Layer on layer upon layer of lustrous paint Creating striations of wondrous colours: Indigo, red, green, yellow and Klein Blue Intertwining with one another so playfully On the vast virtual loom of the canvas. The warp and weft of the silken oils create A virile landscape of verisimilar aquatics Following the serpentine course of the Lough.
Out in the meadow in bright sunshine She explained about “wilding,” about rattle and field buttercup, about late cutting of grasses and the importance of time to flower and seed. How hedgerows and margins encourage life: how sometimes it is better to do nothing and just let nature take its course.
Viewed from above, the “Emerald Isle” is indeed very, very green. Unfortunately, from a conservation point of view, the lush, uniform grassland that dominates our 21st-century landscape is the wrong shade of green. Continue reading “Bringing the Meadows Back to Life”
How many men climbed up this field – and saw the land as we do now How many families joined them – in the settlement upon the brow A place of safety on a hill – with Druid stones above the rill That marks the place where once there stood – a Celtic fort
I reclined by the river in borrowed chair and while the breeze off the meadow ruffled my hair, Frankie amused and regaled us with tales of the hay and how it used to be “won” way back in the day. Anecdotes, amusing, informative, yet sometimes so sad: how day-to-day life was lived in times that went bad.
He pushed the empty dinner plate away Knife and fork lay respectfully side by side And picked up the child’s blue stocking-filler flute Huge hands gripped where small hands fit Fingers swollen fat as cows teats at evening milking Ooze blood from countless thorn and briar lacerations Each knuckle bent; etched deep with wrinkles as a thinker’s brow
I wrote the following two short poems recalling memories of my Aunt Tessie and Uncle Charlie. A sister and brother of my father’s they lived in a thatched cottage at the end of Tempo Main Street in County Fermanagh. They were the last to live in the cottage where my grandmother and grandfather had raised fourteen children, seven boys and seven girls, born from the mid-1890’s to 1919. Continue reading “Tessie and Charlie”
A lot has been written about place, the importance of it in our hearts and souls. We all come from somewhere. The places of our childhood are indelibly pressed into our psyche. Fields are particular places, defined by the boundary hedges around them. When we ‘go into’ a field that it gives us a strong sense of having left one space and entered into another. It gives off its own ambience; as with people, we relate to each field in a particular way.