The spreading sea and rolling hills are far away,
the sweeping curves of river Boyne
beneath the ancient mounds of Knowth.
Kin to the wet grass and pungent cattle,
the curving roads and tiny villages,
oceans away the land is with me;
not just a gravestone
but the life that flows within
soaking fields and distant mountains.
I stand upon the crest of Lough Crew,
belonging to this rich green earth
and her long-forgiving people.
Ach, aye, d’lough, laddie bro. T’would be a fine licht nicht ‘neath fulling moon.
I love this poem. I can feel the ancient Irish poetry channeled through you. I also love the photos!
Goin’ Home ta da Ol’ Sod… welcome.
Beautiful, Don.
Thank you for this window into your poignant experience.
When I visited Ireland a number of years ago I felt so much that I was in tears half the time. Your ‘belonging’ is direct lineage as well as other levels, but I felt a recognition too.
Loved it; thank you!
Wow, Don – yes, beautiful, real, as always – AND – the rhythm of the lines in this piece is so different from your usual! This is a rhythm remembered. The energy of place took you, and shaped your words into the hypnotic beat of a bodhran. It may never let you go… Not that I don’t love your less lyrical rhythms, but this – this moves me before the meaning of the words arrives. So powerful.
Thank you, Don. I love the feel of this poem and the rhythms of earth and people in ancient harmony. The pictures add so much – need to include a pic of you with them.
Wow… what can I say…
Your words have really captured it…
And the photos complement your words beautifully…
I look forward to visiting Lough Crew with you again…
You speak to my own ancestry with a pattern I know deeply. You are, indeed, a son of Ireland, and I should know.
What is it about this misty, mystical, mythical island that connects in the blood of it’s people and once connected never lets go. Perhaps the heart of the Mother is still wide open in this place causing our hearts to open wide as well. Standing heart to heart with Her, with ancestors gathered ’round, we know the feeling of Home will be with us wherever we go.
I enjoy your poems, here from another emerald island – Waldron.
I love the poem. The photos speak another language… both tear at the spirit to remember, deep in DNA. My grandmother’s family name was Mayo.
Seamus Heaney, in offering an explanation for the eminence of poetry in Ireland, says the acoustic is just better there. Apparently so. Thanks for sharing the spirit of your time there.