The Night is Dying

the night is dying
and the quiet light
is invading this palace
of silence
where the water is but a mirror
and the waves on its surface
our tears
at our progression
into the cold machinery
of night
that has forgotten
the human touch

the night is dying,
let us bath in its death
the day calls us to its
patchwork song--
let us embrace its
mulicolored brillance,
let us dance
in its seas of golden fields
let us go!

Listening to Ryan Adams

Listening to Ryan Adams sing Dear Chicago,
Thinking there has to be a bit of angel
in this madman's soul

We Ourselves

The fields aflame
with dark-granite laments
of the soil once ours
green and free 'neath the sky
Plague-driven soil
rents and tax
to a foreign lord
The land that our father's blood fed--
do you hear it's cries in the wind?
unchained,
lifted out beneath
St. George's bloodied cross

How I miss that green-golden land,
the way the valley danced with light and shade
County Cork, does that wind still speak
that yesterday shook the barley free of dew?

The blood that soaked Beal na Blath
still runs through Ireland's soul