Mortar And Pestle Poem by Bernard Kennedy

My father was a Chemist,
and the Apothecary symbol was
a mortar and pestle.
Elements were ground together,
and a newer compound emerged, in
line with the scientific theory, that
'nothing created ceases to exist'.

Walking the mountain,
grinding up the hill,
the daily grind, of
tolerance and acceptance,
and self denial,
all produced a newer person,
a pearl of great price,
an oyster grind,
'two women grinding at the mill,
one taken, another left,
two men in bed, one...'
the daily grind.
Grinding teeth in rage,
or after a filling,
'grind your teeth to solidify'.

When I think of the mortar and
pestle, and life's grind,
and grinding, a farrier,
my great grandfather's
Limerick forge,
at Castlemahon.
I think of newer compound,
and Resurrection,
where nothing was lost.