Ronnie McGinn's Poetry Page
| If you have a poem you'd like to see published in The Irish Examiner then send it to:
The Poetry Corner
The Irish Examiner USA
305 Madison Avenue, Suite 1462
New York
NY 10165
or, preferably, you can email it direct to
ronniemcginn@eircom.net.
If possible keep your poem to 20 lines. You may choose any subject you like, in any form you like as long as it's original. We look forward to hearing from you. |
One night in Christmas Week about four years ago I was walking down the South Mall in Cork. The spirit of Christmas was everywhere, at the entrance to the Imperial Hotel affluent guests were arriving, a choir was singing and as I passed on I could hear the bells of the City Hall ring. Then I noticed a grey haired old man in a doorway. He was wrapped in a blanket and lying on a sheet of cardboard
Mother's Hands At Christmas Time
Ah! the Christmas lights, - are cheery,
But this pavements cold and dreary,
And my heart is worn and weary,
Can't believe it's Christmas time..
Here, between the sobs and sighing,
On this cardboard where I'm lying,
I can see beyond the crying,
Mothers hands at Christmas time.
And the big log fire - a-blazing,
The baking - and the braising,
Oh my God they were amazing,
Mothers hands at Christmas time
All the fussing and the preening,
Decorating and the cleaning,
Ah! they gave our lives a meaning,
Mothers hands at Christmas time.
Oh! the blankets, damp and clinging,
And somewhere a bell is ringing,
Is that a choir that's singing ?,
Can't believe it's Christmas time...
© Ronnie McGinn
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