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Pól Ó Lorcáin
Paul Larkin

Chroniclers are privileged to enter where they list, to come and go through keyholes, to ride upon the wind, to overcome in their soarings up and down, all obstacles of distance, time and place.
Charles Dickens - Barnaby Rudge, Chapter The Ninth

Dublin Discalced

Poem written in gratitude after Mass at St Teresa’s (Carmelites Discalced) Clarendon Street, Dublin, on Friday the 16th of December 2004.

(NB – Discalced = no shoes or wearing sandals)


There is no time for this
Yet its ancient call still persists.
Clarion in the early winter air,
A call to think, a call to prayer.

Eternity resounding, echoing in the heart of mammon
Where, the aftertone of each Angelus bell
From St Teresa’s Church
Reveals tongue flames of angels
Amongst dazed and frenzied shoppers
Who turn and look there and there and there
Straining to hear something nearly forgotten
Above the raucous roll and rail of closing shop shutters
And they astounded with no shoes on their feet.

Discalced,
And all burdens, fears and pretensions
Falling like confetti to the floor
With each soft caress from an angels wing

Like so many marionettes
No longer pulled by purse strings
They stand suddenly naked souls
Before God and each other.

In quickly quiet Grafton Street
There is but one last minute must buy can’t wait feat

The call to look to yourself and be at peace




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