The White Piano
A white piano was your mother's gift to you,
Shining, glistening, a symbol of hope and joy, you never knew,
Your life without your source and your father who didn't want to know, of course,
Your mother so delicate and fragile, couldn't last the extra mile,
Norma Jeane shy and alone, without a home,
You lived in the shadows as you chased the sun,
A photographer captured, a butterfly spirit full of fun and so rare,
Encouraging words, gave you the heart to dare.
Instead of looking at the world from the outside,
Suddenly you fitted into the cosmos,
You soared as the camera, embraced your soul, overcome with loss,
Tough times struggling to become a screen goddess,
Lovers helped you along the way with zest,
Smitten by your childlike charm,
So insecure because you were so pure.
Blossoming into a curvy blonde vision,
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poem by Hazel Durham
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Broken Pieces
Rainy grey days, appears like the sky is falling down,
All around the mystical splendour of Killeen Castle,
Horses grazing on it's fine fertile pastures,
Ancient, patient, enraptured and captured,
Life simmering with history, adding a touch of mystery,
Night invades and raids on daylight,
Only the eerily silver moon, shines so bright.
The mighty castle, bearing down from it's lofty heights,
Such a regal sight, with past thoughts, which fought for life,
Centuries overturned, by the sound of your own voice,
Your humour transformed the gallery, you were everyone's choice,
We gelled like an quirky spell,
Hot headed, we tumbled with tantrums, into bed,
The beat of the drum, inside my head,
Our souls united, free spirit's so excited.
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poem by Hazel Durham
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Echoes
Echoes of empty houses, empty rooms,
Empty caravans, empty tables, empty stables,
The extreme void of their high spirited appeal,
Eventually we all have to leave,
Life is a thief of happiness, peace and love,
The fluttering of an innocent white dove,
My two dear friends, a long time up above,
In their celestial palace,
Surrounded by God's unconditional, never-ending love,
Snatched from the middle rung,
No time for the end of the ballad to be sung.
Amongst chapters of hard graft, on a primitive raft,
Heading for the turbulent rapids,
Love sent in a package, with possible breakage,
Strings attached, we all just matched,
Never saw any need to be patched,
Abundance of a feast, glorious with no defeat,
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poem by Hazel Durham
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Return To Slievenamon
In my Tipperary abode, a long, long time ago,
At the foothills of the mountain, that's called Slievenamon,
Working every day, mucking out, grooming, riding out horses, my way,
My greatest passion, on this hungry earth,
Only nineteen, fearful of this scary life, that's a cert,
I immersed myself, into this amazing landscape.
No conflict, just a retreat from my city life,
Anner House, embraced my naive soul, daring me to be bold,
Life became a symphony, an extraordinary gift, it allowed me into its fold,
Joy oozed from my pores, with the greatest of ease,
Peace and harmony, shook hands with such glee,
Loving me, began to be possible, sinking deep into my bones,
Fun and sun shone upon my fresh rosy glow, it was a time to sow.
Alcohol, destructive elements was the harsh blow,
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poem by Hazel Durham
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