Gene Dixon
Man of Many Hats
Gene Dixon
Magician.
Gene Dixon
Voir Dire
© 2013  Gene Dixon
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Gene Dixon
Sonneteer
Courting Maureen


Soft as a slipper gliding
through the forest lawn's green grass,
hushed as a partridge hiding
'til the hunter's hound goes past,
You stand, almost a shadow
in the cool gaze of the moon.
Your eyes, like fields gone fallow,
barely hint of someday, soon.

It's been for days, it's been for years,
it's been for centuries
I've listened to the vesper chants
and all the "blessed be's"
I've watched you give your time to God,
breath to father's home.
You plant your feet deep in this sod
and swear you'll never roam.

Yet if you, but once, would catch my eye
or catch my whispered words,
you'd see the splendor of the try
and hear how love occurs.

So wait, Maureen, no longer than
it takes a dream to sigh.
For sure, sometime, in God's great plan,
you'll see me passing by.
The Vision Vanessa


May God bless you, Vanessa, and all your caustic prose.
Bless your feathered boa, bless your fish-net hose.
We haven't seen a painted face
since the last ill-wind blew in.
You're a fresh new voice in this staid place
with your strange concept of sin.

Vanessa, all the days before you showed up on the scene
were blandly repetitious, gruel gray, low and lean.
You've brought some color to this town,
no easy task, 'tis true.
You've shown the mirror to the clown
Still, he thinks he looks at you.

Vanessa, you're a puzzling lass with all your twists and turns.
Sometimes you offer soothing balm, sometimes your touch just burns.
Through all the poses that you've worn,
in the visions that you chose,
most saw you as a painful thorn
but you truly were a rose.
The Rain Upon the Heather


The rain upon the heather makes for deeper thought,
cascading as it does from out dark clouds.
It tells us what we do isn't always what we ought
but rain can cleanse the dirtiest of shrouds.

Where does the sunshine go when the sky's so wet?
They say it hides behind the wren's soft call.
Now, who'd believe a tiny wren could shield the sun and, yet,
some mighty things are done by birds so small.

The rivulets of rain run down the hillside
and course like widow's tears into the earth
reminding us of all the things we must abide
and just how much one simple life is worth.

God bless the rain and all of those it comes upon.
God bless the earth when ere the rain does fall.
Let your soul be washed by rain 'til all your sins are gone.
You'll find the sun behind the wren's soft call.
The Traders

The Donaghys were truly not retired.
Though not employed, they always wintered well.
The whole town claimed that they were much inspired
by how they thrived. They thought it wise to tell
how each one had a horse, well fit for trading
and how, to pass the time when fires were bright,
with peaceful pipes and a bit of ale for shading,
the brothers traded horses half the night.
There was no time when they would cheat another
and never was one really destitute.
Each counted on the shrewdness of his brother,
both sure that either one was most astute!
Whence came the Spring and, Faith, this is no myth,
when mud holes dry and roads are high and sunny,
Each one would have the horse he started with
and twenty quid of gain for spending money.
On the Banks of Sweet Marie


On the quiet banks of Sweet Marie,
when the mist drapes 'round the reeds,
when the dawn has barely touched the lea
and the shades of night recede,
we'll leave our footprints in the moss
on the banks of Sweet Marie.

On the velvet banks of Sweet Marie,
where the purple violet grows,
where the magic of the morning dew
bejewels the budding rose,
we'll watch the waters wash the stones
on the banks of Sweet Marie.

On the misty banks of Sweet Marie,
where sunsets never end,
where the moon and stars wait patiently
for daylight to descend;
Gathers there a lover's dreams
on the bank of Sweet Marie.
For Heroes Who Now Lie Asleep


Appollonia, do not weep.
Let not your heart become undone
Because your love now lies asleep
Beneath a far-off setting sun.

His sky now blooms with sacred light
And when the dew shall disappear
His soul, set free, will take true flight
Toward the love that draws him near.

Appollonia, seek him where
All his promises were made.
Surely you will find him there
When Springing comes upon the glade.

Forever he will take his rest
A vision fair within your eyes,
Within your heart, within your breast.
A vision grief cannot disguise.

Appollonia, your sad sigh
Bespeaks this maddest contradiction:
The king will send the prince to die
In senseless war, a foul affliction.

Then carve these heroes' epitaphs
For all the timeless days from hence
On stones borne by God's on seraphs:
"An Honored Soul" - true recompense.

Grady at the Broken Fence


It started in the lower fields
when Grady rocked back on his heels
and shouted out across the glen,
McKenna, you must tell me when
you'll move this wayward herd!

First it was your ugly hogs
followed by those yapping dogs.
Then your wailing children started
storming through the fence, now parted,
along with ovine masses trampling on quite undeterred.

Time was I didn't give a damn
(I must confess I've claimed a ham
or two when one more clumsy pig
got stuck, shank deep, down by my rig)
but, by the Brian's sacred name, its time my cause was heard.

Not a threat, not on my part,
but something you should take to heart.
If this invasion doesn't stop
its not some mutton that I'll cop.
My wife's sweet Ma I'll send to you
(well known as Ireland's champion shrew)
and leave her for your ward.


Patrick and the Snakes


Ah, whush, you've gone and drove them all away
and left our fields with no one to harass
the mice and other vermin now at play
running rampant through the greening grass

There was a time when things were well in hand
and every living creature got his due.
To some degree, this was a peaceful land.
That is, until we met the likes of you.

'Tis true, the snakes were here - they're everywhere!
They spoke with forked tounge as is their wont.
Their evil postulated in the air.
They claimed the edge of truth like some savant.

Its not that we're ungrateful, gracious Sir,
that you cared enough for us to boot them out
but, in their skin we found it easier
to be aware that evil was about.

The snakes are gone but sin has stayed behind.
It lurks in those who have the darkest heart.
It lurks as well in those of our own kind.
Its hard to tell the good from bad apart.

Thing is, good Saint, when it was just the snakes
who slid about inviting us to sin,
t'was easier, we all had what it takes
to recognize these louts with their sad grin.

But good and bad now all appear the same
and Bishop, sir, I say this with contrition.
There are people now about in this sad game
who look at even you with some suspicion!


From the Banks of Sweet Marie:


When asked by the good Father Iness
Just what thrills the heart that beats within us
Said we, it's quite clear
and well known, sure, that we're
quite happy when in us is Guinness.
Gene Dixon
Man of Many Hats
Pg 2.
Gene Dixon
Historical Poems