Gabriel Fitzmaurice: Three Poems

The Ballad of Timmy Mallon

 

Timmy was slow at school,

Couldn’t count from one to two

(When it came to mathematics,

He hadn’t got a clue);

 

And so one day the master

Took him by the hand

And explained mathematics

In a way he’d understand—

 

“Look here, Tim,” the master said,

“I’ll show you how to count.

Pretend that you have money

And tell me the amount

 

In your trousers pockets—

In one pocket you’ve a pound

And in the other pocket

There’s another pound;

 

A pound, Tim, in each pocket—

Can you tell me what

Amount is in your pockets?

How much money have you got?”

 

Timmy lived in poverty

And so he shook his head

And answered frankly, “Please sir,

’Twould be someone else’s pants,” he said.

 

 

Gabriel Fitzmaurice

 

 

A Farewell to Music

 

Friday night in Máiréads there’s a tune,

Fiddle, boxes, banjo, flute and drum

(Too well I know the muse can raise or ruin),

With jigs and reels and beer the place is hummin’.

The kids who play here play and stop and text,

In my day we played all through the night—

No need to stop to see what tune came next,

We drove each other from height to greater height.

These kids here have a feel for what they do,

Old tunes just like the old tunes that we played

When we were young and made this music new

(And, hooked on it, oh! what a price we paid).

An old cat from the past asks me to play.

I decline, drink up and slip away.

 

 

Gabriel Fitzmaurice

 

 

 

 

Contentment

 

Brenda knitting by the fire,

Our dogs at her feet asleep,

We’ll both sit here until we tire

And go to bed. We reap

 

The fruits of our married life,

As we grow old we find

The things an ageing man and wife

Discover in themselves, a mind

 

For simple pleasures, simple things,

We’re content to sit

In the comfort friendship brings

While I write and Brenda knits.

 

I wouldn’t swap this for the past,

A youngster’s life of passion, now

We both know this cannot last,

So, after all the passion, rows,

 

Brenda’s knitting by the fire,

I sit beside my love and write,

Turn to words a calm desire

Before we kiss goodnight.

 

Gabriel Fitzmaurice