Noli Timere

Noli Timere

I take my tea to the circle

right on the garden’s edge

dwelling on Seamus Heaney, poet constantly,

though blood and tears ran with the rain

spattered walls and horror

ruled in his land

I sip my tea as the Marin blows

rattling the figs’ dry leaves.

Did he write in the anguish to let it out,

to ease the heart’s pounding pain

or hot as his anger boiled,

or out of respect, marking the loss

a wail as the bagpipes lament?

Noli timere

his last words, a text to comfort his wife

and me, with my tea,

clutched on the curving bench

raising evermore thanks for his courage and gift

to deal with the dark, to mine from unspeakable depths;

for poetry’s beacon, holding the line

a marker to grasp when the flood’s in spate

and horror has the upper hand.

7th September 2013, Hounoux