Kites

there’s a dream caught in the kite 
stuck high in the tree— 
      billowing freedom

the playful steps of squirrels chasing each other—  
blindly  
round and around, clinging 
   to eighty rings of trunken life 

time passes, loved ones leave, 
there's an inflection point on solstice eve 

a fox passes the kitchen window for a sixth day in a row, 
      brazenly sunbathing      atop a box, 
       like a dog in the day

a memory plume steals me back to a seductive scene, 
 every man in the room turned punk     electric—   
    in the palm of her hand
 she throws herself into the crowd, to the wolves, 
   bodysurfs their risen paws—            

        trustfall 

that we could bear the mystery, the lack of certainty 
      this chinked life brings, 
 taking only what we need 
   
   to thrive 

cups crack. bowls break 
   the bathroom wants to be clean again
children push from bow—  
       to arrowed flight   

butterflied expansive life, sifts for diamonds in the frosted light—  

we all want the same thing,  
    sound it differently

    I squint to read the side of the box, 
and wonder should I be taking this medicine 
      
    or is this your work to do?

‘Look! how the trees talk to one another’

Solstice morning, Bull Island, Clontarf, Dublin

Wolf Alice, 3 Arena, Dublin

I've been busy with work lately I've not had time to write. I'm hoping that in 2026 this impulse will find me again. For no other reason than it keeps me open, noticing ... and nourishes me. 

I caught the rise on Solstice morning on Clontarf Strand in Dublin. It anchored my busy head.

I'm wishing for a peaceful, loving Christmas and New Year for us all. Sending love from Dublin town. Good things come from winter's womb.

Irish folk band