I recently found myself standing outside Hedigans public house. I was debating with myself whether to enter or not. You see it was a class reunion of 40 plus years go. I have always looked on these occasions as a get together of lawyers, barristers, accountants and the suited gentry all swigging wine and congratulating themselves on how well they have done.

 I don’t know about you but I tend at times to see other “successful” people as being better off. This of course is nonsense. When I take the time to see what it is I have rather than what I believe other people possess I realise very quickly how lucky and yes successful I really am.

 Let me return to Hedigans I entered sat at the bar ordered a pint, still reluctant to dip my toe into the unknown. I browsed through a magazine glancing around to see if I recognised faces from the past, hoping maybe that I had made a mistake and gotten the date wrong. But there was no escape, there in the snug were gathered a group of grey haired ( those that had hair) men enjoying a chat. I picked up my pint and ventured in. It was like the 40 year gap never existed, ok there was an accountant a professor a few senior civil servants but at the end of the day they were school pals. We laughed, recalled good times and bad spoke of those who had passed away and drank a few pints. We left promising to do it all again next year.

As I rambled home to my beautiful wife and my 8 year old son ( yes they were surprised ) knowing that they were sleeping peacefully and contentedly I realised that what I have and who I am are what is important. I think maybe that we spend too much time wondering what other people are doing rather than being thankful for what we possess. 

Jpoet7

 I remember you daddy oh so well

We mark the spot on where you fell.
Each Christmas I come visit here

And find your name and shed a tear.
Your picture on the dresser

In your uniform impressed.
You’re always in our memories

And hope that you in heaven rest.

            Jpoet7 

They told me when I took him home
The cuddly little fella

That he was tamed and all house trained

My new friend the chinchilla

The first few days were full of praise

He made us oh so happy

But oh! My God was I amazed

He became all grumpy, snappy

He would not let me touch him

To cuddle or caress him

He would bite my hand 

And chew my slippers

He became oh so aggressive

We purchased many toys for him

He became all that more expensive

We decided to offload him

For a pet that was more passive

     Jpoet7

           Oh! Those school days
Some children huddled in the yard

The lookout on the corner.

He was waiting for the teacher

A certain Mrs. Horner.

She was a lady of some renown

Who disciplined with passion.

And the children often teased her

In a whisper on her fashion.

For she wore her hair up in a bun

With a net to keep it tidy.

The leather hanging by her side

Was always at the ready.

Good ammunition if required 

For children in the classroom.

Who whispered and 

then who quickly ducked

As the duster did fly past them.

            Jpoet7

• The doves they are the birds of peace

The Hawks they silently slaughter

They come like snipers from the East

To murder sons and daughters

They brainwash young idealists

They tell them they are martyrs

They strap them with explosives

To kill innocent bystanders

The leaders live within the hills

Protected by their soldiers

But like all of histories infidels

Who thought they were dictators

They ended their corrupted lives

In bunkers or in craters

        An Irish Summer

We packed the picnic basket

We organised the car

We plastered on the sun cream

The swimsuit and guitar

We had our little sing song

As we drove along the coast

The visor down to block the sun

We’re turning into toast

We arrive onto the sun kissed beach

We organise our towels

And just as we have settled in

The wind begins to howl

The sand it whips across the dunes

Our expressions turn to scowling

The towels are flying down the beach

The goosebumps are appearing

The waters lapping around our feet

The sandwiches are all sodden

We then retreat admit defeat

And make for home downtrodden
Jpoet7

The instructor roars out orders loud

In Military style that makes him proud

The Drills that train a man to kill

To take a life is an accomplished skill

The serpents fanned the fires of hell

The demons of the damned did yell

The sorrow in their hearts to tell

Oh, How the rich and mighty fell.
The heat the flames the roaring cries

Ignored by satan’s fiery eyes

Who sneered and snarled and wormed his way

Into their minds and souls, to play.
Remember, deep in your mind engraved

The many lives you could have saved

If yours were not so mad, depraved

Innocents dumped in lime filled graves.

They cried for help in times of pain

History repeating again and again

The horror cycle will still remain

The hunger for power is a human domain.

Forlornly she stared into the distance. The years of hardship etched into her lonely face.

 She had lost everything, and now the ultimate loss. 

Too old to travel she is left alone and destitute.

Standing amidst the ruins of her miserable life. 

She watched as in the distance her family left 

 bundled unceremoniously into tiny rafts.

A child tightly hugging a filthy teddy bear.

Her tear stained face streaked in muddy streams. 

No tears left to shed in her wide brown eyes

 she can but hope that her children will survive.