From me to you Mam on Christening Day.

Mam, you inherited the name of your gran,
But you didn’t follow suit with me.
I know you don’t do predictable;
I'd hardly forgive you
If you tied me to a Christian name
Family tree.
You set me free in late October,
Free from your innerness of milky blue,
Free to stretch and yawn
And hear and see
And suck my thumb; like you.


You probably thought I’d be your image,
In temper and stand alone,
So you made me a Scorpio,
Let me share with Picasso,
And those five Demoiselles d'Avignon.
I’m Regan, I’m Royal,
Blue blood in my veins,
Like the middle daughter of King Lear,
Like my Dad, a prince among men,
Just Dada for now,
He told me I’d never know hunger or fear.


And Mam, you think this is your day,
A little ceremony, pomp,
Age old tradition.
Father Peter presiding, two grannies guiding,
Chorus of welcome to me;
New addition.
You all believe I’m not aware
Of the jokes and jibes and fellowship true,
I’m Regan, I’m real, your flesh and blood,
You waited for me, I waited for you,
Thank you for life; this is my day too!

Casey- The Sculpter

Magic hands

milking shapes from space,

Heart creation

mirrored in the face.

Ancient tools,

sweet sweat, flair and skill

strive together

shaping heron bill.
Raw material,

ancient branch and bough,      

Twisted mass

for vision’s furrowed brow.

Phoenix shape

emerging from the elm,

Transformation sailing,

genius at the helm.

Living beauty                  

carved from nature’s dead,

past and present

sharing common bed.                           

Five millennia

resurrected new,

Vision’s pleasure;

oak and gleaming yew.           

Wondrous space,

on Barley Harbour hill,

Casey’s place,

where master labours still.

 

(Dedicated to Michael Casey, the greatest wood sculptor in the world)