THREE MORE

NA CARRAIGREACHA CEOLMHAR

Trid na sean-carraigreacha ceólmhar,

San seachtain fíor-stoirmeach sin,

Chualamid i namhrán na naingil

Go mbeadh ár Donnchadha díreach linn.

Na tonnta ag bualadh go beómhar,

In éineacht lena guthanna binn

béim milis a chur ar an cheangail

A choinnódh e chun tosaigh 'nár gcinn

Anois i ngach seomra sa chaisleán

Ritheann gáire an ghasúir mar abhann;

Gach duine in a chlannsa ag éisteacht

Le Donnchadha, Claidheamh Mór, MacGabhann.

's go mbeadh a ghloinne go deo lán

Ar a eachtraí timpeall an domhain

'se bhúachaill a dheinfimid réiteach

Do gach rud a feicfidh sé ann

Na tonnta ag bualadh go beómhar,

In éineacht lena guthanna binn

Chualamid i namhrán na naingil

Go mbeadh ár Donnchadha díreach linn.

(c) B. Hickey 1997

The Day She Died.

Sleek Mercedes Seine-side speeding,

         drunken driver shielding lovers new

from prying lenses, so unheeding

        of all her pleas to stay unviewed.

Twisting road to tunnel leading,

        papparazzi in pursuit.

Their quest for fame-frames superceding

        her right to do what lovers do.

Mangled metal.......bodies bleeding;

        two hours vain toil for rescue crews,

and now the media monster's feeding

        on this world's heart-breaking news.

And sat amidst this global grieving,

        something's slowly seeping through,

the Queen of Hearts' no longer breathing

        and in some strange way, I'll miss her too.

© B. Hickey 28/9/97 (Sunday Independent)

                     Fare From Hell.

High-strung out, once more,

he lurched through the door

        of his mind's-eyes soft cell.

Decorum ignored

he clutched his short sword

        and then spat in the well.

He'd come here before

and vowed to adore

        this blue passion's sweet smell.

His knees were then floored

but he could afford

        the high prayer fare from Hell

And the gods he's implored,

to have peace restored,

        have now aided faith's swell.

© B.Hickey 1989