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Irish Poetry - Blog Posts
An Old Woman of the Roads, by Pádraic Colum
Oh, to have a little house! To own the hearth and stool and all! The heaped up sods upon the fire, The pile of turf against the wall!
To have a clock with weights and chains And pendulum swinging up and down! A dresser filled with shining delph, Speckled and white and blue and brown!
I could be busy all the day Clearing and sweeping hearth and floor, And fixing on their shelf again My white and blue and speckled store!
I could be quiet there at night Beside the fire and by myself, Sure of a bed and loth to leave The ticking clock and the shining delph!
Och! but I am weary of mist and dark, And roads where there’s never a house nor bush, And tired I am of bog and road, And the crying wind and the lonesome hush!
And I am praying to God on high, And I am praying Him night and day, For a little house - house of my own - Out of the wind’s and the rain’s way.
Seven stars in the still water,
And seven in the sky;
Seven sins on the King's daughter,
Deep in her soul to lie.
(By Oscar Wilde)
So pleased to have a poem in this beautiful anthology, and what a fantastic launch night it was in O'Connell House last Friday eve!
Over the moon to be able to share this essay on the seriously overlooked work of Meath poet Francis Ledwidge.
My poem "Mr Keats is ill" features in VOL. 1: END of Tower Magazine. Available for purchase and/or download now!
New poem in Tower Vol I: End out May 15th!
Lá fhéile Bríde sona daoibh! Tá an tEarrach linn.
Achilles
I
To them I am the brute not the lover
The raging king’s hound, his gold spear – death’s kiss
Was this the way, was there no other?
II
History, prayèrs did try to cover –
Those violent delights, and that violent bliss
- To them I am the brute not the lover.
III
Yet, if time would but only uncover
Those extra curves of your smiles that they miss – I miss.
Was this the way – was there no other?
IV
If the Prince of Troy did not hover over
My mind and your ghost – in debt to the Styx –
To them I am the brute not the lover!
V
They forget romeo, the pre-mover;
Was it for this you died, was it for this?
Alas, I am the brute. Not your lover.
Was this the way? Was there no other?
"Achilles" by Sadbh Kellett. First published in The Attic XX, 2017.
Brigid of the Forge | Culture Night 2021
Brigid of the Forge | Draíocht
Brigid of Spring | Draíocht
