Ellenfield with Oisín

Shadows softly sway

Sun shines on skin 

relieving breezy chills

Trees are a-twitter with tiny tits,

butterbeaked blackbirds 

and fluttery finches 

as steely-eyed magpies vie for position 

on the ornithological pecking order.

The whir of distant wheels 

bubble wraps us in.

Church bells add to the symphony

or din - depending 

on the mood you're in

Dogs chase balls and tails,

Couples chat inaudibly

A man planks under an evergreen

Another in shorts against a treetrunk 

stretches a calf

Old ladies fillet the order of the day,

Roast the men in power 

for suggesting shorter showers

and letting the turf die unfulfilled in the ground.

The sounds of pucks and clacks and whacks -leather and ash, 

Thumps of O'Neill's balls,

launch and land with thuds.

Hoverflies stop and start 

from the canopy hood 

under which you lie

Missing all of this bliss -

(All of this bliss I would miss

were it not for you) 

Oblivious in your own snugged up sleepiness

 Ashling Murphy was a 23-year-old Irish primary school teacher and traditional Irish musician. On the afternoon of 12 January 2022, she was attacked and killed while jogging along the Grand Canal just outside Tullamore, County Offaly.

I wrote this piece on Jan 14th -

Don't tell women to do the right thing

In order to protect themselves

From attack

From death.

Tell men

To behave as humane

Sentient beings

To act with decency and respect.

Tell men

To refrain from lewd remarks

Coarse comments

Unwanted looks and leers

Unwanted commentary and appraisal

Of physical attributes

Unwanted touching and handling.

Unwanted. Unwelcome. Uncalled for.

Stop attacking.

Stop maiming.

Stop killing.

Stop men.

Stop.

Change the record

"Boys will be boys."

Fine.

If.

If they're respectful boys

Manners boys

Boys aware of the dignity and rights

Of all others.

Be those boys, those men.

Don't tell women to do the right thing.

Tell men.

 On learning about Alanna Quinn Idris (17) who needed emergency eye surgery following a savage attack which occurred outside the Ballyfermot Civic Centre on the evening of December 30th 2021.

I wrote this on Jan 4th 2022 :

Who goes armed

With metal and wood

Intent on harm,

Up to no good?

Who sees human other

Like sister, daughter, mother

And lacks compassion,

Intent on smashing,

Breaking,

Fracturing,

Shattering?

Who are these people?

Are they still people?

What are the source wells

That broil up

Such

Fountains of vicious savagery

That erupts and flood

Into our streets

And homes

And rush into crush crunch of bones?

Can a tide be stemmed?

A torrent staunched?

Who are they?

Why do they do?

Who are we?

The who, what, why?

Is it their fun and games

That someone loses an eye?

       Zeugma prompt.   31/3/22 Quickwrite - 8 mins. Mary Finnegan.

The shop had been in the family since 1912 with the name, Finnegan,  going above the door in 1922. It  was a feature of the neighbourhood. Generations of customers, who were known and valued, had come for newspapers, comics, magazines, cigarettes, stationery and religious goods. In later years other items became part of the stock - chocolate, sweets, milk, cream, minerals, crisps, silver chains, toilet paper, tissues - a cornucopia of necessities in the small corner shop.

Then it came to 2007 and the last man standing behind the counter decided to call it a day at the age of 75 and retire. There was so much to sort, to clear, to pack. Delicately taking down the old gas lamp that was no longer in use. The things found - boxes of pen nibs from the 1920s. A few boxes of drawing pins from the 1930s. Hairpins. Shoelaces. Lost envelopes. It was a time consuming and emotional ordeal dismantling nearly a century of trade. At last, with many hands having helped, with many memories swirling in the dusty air, it was done. 

He took a last look round. 

Then, he closed the door and that chapter of his life.

                   The Street   by Mary Finnegan. March 31st, 2022. Quickwrite -7mins 15 sec.

Since 1912, the family shop was on Selskar Street, taking its name from Selskar Abbey, just around the corner, at the top of the Avenue - Selskar Avenue. Selskar Abbey where Henry II did penance for the death of that "turbulent priest" Thomas à Beckett/Thomas of Canterbury. [Should have been careful with what you said in front of the staff, Henry me lad, if you didn't really MEAN murder when you said "will no-one rid me of . . . " Anyway, I digress.]

Selskar - a corruption of Sepulchre meaning tomb. There are people buried within the small church tower of Selskar Abbey. One of them is named Mrs. Hatchhall. [Tricky name to say. I wonder did people make her repeat it often? Or spell it?]

Anyway, Selskar Street. The very start of Wexford's North Main Street that goes through The Bullring, past the Pikeman statue, winding uphill and onto South Main Street. [Pause for my father's joke - "Yes - that's the Main Street . . and the further you go the "mainer"/meaner it gets." Write it down. Everyone a gem.]

The family just call it Selskar. The shop in Selskar. It was on the corner of Selkar Street and Skeffington Street. Skeffington Street that used to be Ram Street - as in Ramsgrange - or - my grandfather's joke this time - Lamb's Papa Street.