The big bird was placed on a long red Formica table where my sister's would begin the ritual
Bread finely crumbed down
With heat and strength of overworked hands
Smells of fresh thyme, chunks of onions
Made everything warm and safe
I loved most of all the way the trifle was made
Like an Opera all rich and wonderful
Thick custard placed over red-jelly
The colour of holly berries, of the paper star that covered the hall light
When the yellow custard had cooled and set
A large blue-rimmed plate was placed over with a stone and put out into the white washed back yard
How I loved my sisters at Christmas time
The bird, the trifle, the love they gave
Where for a few stolen days
Hidden tensions melted
Anita Brohail
I have written poems about you before
I try to find you and me
Running near bathing beach in Castletownbere
All tall and lean
Sandy coloured hair
Shy eyes and gentle hands
You were the prince and we were your followers of songs
Of all that filled your head
Jethrow Tull, Jimi Hendrix, The Kinks, Fleetwood Mac
We hung on to every word you threw away
I thought of you last week while sitting peacefully in Allihies
And felt your beauty
You the dedicated follower of fashion
Still miss you
Anita Brohail
It begins with the intertwine of the
Bold green and the harmony of purple
Stealing it's way to the Montbretia orange
Set against an August day I sit and watch
Low hanging clouds nestle around
Ghosts copper mines
On the road my eyes are drawn to
A memory of your navy blue deep eyes
It's twelve years since your smile your voice
Your hands your laugh your love
Was taken from us
It's you I hold amongst the lost colours
Let it fall down my back
Let it find the gaps in my feet
Let it stay in my hair and wash away the
Colour of the day
Let the "breaking of mackerel"
Catch the endless sliver of water
In the bay unaware
Let it see my love in pools
Of deep crimson of yolk egg yellow
Let it carry me in to
September the shy month full
Of blackberries waiting to be
Made in to jam with fresh bread
Let water carry us to that place
Where light bouncing off the
Forgotten moment takes hold
Anita Brohail
Purple was the colour in the sky
Before the morning light
We dream we dream
We love we love
All the lush of green
All that we leave behind
It's documents in the patterns
Of our lives
The sand in our swimming togs
The sandwiches on the beach
The sunburn
What do we know about what we know
Before the voices
Before the choices
Anita Brohail
I would live where I have lived before
Where I have seen cheeky robins
Search for plump worms
On lazy lawns on tired soil
Where I’ve seen morning black railings
Glisten in the November light
Where the smell of coffee draws into
Hungover eyes from the night before
Where church candle melt on to gold like
Railings and old saints are cast in to
Holy statues where as a child I'd pray
To win the "Crolly Doll" school raffle
Yes I would live where I've lived before
In another place another time
Anita Brohail
I've walked many times over
Lazy mornings where forgotten
Words from the night before
Are trapped on the cracks
Of the grey footpaths that lead
Me to the promise of a new
Day beginning strange shadows
Hides, slides, guides and dances
To a morning full of chances
I sit with a coffee in hand and watch over
Cork where the memory of the night before
Is hidden and nothing is left
Looking at old photographs
Of an uncle an aunt you did not know
That had a life in dance halls in
London, in Glasgow, in NewYork
The sun was on his face
Uneasy sunlight a memory
Of another home that is not
Home anymore
Arm around her waist
The right thing to do on the day
They stopped a stranger to take
Their photograph that I now have
I can see my brother in him
All tall dark haired and that strong nose
I know he wanted to return home
That was not to be so he kept
The feeling of lanes of pubs with a pint of
Beamish taking you to another moment
To colours of "Pana"on parade
To the Cork sense of humour
Acting “like” and the songs on the
Lips of anyone who loved to sing
He slipped away in a hospital bed
With a promise of a return in his head
I think the lake is you
I think the sky is you
I think the wind is buried in your heart
While the shy sunlight touches the back of my head
Knowing I am living and you are dead
Such a heavy word ‘dead’
What has time become but lost memories like grey stones
Polished tirelessly by the sea
What has become of the last kiss
The last taste of knowing
Anita Brohail
A glance a tear a drop of promise
A passing heart took you away
Your eyes on a December London
Morning where angels dwell
Down forgotten lanes
Down empty staircases leading
Nowhere to nowhere houses
Christmas lights transport us all
To a memory of joy of love
You River Thames ploughing
Your way never yielding always strong
Reminding us all is not lost
Amy Whinehouse's voice trapped in streets
In emotions in summer bedrooms of
Lost loves and broken hearts
I have lived here before in pavements
Left over from the night before
Now you live amongst the angels
Of London watching over you
Anita Brohail
What was left behind
In the shadow of the
New day beginning
Were the falling words on
An over crowded bar
Stories entwined eyes
Shifting from one face to another
The August moon draws me outside where it
Is calm where nothing has ended or nothing has started
Just fragments of the day left on the night time air
Anita Brohail
It never stops it never stops
The beat of life
The smell of dying leaves all small
And full of decay
Brings on Winter
Snow on the top of Hungry hill
As I pulled the lid from a November sky
