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Best Poems From
JOSEPH ENRIGHT
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1.
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Autumn
Autumn came in multicolors last year,
Fiery reds and burnished oranges
Bright yellows and rusty greens,
Painted leaves that floated
From barren branches
And rested lightly on the sleeping grass
The musty smell of dying things
So particular to autumn
Lingered in the air.
Death comes spectacularly
Proudly, in Autumn.
'This is not Death 'I thought
Death is the sand of your lifes hourglass,
Spilling grain by ever decreasing grain
Onto the scales of Death'
Autumn is the time of sleeping
The dawn of a new beginning.
Joseph Enright
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2.
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My FATHERS Hands
Large calloused shovel like hands
Gnarled knuckles on fingers
With chipped nails
Kept clean with small bladed ivory handled penknife.
Strong tanned arms and hands
That gripped long handled shovel
And drove it with practised ease
Into a pile of unforgiving limestone.
The same hands that gripped
Iron handle of a stubborn starting
Diesel concrete mixer
On cold frosty winter mornings.
'Bitch of a thing wont start 'hed mutter
Tearing up empty cement bags
And lighting them
To heat the engine.
Then, a quick swing of the handle
And with a lifelike shudder
It coughed into life.
Its steady puth puth puth
Shattering the earky morning silence.
'RIGHT, LADS 'hed say 'LETS GET A MOVE ON
TIS EIGHT OCLOCK
HALF THE DAY IS GONE '
His arms moved at a steady measured pace all day
Never flagging.
At six or later hed call it a day.
At home in the scullery
Hed scrub his hands in the earthenware sink
With lifebuoy soap, before sitting down to eat.
He crossed himself, muttering thanks
To his God before eating.
Later, in the evening
The family in a circle
His fingers caressed his beads
As he recited the Rosary
Same strong hands that lifted me
As achild, never raised in anger.
The day my mother died
He shrouded his face with his hands as he wept,
Broken hearted.
I couldnt help but notice his bruised fingers,
A stone had fallen on them earlier.
His hands carried her coffin to her final earthly resting place.
At eighty seven his hands were still big
Translucent mottled skin
Covered his now callous free soft hands.
We folded them on his breast
With his beads
Intertwined in his fingers
Before laying him in the dank earth.
Joseph Enright
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3.
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A Limerick
There was a young man from Warsaw
Who viewed life full of awe
His wife was a harpie,
One day she got narkie
And cut off his head with a saw.,
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Mary had a little lamb
A lobster and some prunes,
A glass of wine, apiece of pie
A plate of mushrooms
She gobbled down a sponge cake
And what else we dont know
but when they carried Mary out
Her face was white as snow
Joseph Enright
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4.
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Spring
In yonder shaded woodland knell,
I spy a group of pale bluebells
Nodding their heads in unison
Welcoming Springs watery sun.
Springtime it is here at last,
Shutting out winter past,
Daffodils are scattered round
Standing proudly on fertile ground.
Little birds are all a flurry,
Building nests in a hurry
New life all begins again
All say HAIL welcome Spring.
Joseph Enright
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