We’d cram into Dad’s Austin Wolseley, 

like tinned kippers, unrolled 

and unsalted in the back seat. 

Smoking class was reserved, up front,

on our Sunday pilgrimage to visit Nana.

First to spot the waterfall was the winner.

Ben Bulben was fixed on our horizon,

feeling like a compass point,

it arced our path along the south coast of Donegal.

We never felt far from ho...

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Six Nations wake from slumber

As winter turns to Spring

For tribal warfare on the pitch

It’s a Celts and Saxons thing

They’ll be singing hymns and arias

From the Tiber to the Tay

And the week feels that much longer

As we wait for Saturday

And the squads are called together

From places far and wide

There will be sunshine and foul weather

There will be shir...

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Lets open up the country file

Lets find a place to go

Get up close to nature

Weather sun or rain or snow

Valley, lake or mountain

There is beauty all around

Yorkshire dale or Lake District

The jewels in Britain’s crown.

Lets get up close to nature

Lets go and explore

On foot or bike or horse back

In land or by the shore

England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales

There...

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Letters with Words

Sky gets brighter

Black dog appears

Calling my name

Whispering as he nears

Words softened, falling

One by one, letters

Clinched, left broken

Fragments and pieces

Captured and glued

A story is breaking

Two sides reconciling

To harmony and healing

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Anti Treaty IRA forces captured “The Ballinalee” armoured car, and it saw action against the Free State Army in future engagements before being burned out when recapture was beyond prevention. It was renamed “The Wild Rose of Lough Gill”

When we come at the end of time,
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,

– “The Fiddler of Dooney” (W.B. Yeats)

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Bless me Father, for I have sinned...
Its been a hell of a long time since my last confession here!

As always with blog posts, it bes a while between them. I call them my "confessions" as it normally sums up what I have been doing in the while before them.



So, for the past year, we have had a number of poetry readings in Tullamore and thereabouts with theTullamore Rhymers Club that I am...

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When dinosaurs walked tall on earth,
And Tesco was yet to be…
Women who wanted meat and shit
Relied on chaps like me…
We gathered up our clubs and spears,
And risked our very lives,
To bring back meat and furry skins
So as to get some loving from our wives…

But then, some bollix invented Tesco,
And the Dino’s all died out,
And things g...

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Where are we now

Back to square one

Thrown to the beginning

Or have we moved on?

As the season changes

The cycle does reap

An autumnal harvest

That tastes just as sweet

There’s no place like home

Unearthed and unearthly

insecurity and fear still roam

Driven, dark and dirty

Trying to live the dream

Fucking, fighting and broken

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Stood alone
grounded by grey rock
papoosed tight in your arms
an altar before the Atlantic
commanding, tumulus ocean
serves as our priest

Two shells
brought from sandy shelter
where we consummated our love
gives us two rings to keep
fraught, fragile commitment
regardless of reality

You whisper
echoed by breaking wave
“Just you and me against the world...

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Paralysed, struck flat on my back
Irish sea sprays up a malady
leaches through impervious skin
And drifts my reliant apathy

Slow boat rocks, judders beneath
Bearing to shadowed grey land
Clouds reach down tentatively
Brushing the back of my hand

Far away, two children mourn
Loss of a mother who slips
Away with waves to another love
Another time, where...

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Emerald greens

Forgotten dreams

Bacchic delight

Morning plight

Friendlier strangers

Drunken wagers

Calmer living

Always giving

Fantastic craic

Guinness attack

Beautiful island

My Ireland

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If ever you want to wind up an Irishman like me, dress up in full riding gear and refer to yourself and you chums as "gentry". The following poem, while not Shakespeare, retells a story from Tyrellspass in Westmeath beside me where one poor tourist made the mistake...

Can you tell me, sir, a man passing did say
To a citizen of Ireland at his gate one day
When the ...

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 First holiday in Ireland

I don’t remember if I am honest
much about my first holiday there
apart form all of the photographs.

I don’t recall which station it was
all the way down from
Dublin to Belfast
when the train broke down
and we were forced to stand
in a tiny box with
a half working coal fire
for four hours
before they finally

Eventually

Eventual...

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This is the kind of poem a poet wishes that they did not have to write... this is the kind of poem that gives a poet the reason to write, its why God gave us the ability to write.

A Nigerian immigrant was murdered on the streets of Dublin, Ireland on Good Friday last. This poem is my reaction to the tragedy...

...

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Did a Spirit Knock
On Rossbawn's Walls?
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