Poppy in Waterford Village

I wonder how much less the perpetual waves of life’s tide knocks me down 

Than it is how I am perceiving the knitted patterns in their own Way of unfolding

Is it not so much the ordinary moments than it is the riptide I carry within me

And what company is the stranger within; Whispering doubt and shouting profane

And yet; often my hands and feet know more of the craft of how to Live in this Life 

More than all my thoughts bound up as one – it is the “I” that creates untamed chaos. 

Me I will throw away.

Me sufficient for the day

The sticky self that clings

Adhesions on the wings

To love and adventure,

To go on the grand tour

A man must be free

From self-necessity

– Poem from: Patrick Kavanagh: The Self-Slaved