Skip to main content

Weather Station - Mag 304

©Shers Gallagher 2016

Shimmers of haloes
trembling grey across the sky.
Their lines gone underground
and travelling.
They're taking on the shapes of flying crows
that crosswire all the rain coming down
in windy winter-scapes.

Only the sun, moon and stars
are offering pocket-lights of peace.
I look at you and smile,
your smile meaning everything these days:
the solace of winter,
the taunting of spring. 
And then the rains fall,
too late for all the doubting of autumn
to take wing.

And so I wait for the circling of seasons
to take in precious vistas once again.
Their colours all-consuming 
with each breath of forest clearing
lingering all around.
Breathe in and breathe out,
each kiss of light and misty breath
is bringing on the rain. 

Aisling Books / Magpie Tales


  1. I think the seasons bring all kind of changes... hold on and spring's soon here.

  2. Its the only God i"ll ever know

  3. Winter is not done with us yet......but the flowers will return!

  4. Taking on the shapes of flying crows...
    pocket lights of peace…
    Well done.


Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Raised by a Fly-boy Father...who could not sit still

©Shers Gallagher 2016
Over miles with him we 'rode or bust' to this and that highway and some other byway that stretched across the Great Divide.  He settled in the end, back to where he started. And I, like him, having been raised in motion, could not sit still. Over miles alone I trekked across lava rock that glistened like jagged points of death and Steppes that went nowhere until they sank into the sun. Only then, like my father, did I arrive with a yearning  to come back home.
Aisling Books

The Call

©Shers Gallagher 2016
The days grow colder and my heart grows bolder
to hear the call of the totem wolf, 
though limbs begin to rattle like the branches of a tree
as leaves turn bright before they fade and quietly fall,
drifting down and crumbling into air 
that smells of crackling pine and roasting logs of cedar.
I missed you then as I miss you now. 
But most of all I miss my youth 
and the dance I used to be.
Not the dance of whirring bees,
because I never was a hostile takeover. 
I miss the playful shadows of light
and soft breezes on silken feathers.
I miss the easiness of then, 
though, in truth I’m more physically comfortable now. 
And yet I’d give it all up for only a few more 
playful shadows of twilight and silken days. 

Aisling Books

Ardy’s Plight at the Privy – Fairy’s song

Excerpted from 'Uncommon Boundaries: Tales and Verse' ©2012 SM Gallagher
[Dedicated to my granddaughter, Maya Annalisa Trask, turning four-years-old today!]

A large Irish family filled up two of the long pinewood bench tables at the Hare and Hunter - the small medieval fairground restaurant that had a larger than average terrace, catering to the sit-down crowds of wandering festival goers. This particular family appeared to be drinking more than eating, which wasn’t uncommon in the sweltering heat of a midsummer’s day in the shire. 

I sat at the table’s far end, furthest from the congested masses, as it was my short pause from working the lanes as a paid entertainer in fantasy costume, blowing stardust on delighted children, getting into mischief with the locals, and tickling tin whistles and whatnot – all the things one could imagine of a proper fairy of a local shire. During my pause, however, I didn’t want to be bothered for fairy wishes and the like. Instead, I ordered a pint…