John Byrne
is a retired union attorney and administrative law judge who lives in Albany, Oregon.
He writes short stories and sonnets, some of which have recently appeared in Sonnet Writers and Lucid Rhythms.
He has also written one play for four hand puppets that is suitable for second grade performers.
His daughter SeanMarie (with John, above) often ends up inside the verse.
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Remembering the Burren, Father and Child
You were on my back and Shane was dubious
For there were lots of limestone miles between
The Burren’s neolithic graves and us
With climbs and crawls, and leaps, Shane said, that seemed
Too tough for you (too young) and me (too old).
In Ireland, though, the ending’s never “no”
So Shane delivered all that he foretold:
The little orchids crevice-deep below
The grazers’ reach; the hidden famine plots
Dirt packed between the rocks; the dwelling caves;
And then, you spied them first, built high a-top
A sea-view knoll, the ancient rock-side graves,
Their capstones firm despite an eon’s rain,
Their people gone; their people come again.
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