Archive for the ‘Christchurch’ Category


Thursday, December 13th, 2007

A month ... and the silence has gathered.
The cars and the buses moving through the city
   are like a repeating film clip.
My busyness has eroded against the silence
   and I've seen the waste of time.
The name and parts of the days are getting lost
   and meaning fades away with them.
I chided Alan about being impaled by pointlessness -
   the old man's dilemma.
I just couldn't imagine a place
   where I couldn't find a passion and a purpose.
Like a child in a candy store,
   I've had my fill now and must remember
      where I was bound, if I can.

                              13 Dec 2007
                              - a rainy afternoon

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —


Monday, January 14th, 2008

Outer-directed, I see that the world is coming apart.
Huge movements, inertia grinding, mismatched.
The news reports the beginnings and the denials of the end.
History is reforming itself slower than most can follow
   but the signs are there - the vast disassembly is begun.

Inner-directed, I stood up from watching
   the apocalyptic video,  "What a Way to Go", and walked 
      to the balcony to see how far the moon's phase had advanced.
And I found there, the gray twilight clouds and a soft rain
   and I found the breeze and the moisture like a lover.
I smiled my thanks to the Beloved for this and for all my blessings, 
   so many, so very many
      and I felt peace and happiness welling up in full measure.

Inner and outer - the world ends - and a man might find peace.

I am here, transient.   The world, as I know it, is the same.
   I don't know my future or the world's
      what every it will be, it will be - but love is now.

If we live or die, if it lives or dies, so be it.
   Do as you will, Beloved.
      For this moment,  I can feel your rain and treasure my blessings.

                                      - Rainy Christchurch

— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —

2009-01-02 – a dream of love

Thursday, January 1st, 2009

In a dream, I've just awoken and I'm musing on the day to come.
Today, we leave for Germany and then, later, Thailand.
It's early morning, and we'll be gone by five this afternoon.
My son, Chris, is there; he's three or four years of age
and being prepared for the day by his mother.
Such love and trust in his eyes.

She's explaining that by the time he gets home, we'll be gone.
You can see that he's scared but that he wants to be brave.
By now, I'm in the next room sitting on a couch and I can hear
that his mother is telling him that while we're in Thailand,
perhaps he can come and visit.

She says that we're going to tie something around his wrist
so that he can remember us and feel our love.
It's going to be a thin green twig and as I'm sitting on the couch
I'm looking at a half dozen of so of them.
I can't imagine that any of them are going to work;
they are too big and inflexible to tie around his wrist.

He's ready to go now and you can feel things are shifting.
His mother's saying it's going to be alright
and you can feel his small heart breaking as he's taken away
and as all this is happening, I'm wondering what to pack.

Now, I really awake from my dream of waking
and I am sad for that little boy and sad for myself and Sharon
as I feel my real life and my decisions gathering around me
in the early morning light.

When we love, we are each, each other's children who need love.
And we are each our own adult
obsessed with our own thoughts and desires.

Sharon and I are this for each other
and out of my fears about my mortality
and my obsessions with my own dreams
I've left her child torn of its dreams and hurt.

Its ever been the same with me;
that my dreams and obsessions are always the pain
of those that love and need me
and I ever turn restless under the limitations
that I feel love imposes
even though I am a child and need love as well.

So, here I am in New Zealand half a world from her
and living the life of a runaway ghost
surrounded by married friends
all a drift in their own stories and lives.

I am unfulfilled and she is torn and our marriage hangs by a thread.
Do I really think, still, at 61, that I don't need love
and that I am not bound to give what I want?
Do I imagine that I can begin again?
I am forever a fool in this life.


— Copyright 1965-2008 by Dennis Gallagher —