A very special place for my sister..the artist Rosie McClelland and therefore for me.
This is my attempt to put those emotions into poetry.
Travelling tracks
on the high edge of Europe
to Kilcar and Muckross
uber ancient rocks
jutting hard on navy waves
endless ocean.
The edge where
swooping valleys leave
masculine sliabhs to
drop away to Amerikay
green rock pools
sustain
burnt orange lichen.
And
wind blown clumps of sea thyme
nestle
in stoney crevices
here.
Broad limestone pavements
worn flat by tide and time
yield
to white-flecked endless forces
skimmed
by long-winged gulls.
Muckross
hanging rocks
face ocean
have stories to tell
futures to sell
to the mountain people.
Hard lives
on elemental edges
sedges and turf
not enough to keep them
by Port or Tellin.
There strangers in long boats came
stealing wives and children
took their lives
took them for service.
Of many kinds.
[@rosiemcclellandart ....sliabh pronounced...slieve]
