Desert...

Quite often the mind can become a desert
Vacuous and lacking any real connection
On a day when searching for new thoughts
It is obvious that there is only emptiness
A most arid place devoid of contemplation
Useful words are as absent as water droplets
For a time, this is such a godforsaken state
Momentarily a frustrating lack of progress
Like tripping over one’s own tied tongue
When confidence usually glides so freely
Amidst the vastness of usual expression
Such vacancy can return surprising results
Uncluttered minds can facilitate a wonder
As precious as finding a pink desert lily…
 
Eileen T O’Neill 24/10/2024

Letters...

 Dear Teenage Eileen,
 

I remember how much you loved writing letters back in those times.
You had a very keen fascination with stationery departments.
Your favourite purchase was a Basildon Bond writing pad of forty sheets
Champagne colour, watermarked vellum quality, with matching envelopes
The type of pen used to write letters was an equally important choice.
For special recipients, a blue ink filled fountain pen was always selected
I am sure you remember how many times you rewrote words until exactly right
Blotting paper used to capture the imprints and any messy mistakes
Writing to pen pals was an enthusiastic hobby back in those days
Finding interesting topics to share from Belfast across oceans of miles
Life then was uninteresting with The Troubles of those days dominating living
Your faraway friend Pam wrote to you occasionally from Beloit Wisconsin  
Her letters arrived in assorted colours of envelope and typed in a grey print
You exchanged news from respective lives, though her life was more interesting
She had at least three boyfriends and you barely had any friends, outside of school
The civil unrest in Belfast really precluded any socialising, such as Pam experienced
Somehow, you eventually lost contact with each other. Perhaps living just got in the way
I have recently found one of Pam’s letters sent to you from all those decades ago.
Dated April 1972. That particular year was one of the most violent in Northern Ireland.
I look back at the me, of that time when pen and paper were my tools of escapism
Long before social media and computers became as regular as day and night
I have stacks of unused writing pads and envelopes. The end of an era

Best Wishes,
The Retired Eileen

 

17/10/2024

Magic...

I love the cool feel of fluffy fallen snow
Glittering crystals gathered in mounds
Sunshine days when sunlight twinkles
Gardens full of sweetly scented flowers
Autumn has a magic recipe of its own
Toffee apples and pumpkin smoothies
Springtime opens forth with birdsong
Daffodils and freshly revived trees
Hearing a favourite song of memories
Music channels worlds of adventure
These days are filled with such positivity
Poetic words flowing as free as a river
Sometimes obstacles get in the way
Noise and mayhem clutter pathways
Those are times when life needs luck
Times to learn magic’s secret formula…

Eileen T O’Neill 10/10/2024