Wednesday, November 22

Muckross On The Edge


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
burnt orange lichen.

wind blown clumps of sea thyme
in stoney crevices

Broad limestone pavements
worn flat by tide and time
to white-flecked endless forces
by long-winged gulls.

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]

Sunday, November 19

November Bonfire

Nothing makes the potter happier 
than a quiet Sunday afternoon 
sitting watching the old branches and the autumn leaves burn 
as the smoke flies up wards in the still air.