Fanfare, another flight lands on time.



A poem about a trip to Ireland.

Fanfare, another flight lands on time.


Barking hounds, wood smoked breeze,

Food hits the table for men first. 

Wind that cuts, sun that blinds.

Greenest fields, then soda bread.


Generous souls thinly spread

Across empty roads.

A mowed lawn in winter.

Diesel engine vibrating the air.


Open skies beyond perception.

Grass dancing with swirls of the coast.

Fresh fish dissolves on the tongue.

Hot-cold burn of your skin.


Meeting strangers with open arms.

"Sit at our table". "Open the good stuff".

Tales spun like a master.

"Come again." But you never will. 


Night bites your ears,

Whiskey warms your lungs,

Laughter aches your cheeks.

Mind awash with it all. 


Strings and flute rise up.

Punters jig and wobble on stools,

Clap and slap on tables,

Fill up their spirit for the week.


Goodbye tea and biscuits.

Departures with a spinning head.

Too much air, too much joy, too much ruby red.

Green patchwork quilt beneath.


Fanfare, another flight lands on time.


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