wizard bloke in the picture
whose antics between gravestones
and christening robes jerk like those
flicker book pages we made as kids,
and now, old again, today is payback
May your feet be always guided
to find a righteous road.
And may your hands be nimble
to ease a trying load.
And may your ears discern
stories from sincerity.
And may your eyes be clear and bright
to ascertain all verity.
And may your mouth and tongue
sing joyous truth exquisitely.
And, finally, may your heart rejoice
in love and hope and family.
Shadows of tomorrow,
reflections of yesterday
Images of the moment
—in whose Trinity we pray
(Devil’s Tower Wyoming: September, 1990)
ghosts and spirits
ancestral entities
clamoring around new baby
delighted with her, all excited
thrilled to be invited
to a family christening
at the family church
I lost my heart that day,
Captured by your innocent beauty.
Your eyes reflecting sky and wonder
As you lay in your white dress,
Still and silent in your cot,
Watching the shifting clouds
Filter the morning sunshine.
I held you in my arms.
And gazed into those soft, blue eyes.,
A splinter of God’s creation,
Reflecting the enormity of His love.
Your white shawl warmed my hands,
And I knew, in that moment,
Until the stars have crumbled
And the sun is but a glimmer above,
My soul is fixed to my little girl,
With the rivets of unending love.
My new born child, unto the Lord I give
That in his shadow, he may walk and live.
And so, this day into the Church I go
To Christen him with a water’s flow
His tiny body in a robe so white
Will soon be bathed in Christ’s loving light.
Round the font, the families crowd
Babies held by Mothers proud.
The Padres hand from the font draws water
And marks the head of each son and daughter.
Each brow that’s marked with a simple cross
Is God’s gain, the Devil’s loss.
Will my child scream, and loudly shout?
Or will he smile and look about?
Will he like this strange man’s hold?
Or will he hate the water cold?
His turn has come, he’s so good.
He smiles so sweetly, I knew he would.
The service over, and out we race
To those outside to show his face.
May his life be good, Oh Lord I pray.
Please guide him well, let him not stray.
His life, one day, must surely end.
Let him with you in Heaven spend.
Baptized by the sun,
The leaves shake off drops of light:
Pasture’s sacrament.
Last Irish Christening
We christened Megan
Catholic today
just as we had,
years ago, Sean and Nora.
Afterward my wife and I,
with relatives and friends,
talked and joked as Megan slept
through drinks and barbecue
Father fixed behind the phlox
in Mother’s garden.
That was Sunday.
Now, on Monday,
Sue and I begin
another week of work
and all the years
we’ll have to wait
before we’ll know
if Megan swings
the razor of good reason.
We need to know
because of Sean and Nora.
They slew us
at the age of treason.
Donal Mahoney
Red velvet with gold corded embroidery
Old farmhouse faint smoke frost glittered
Spices wine honey candles milk apples
Orders farm produce meat game and fish
Great fire in kitchen preparing for the evening
Writing poetry ... baby cries for breastfeeding
Singing together begin to dance in fine dress
Young man singing melancholy love-song