Archive for the ‘Years’ Category

2012-08-02 – My sons

Sunday, September 29th, 2013
 
I can see that both my sons feel the hero in their lives.
   Strong and true, they feel the power of a life engaged.
When the singer hits the note that pulls the heart strings, 
   they are with her; filled with the ache to touch the quick of things.

They will not live timid and small, in a world to be mitigated, 
   moving in the shadows to avoid risk and feelings.
A spirit rages in them as it has done in me - a spirit filled with love 
   and compassion and a deep certainty of strength.

I remember so many moments when these torrents of feelings have 
   been loosed in me; 
with my skin and heart feeling the wind and rain of existence raw.
   It's a poet's heart that wants to cup all this to its lips.

And I see all this has found its way into my sons.
   Thank you, Beloved.

Gallagher

2 Aug 2012 - Irvine, CA, USA

— Copyright 1965-2013 by Dennis Gallagher —

2012-07-17

Sunday, September 29th, 2013

Do not spare me from feeling all this;
right down to the quick.


To feel the life that’s always been here
just beyond my next should
and the mind’s endless chatter.


There are death and endings here
so burn me down, Beloved,
and just let me feel it all.


Here, without purpose and meaning,
here, where this same sun has shown forever.
Here, where transience is the song of life,
and here, where the poet’s heart burns within me.


Here, I raise my hands and close my eyes,
here, a terrible beauty rages.

Here are the beginnings and endings of all of us,
on our ways to the we know not what.


Here, I’ve stopped for just a beat,
to be in the endless moment.

Gallagher – 17Jul2012 – Benicia, California


— Copyright 1965-2013 by Dennis Gallagher —

2013-11-22 – As tears go by

Friday, November 22nd, 2013
 
Why is it that the older I get
   the more that things move me? 
Music brings me to tears
   and injustice to anger.
The short-sighted stupidity of greed
  that is destroying the world I know
     brings me to deep sadness
        and thoughts of violent resistance.

The poet in me rages when I look at my heart's pain
  and compassion wells up and washes me again.

Is it nostalgia for this life I have loved so well
   or the pain of loss gathering around me like the night?

I tell you this - I shall not resist
   these knives of love that cut me.
For these tears are born both
   of love and pain.

And, if we are not here to saturate ourselves in this
   then I cannot think why this is better than being dead.

gallagher
20Nov2013
christchurch

— Copyright 1965-2013 by Dennis Gallagher —