The Fourth Angel

She was full of dramatic art
when she told how it came to pass
that she’d landed this plum part
along with the rest of her class.
It’s the fourth angel’s premiere,
her  tinsel halo shines,
it’s set upon her golden hair
and in and out entwines.
She’s running to the schoolgate,
flaunting her angelness,
with her wings just so on her back
and a borrowed frilly white dress.

*

When I meet her after school

with her  wings tucked under her arm,
her smile is satisfaction
and innocence and charm.
The tinsel is gone from her hair,
the dress is distinctly sub-white,
she’s a little the worse for wear –
but – she’s been in the spotlight,
she’s been there –
she has stood upon a chair,
singing Silent Night.
Her first public appearance was
wonderful past words –
she has heard the crowd’s applause –
she has tread the boards.

I’m told the concert was a hit,

the ratings very high,
her eyes are wide with the thrill of it,
mine are not quite dry.
If her teacher only knew,
when she assembled her cast
she made at least one dream come true.
She has been an angel –
a milestone has been passed.

 

Summer Nights

Some summer nights are hardly nights at all,
just lazy azure dimming into grey,
inching along at end of day,
reluctant dusk begins to fall

on scented stock along the way,
and rambling roses by the wall
and swarms of midges out at play.

Later, through dimness comes a call;
a cock crows, somewhere far away,
the early start of another day.
Some summer nights are hardly nights at all.

Storyteller

For Gerry Miller, a great storyteller

There are many stories told, like brave Maeve in days of old,
Fionn MacCumhall and the fish that knew it all,
Gráinne Mhaol who faced the foe and soon told them where to go,
and Cuchulainn and the wolfhound and the ball,
Cuchulainn and the wolfhound and the ball.
Though those times are gone, yet their spirit still lives on
in yarnspinners with stories that engage us;
for whether true or not, a yarn can hit the spot
and bring something of the wisdom of the ages.

So here's to Gerry Miller, I think there's no one briller
for stories, whether credible or tall.
He is our seanachaí of the twenty first century,
he's the man that knows the way to tell 'em all,
Gerry Miller is the man to tell 'em all.

He covers all variety of life's lush tapestry,
the rich, the poor, the powerful, the small,
Yankee visitors or the VAT, or someone's prolific cat,
he'll have a yarn to tell about them all,
he'll have a yarn to tell about them all.
We may get downcast by dint of the country being skint,
maxed credit cards and other sorts of strife,
But when he starts to verbalize, all our spirits start to rise,
for the way he tells 'em brings a lift to life.

So here's to Gerry Miller, I think there's no one briller
for stories, whether credible or tall.
He is our seanachaí of the twenty first century,
he's the man that knows the way to tell 'em all,
Gerry Miller is the man to tell 'em all.