Coole Park in March Twenty Ten
Coole Park in March Twenty Ten
Blackbird song under sun
echoes in sparse gentle rain
Through trees a breeze whispers
rattles twigs on bare branches
That wait expectantly to birth
bud leaf as hesitant Spring lingers
Above gravelled paths trodden
through woodland to lake or garden
Hidden old voices traverse converse
Tracks to collide with modern mind
to hear the intonation, an energy
A creative literary expression
borne in tranquil ancient air
Old inspiration so very rare
To kindle bright fires in the mind.
as a line of white ferries queue
On lakeside to carry earth spirits
from shore to shore across time
Past beyond AE or Yeats or Shaw
Where Tuatha and their Gods dance
forever, still alive noble proud race
On glowing illumined waters an entrance
extends past finger tips pens paint a grace
That human kind interprets tenderly.
As fragile as glass, as bright as bronze
a glimpse of fianna, faery and sidhe
Rise in wood smoke before our eyes
cry tears bereft of a child's vision, yet
We listen and yearn again to see.
©MRL 01-04 -2010
This is a fine poem Mel, finely put together. Thank you for the beauty of your visions and reminiscences.
ReplyDeleteWonderful poem Mel !
ReplyDeleteNice poem, Mel. I thought of you yesterday, as I bought a book on the holy springs and wells of my area - Bath, Bristol and Gloucestershire. It mentions 'The Source' - the society which seeks to protect them all.
ReplyDeleteThank you liZZie ! I actually started the poem in Coole Park where I wrote the first verse and then like a wine it matures gradually.
ReplyDeleteMorgainne you are so kind.
You too Tom thanks for your comment and strangely I was thinking of you yesterday, as you will find out when I post the new blog up later today :)