Kathleen Sullivan is an intensive care registered nurse who writes to inspire and heal. Mother of two, grandmother of three, she has had poetry & prose, articles, and short stories published online and in print format in professional journals, church magazines, and anthologies in the UK and USA. Born and raised in a predominantly Irish town in West Central Scotland, she now lives on the shores of the Gulf of Mexico, in the seaside town of Indian Rocks Beach, Florida. There is always laughter in her home courtesy of the many apps available for video calls with her family members, who are dotted around the world.

Trade Winds

Sweep me up into the sky
In a cotton storm cloud let me fly
Back to where my life began
Back to an enchanted land

By purple mountain silver stream
Lay me down where I can dream
Let the yellow light shine up
A Celtic sun, a Buttercup

In meadow sweet with blankets green
Let me be there in between
Sweep me up I thee implore
And I will never wander more

Take me back to where I'm from
Erase in me who I've become
In cotton storm clouds let me fly
Bold trade winds please don't blow on by

Fools Gold

Had I caught one wisp of wisdom as it fell from the angel's wing
I may have hesitated instead of rushing in

I may have heard her whisper a secret worn and old
Beware of where you venture in the chase of fools gold

Had I heard one fearful footstep at the flutter of her wing
I may have reconsidered all the sorrow it would bring

Had I caught one salten teardrop as my ocean hit the sand
I may have tried to turn the tide before my chase began

I'd be home right now in Ireland and finally understand
That my fortune's where I left it in the clasp of my father's hand

Hanagan’s Wake

'Twas a Tuesday evening as I recall
There were brothers and sisters and cousins and all
With sorrow and sadness mounting inside
Throughout the proceedings ole Mick would reside

There were days from his childhood and idle days spent
There were tales from the war years where soldiers were sent
This company assembled to pay him respect
However, with humor was how they'd reflect

When Father McGilvery offered a tale
On the serious matter of whiskey and ale
Accomplices bellowed a story or two
Laughter erupted, joy blossomed anew

As fiddles came roaring the Porter flowed thick
Wild hearts again soaring on account of ole Mick
Amongst all of my memories I'll never forsake
The fun and the jiggin' at Hanagan's wake