Yesterday as I sat to write, One single word stuck on my mind that ended up as todays poem. I still find it strange that from a single word, a poem comes into being. The word drifrwood can have a meaning , that may differ, depending on whom one would ask of for its meaning.

When I think of driftwood I see a double meaning or in one side a sample of the result of destruction by natures force. That is carried by a river on its way to where it may be deposited. BUT on another end it could spell the beginning of a frest start at the hands of an artist, a creator (one could pick their word at this point). I have seen some many great works of art that stand pride of place that an artist created from a piece of Driftwood.

In some other ways a piece of Driftwood may be a persons life at a given cross roads in life. All they need is an artist (One who inspires their life back into being) to mould that driftwood into a piece of art that becomes a pride of place. All it takes is often a short step or two, depending on whom one speaks with.

Within this poem I also mentioned how this age often forgets what brought a nation into being, Basically take one nation in whom one is proud of and consider what brought it into being. The sacrifice that some others may have paid. BUT in this age some forget that cost and strive to run with something that flies in the face of all that brought them to where they are.

In a manner of speaking the result of some decisions made by politicians for example leaves some to become a form of driftwood in this day. Thus creating a circle , or a cycle that seems like it is never ending. Where one forgets the Driftwood, which awaits for an artist to recreate something that is pride of place. Therefore such is an example of how and why I never claim anymore to be either Left or right, NOR liberal or Conservative. BUT I do claim to be human and one who cares for those whom we leave behind as driftwood.

In striving to undo what history may have made often we ourselves create something for others that was their path prior to making such decisions. BUT who cares for that? Sadly few do! Or even fewer would agree with me.

Therefore this is todays poem in a package a cycle that goes on and on without one calling a stop to reconsider results.

Having said this, Please enjoy Todays poem.

Photo by Orest Sv on Pexels.com


Raging waters carry driftwood on by,
Watching with awe as natures force was high.
Served with notice as recent storms had past,
Like early morning sunshine all had passed.

Driftwood renewed life in a creation,
Now stands Pride of place in unknown station.
Old became new with artists eyes surprise,
Nature destroys and given chance to rise.

Strolling down the avenue wanting more,
Yet no chore, enter one last try, I swore.
Sun in their eyes again withhold the deed,
Scattered amongst the weed are some rare seed.

 Still saying goodbye to yesterdays news,
When holding onto papers unread views.
Clean-up follows storms I hear, yet we choose,
Walking past the rubble still to defuse.

Own the world of native beings thus still lost,
The cost of pride high when some cover cost.
Left in ruins recalling glories long gone,
A Nation forgets who they owe their dawn.

©  Pat Fitzgerald 2023

Thank you for joining in my exercise and my play about with words etc, trying something new can and is a little fun and let’s just say Lots of fun because many feelings come here that work along with a little perfectionist attitude. It is always good to try something new and for me something as basic as what appears above is new to me. You are welcome to comment on this post to either correct or whatever needs. Just be nice , I am fragile, (I joke on this)

Thank you for reading this far into my post, I am always thankfull for all who enjoy, read and comment on my poetry. Which for me is a journey that for the past few years have become one that I have enjoyed sharing with the world. Instead of what was always the case, of composing and hiding or deleting my work. Therefore thank you for joining me on this little journey. Some poems like this current are ones that I would term as Poems of Conscience , but in the case of my writings It is my Conscience that speaks.


On occasions Mistakes and typos make their way onto the finished and published post. This has never been on purpose but at times they miss my eye when editing posts. BUT rest assured I correct and update the posts the moment I discover any such mistakes. Yet some do take a little longer than other because I have or may not find them. Thank you for understanding this.


I welcome comments that folks decide to post. BUT I ask that ALL comments are in a Polite manner. Otherwise, comments that are not seen as polite WILL be removed. I believe that a comment made in a polite manner goes much further and has a better effect than one made in less than Polite manner. Often however I do misspell and will correct. IF YOU WISH TO POINT OUT MISTAKES, Please take into consideration that If I make mistakes they are not on purpose and a polite notice of such mistakes go further. Thank You for understanding any mistakes. I do not intend to cause any insult with what I type here, But wish to highlight a few details.

In finishing please stay safe and take care, also when possible show a little loving care to those about you in society who may be in need of such loving care. A little positive output in life is a great start for folks in a world hit with rushing about in their own world.

Until next time Slán Go Fóill (goodbye for now)

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