Poetry (Throwing Four-leaf Clovers, Peace)



From the Author of the e-books Ruby Queen and Sylvia from the Children of the Myth Machine series Kobo.com  March 28, 2017


I was at Wilfrid Laurier University majoring in Anthropology and History when I wrote these poems in the late 1990’s.  They are a lament for misunderstanding and a hope for lucidity.  If you talk to someone who has stepped out of the bubble of violence and hate, who now looks from the outside in, you often hear a chance for cooperation.  I’m waiting for Simple Mind’s Belfast Child, U2’s Sunday Blood Sunday, Peter Gabriel’s Biko, and Midnight Oil’s Beds Are Burning to be answered with a new song.



Throwing Four Leaf Clovers


I stood atop a treeless hill in my ancestral home

Blowing four-leaf clovers to yours

I watched as the wind came up

Wondering, if you would blow them back


I asked myself if the Leprechaun would catch my gift,

Or was he too fearful of the flying bullets,

To climb atop his mushroom

And take what’s his


Should I ask what would happen if I wrapped a kilt around my bare legs,

Dirkless approached you with a rooted clover

Would you grow it,

Or shoot out my knees


What Celtic roar would you give in the name of your severed Christianity

As you expound to me in the language of Kings

Why your Bards sing at Christmas to the world

Whilst their voice for their own goes unheard


I don’t know your whole story

But I hear it in parts and it amazes me

That your Bards decry the horrors of the world

While the children of poets sleep

In blankets of three-leaf clover


That ought be four…


© Dan Watt 1997–





I stand here, alone, atop this cliff

Looking over the wild growth

Of high trees and sparkling foliage

Watching the mist disperse


I came here, after arguing with my wife

For she was screaming at me

Because I was bleeding in our house

From ten years of warring, over religious rights


I see the animals, I would normally hunt

Rabbit and deer living peacefully

Without me

If I could only be with them, for a time


I saw my own neighbor, take another’s wife

Into his hut

He made lust all night

While I sat by the fire, guarding the campsite


I wish it were night

So I could sit out here and contemplate

About one moment of peace

Have you ever wanted that


I scolded my boy for stealing, a moon ago

Though I took from others at a much earlier age

I wanted him to know right from wrong

As if I could tell


I want a day of peace

A time without worries about war or death

Or hate, or lust, or greed

A moment without bias or violence


I know I must return to the campsite

The chaos of everyday life

I know I will never be able to splash in the water again

With untroubled laughter


If I could only give my children, one moment of peace


© D.W. 1997- 

D.W. © 1997-

Leave a Reply

Please log in using one of these methods to post your comment:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s