A metaphysical poem in the tradition of ecstatic poets.
See also Love’s Flame
REMINDERS Of HIS LOVE
The stars tonight shine jewel-like,
Gently tucked into cerulean skies,
Abed like roses,
Starburst bouquet from heaven,
Bright consolation from above…
By Máire Ní Bhroin
Source: | My Blog:Digitalartmuse on WordPress.com
Value is defined as ethics, merit, worth or good.
All good is a gift from the Creator,
Hence, His creation is always good.
Yet, by abusing our planets’ waterways & ecosystems with our fossil fuel industry addictions & by ‘playing God’ (see Back To the Garden ) through genetically modifying our plant & animal foods, we decrease our valuable resources of clean, air, water, land & food & also detract from our usefulness as stewards of this Earth, its’ biodiversity & the human, animal & plant life on it.Where is the value in that?
Hopefully, we as humans will rediscover & redeem our worth by seeing the greater good in acting to protect our beautiful blue planet & all that the Great Artist created out of love for us. We must value creation to restore it & bring the Kingdom here on Earth because ‘faith without works is dead.’
By Màire Ní Bhroin
Back to the Garden by Máire Ni Bhroin
Let us all join, in one accord
To resist our planets’ plunderers
And all those who would ravage this country
For their own personal gain.
Those who give neither a thought nor a care,
For the lives they may ruin,
With their big oil and gas, big money schemes.
While they sully our clean waters…
And good soil is broken
With big fracking well pads,
Akin to Blakes’ Satanic mills
And this paradise too…is lost.
Let us say no, a thousand times no,
Before our children and their children
And their children too…
Choke on toxic air, water and GMO food,
Before they will cry-“Look Mother, the tap water lights on fire,
I cannot drink it and my bathwater gives me a rash.”
And ask their Father -“Why can’t I breathe this air without gasping…
And should my food taste like shale gas?”,
While the ground keeps on quaking and trembling under their feet.
The greed mongers will smile at their devilish works,
In cleverly conning some politicians with no foresight,
And poor honest folks, from whom the truth has been witheld,
Into ruining this precious, sacred country
With the lure of more jobs and the almighty dollar.
Speak up, before our priceless, blue pearl of a planet
Devolves slowly, into a nightmare of hellish destruction,
Done in by big shale gas,pipeline and tarsand project promoters,
And in our blindness, Natures’ perfect balance will be lost.
Before our own backyards and communities,
Become toxic beyond any repair…
Let us shout NO to the oil men…
And shout resoundingly YES to a greener era, of windmills, solar power,electric cars, cleaner air,
Pesticide free farms and land with fossil fuels kept in the ground,
YES! We human beings are rallying and taking our planet back to the future…
Back to the Garden again!
By Máire Ní Bhroin
In this little town,
They whisper… in quiet undertones
Irish trash…
Sometimes, the “J” word too.
They think no one can hear,
Or see what they do.
Even the “N” word, at times,
Is murmured behind many a persons’ back.
In this small-minded town.
I suppose this town is, unfortunately,
Like Northern Ireland used to be…
Mired in the hushed toned darkness
Of past hates.
Oh forgive them, again and again…
Please, weep and pray for these towns,
For what they could have been,
And pray more, for what they could be,
And pray too, for those dear people left there,
Struggling to live in peace & liberty.
Presently, some souls are awake,
Now on permanent vacation
From this sleepy, old town mentality…
No one can steal their souls from them
Nor make them cry or bleed,
Dark past being now, just a faded memory.
Yes, maybe one day Love will conquer all…
But, for now just trust in Him,
In this LOVE you will always be free!
By Máire Ní Bhroin
When I retired one evening,
I dreamt that I was an artist,
Living in Greco Roman times.
My best beloved was a sweet, strong man,
This archetypal Bridegroom… retrieved
From the memory bank of my soul.
Together we painted murals,
Ground from precious gemstones,
On upper class villa walls, as I recall.
We laid exquisite mosaics of colour…
Floated into fantasy walls and floors
And heavenly ceilings of tile.
In the soft, warmth of an evening,
My love and I would clasp each other’s hands…
While strolling through summers’ green, flowering gardens,
And melding into a dreamscape of love.
Awoke, I did suddenly, to my present life…
And that dream-vision, made me joyful smile.
Why does playing in a sandbox of dreams
Open our unconscious memories
And carry us through this difficult life,
As we are walking slowly toward paradise?
Ask Carl Jung, that is his department.
Yet, when I retire this evening,
I pray that I dream again, that I am that lover…artist,
Strolling happily, back in that garden with Him.
By Máire Ní Bhroin
