Podcast S3 E3 - Greece to Ireland
These poems reflect some of my experiences as we moved on from Greece to Ireland.One of the many conversations we had in Ireland, on the streets of Dingle, was with Arthur Broomfield the poet and I start with a poem inspired by his book Ireland Calling.
My Childhood Reimagined,
Inspired by Arthur
Here’s to the childhood I never had,
jumping off Greek island rocks
into crystal clear, sparkling blue
warm Aegean waters
shouting the names of Greek Gods
as we test our courage
leaping off the highest rocks.
Running through tall wet grass
the sun breaking through rain clouds,
we scatter the herd of shy calves
just waking in the early morning,
In the field of Irish wild flowers
the fox cubs and badgers
are returning from their night hunts.
We good Irish lads
spent the day in school,
waiting for the evening fireside stories
the comforting smell of burning peat,
from our farming families
Creamy steaming porridge ,
wild blackberries we picked,
an occasional egg
thick brown bread
even thicker with Kerry Gold.
Ready again we start another day
,
SHEAMUS CASSIDY
So good to see you again,
After all these years.
Sheamus the farmer
Caring for his land.
Sharing his greenhouse veggies
Cleaning potatoes with rain water
We cooked and laughed together
The vegetarian stew cooking.
We experienced sacred earthen sites:
The mystical royal hill of Tara,
Sunset over Clow Lough,
Sitting in the Stone Age mounds.
Walking down slowly
Through, now curious, munching sheep,
As puffy white clouds and golden light
Rolled over the bright green hills.
As time marched on we reached
The ancient Abbey of Bective,
With roofless arches and cloisters,
Chapels and halls
Then onto the moats and towers
Restored Trim castle
Roofs, staircases, furnishings
Imagine its lords and ladies,
living the good life.
Back in the home Sheamus’s father built
Heated with local peat bricks
Surrounded by grassy fields for cows
wild flower fields for foxes and badgers
It’s time to say goodbye
And get on our merry way
To explore the rest of Ireland,
And remember to come back soon
To Sheamus and his land.
>>>>>>>>>
Every town has its story
Every town has its story
Kinsale, the Armada that failed
Cork, the birth of Kerry Gold
Dingle, the community of musicians
Early morning towards Dingle lighthouse
Where Fungie the dolphin is memorialized
Sun rising revealing across the bay
And the waters gentle swells
Distant Misty hills
And below me swirling whirlpools
Frothing and foaming
Like grey and white Guinness.
Skellig Michael
Cutting through wind and chop
circling the monk’s island
now home to gannets, puffins
and resting seals
I will return
to climb up
Six hundred steps
to feel beehive homes
to see hump back whales
to hear the nesting puffins
I will return.
Ireland’s true beauty
The depth of Ireland’s beauty
Not the dramatic coastal cliffs
nor Guinness, or fish and chips
nor ancient mystical monuments
nor cathedrals, churches,
castles and abbeys.
The beauty is the people, the poets
the story tellers, the musicians
the whirling tapping dancers
that open your heart
awaken the spirit
You want to dance and sing
to become one with these people
of the Emerald isle.
©MartinStrasmore2022
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