Sean Walsh

The Innkeeper to the Carpenter: “What? A bed for the night? You haven’t a hope! We’re full, booked out!.. What?.. Your wife is..? Oh. Oh, dear… Well, look – round the back – the stables… At least ye’ll be in out of the weather…” dfw-sw-christmas_poetry2.pdf

December, 1950. Franciscan Novitiate. The Friary, Killarney.  Christ Mass  Dear Michael, The chap who wagered that I would be back in civvies before Christmas has lost his bet. ‘Verging on the New Year and I am still here! Stronger than ever, at that. In my resolve, determination… The “old Man” has ceased to complain about the strict life, I am...

Here’s the Thing! I began to put words on paper during lock down… to veer away from Church as building, liturgy, religious rites – become more and more attracted to the idea of Presence… of the Divine with us wherever, whenever… Draft after draft followed… as I strove to get it as ‘right’ as I could. When, eventually, I published...

When she took off I gave her a month, ‘month at the outside… She’ll be back, I’ll take bets on it. Down at the mouth, sure, but glad to be home for all that: safe, secure, shelter… Oh yeah, London’ll cure her cough.   Oh, Jenny, Jenny!.. What are you at, a tall a tall, daughter mine?.. I didn’t give...