Sadhbh and the Supermoon (Sadhbh:Sive..in English)
The wooded colonnade is still
And evening cloud
Hangs like a baldachin
Heathers are fanned
As gossamer strings swirl in unison
Like a trillion fairy skipping ropes
The airborne cloak dissipates
Momentarily
And there it is
The Supermoon
Gleaming in it’s fanfare
Clear and deity-like
A bright new world is born
All in a twinkle
From lovely
To loveliness
Like Sadhbh from a doe.
Tom Clancy 18/11/16
Percy French # Guinness.
The battle of Aughrim
Fierce slaughter ensued
Yet as with the virus
Our folk were imbued
Restrictions are easing
One small step today
From Kerry to Cavan
The eighteenth of may
Freshly cut grasses
Waft in the air
O’er hills and through copses
There’s none to compare
Propeller-like flowers
Outside of my door
Twisted pink petals
Perfumed to the core
Daisies are dancing
Oh how Haute Couture
In Lismore and Frenchpark
And wild Glenmalure
Blue skies today
So onwards I’ll roam
With winds from the south
To carry me home
The prowler is lurking
Oh such is our task
Be silent in battle
We shan’t slip our mask
For one pint of Guinness
I’d travel ten miles
Barefooted and dreaming
I’d swim seven Niles
The black burnt aroma
Around James’ Gate
And pure porter farts
The broad winds of fate.
Shan’t be long…..
Hi out there !
Ok so I’m new to this amazing world of blogging!
A big thank you to those who have liked or commented on my blogs so far. As you can see they are a series rhyming quatrains and are a basic cocktail of life during covid nineteen(I started keeping this diary around mid may), my musings and anything Irish. In fact if you don’t know anything about my beautiful country just google any unfamiliar word, line or other contained in the blog and you’ll learn an enormous variety of information about Ireland ‘ The Emerald Isle’.
Thanks again talk soon,
Tom.
PS I can be contacted at tommerclancy9@gmail.com!
Big oak trees from little acorns grow!
Ray Charles and Goddess Dana.
No breast of medals
No flouncy cockade
Gives one permission
To hog the parade
As one we are mighty
Apart we will fall
Oarsmen in tandem
Are smoothest of all
Show no disrespect
No fear or no scorn
Look straight ahead
And you’ll feel reborn
The blackthorn it blossoms
In thickets and rows
I foresee a harvest
Of wondrous sloes
Sun drenched long evenings
You’ve come back once more
To glow on our shadows
Through every half door
That lucky old sun
Aint got nothing to do
He aint got no master
He aint got no crew
So sing hallelujah
Give praise and stand tall
The river’s before us
Clear of the falls
Sweet Goddess Dana
Please shine down a light
On Erin’s green valleys
To rid us of blight
I gaze at the bird bath
They frolic and play
With frenzied ablutions
Same time everyday
The fairies are meeting
At sweet Dunamaise
A magic convention
All subjects they’ll raise
The dolphins look tiny
From mighty Sliabh League
Pods swimming in circles
Small hoops of intrigue.
Thanks for tuning in…..!
W.B Yeats and No Second Troy. Blog.
I met Christy Brady
The script he did print
Our fine proclamation
Still glued to the plinth
If they only knew then
What Ireland knows now
Would their dreams be in tatters
Would they lay down the plough
I wore the green shamrock
The black eagle with pride
The bold harp of Leinster
With passion inside
Lets all pull together
And go to the forge
We’ll strike the steel anvil
In victory we’ll gorge
Frederick Douglas
They did liberate
A friend of O’Connell
He fought strife and hate
Sheebeg Sheemore
O’Carolan’s sweet song
A real Second Troy?
To Leitrim belongs
Nails of strong keratin
Plucking the strings
Wonderful planxties
Fit for a king
Sport has been cancelled
No puck from the hurl
No snip from the barber
Heads full of curls
If I were a mariner
I’d seek the blue seas
I’d swim in lagoons
And dry off in the breeze
On warm starry nights
I would follow the whales
And thank God above
For the wind in my sails.
Oops the wind is up..bye for now!
September 29, 2016
Oak-Leaf Child
(Seamus Heaney RIP)
A chalk-white cob
Sweeps over the Foyle today
And a warming sun lends a peaceful smile.
A linnet sings at Iniskeen
As the bright one glides beadily
Through honeyed tones of sweet words floating.
Northern breezes swirl and pirouette
Round Derry’s walls to Bellaghy.
Tiny seeds parachute and disperse
Enhancing many landscapes,
A gilt edged legacy.
Softly spoken man,
Oak-leaf child,
Sleep easy.
Stevie Wonder 70
Stevie’s turned seventy
How can that be?
I thought him much older
Much older than me
Reams of great lyrics
Like hymns from the bees
They say you are blind
But yet you can see
McGuinness is strumming
Some tunes from the hill
A lark stops to listen
While Wexford is still
Oh lest I forget this
The sun lost it’s shine
The day that the heavens
Took witty John Prine
Dean Jonathan Swift
Sat in his boat
Lilliput dazzled
While he was afloat
We feel so important
Yet we’re really quite small
A tiny wee speck
In the scheme of it all
Summer is here
Tho’ a northern breeze blows
Cooling the whins
As fawns wait for does
Creedo was spinning
He played Bob again
His five millionth song
Some man with the pen
I’d say he’s now writing
With tears in his eyes
Not gloating on stardom
Or famed Nobel prize.
And the times they a-changin’……!
Florence 1820.
A Nightingale sings
After two hundred years
Soldiers of God
On treacherous frontiers
The bright one’s cocooning
Beyond in the park
A true voice of freedom
A light in the dark
Just like Matt Talbot
We are in chains
We’re all at the mercy
Of medics with brains
The stench of dead heroes
Lying in the mud
Now poppies are blooming
In France for all good
Those in the trenches
Or on the frontline
Their names will be chiseled
In stone for all time
Bewley’s is closing
The word’s on the green
With Harry Clarke windows
The best ever seen
Ground coffee wafting
And muses you’d meet
Dublin’s own heaven
Along Grafton Street
A mother once nurtured
At dawn in Dundrum
Eavan the poet
The woman-the mum
Shannon keep flowing
Such things you have seen
From Famine to peace talks
To Covid 19.
I will arise and go now…..back soon!
Covid Days # Covid Ways
A wop bop a loo bop
A lop bamboom
Poor Little Richard
Has just left the room
Bewick and Hooper
And snowy Mute Swan
Children of Lir
And cold Una bhan
Dylan is singing
Of murder most foul
Bealtaine spirits
Are out on the prowl
Huge basking sharks
Off cliffs at Kilkee
No noise pollution
Bombarding the sea
Stones say they’re living
In a ghost town
Shane misses Soho
With rain pissing down
Career agitators
Don’t need a mask
Capricious objectors
In ignorance bask
I wonder what words
From those seven tongues
Would leave Arbour Hill
If they only had lungs?
Outside Carrickfergus
And near Spancill Hill
Bluebells are jingling
As gluttons hunt krill
Behemoth-like airships
Remain in their berths
For now they’re not spewing
Their puke on our earth
I loved to wake up
When the world was all new
To crows in the trees
And O’Donnell Abu
Elfland’s royal princess
Once had a great will
Dunsany’s creation
Flowed off of his quill
The Land of the Youth
By name Tir na nOg
Where Oisin and Niamh
Inspired Boolavogue
Old folks are falling
Their bravery we’ll miss
They once fought the devil
And don’t deserve this.
Ill be back……
Corona Diaries and other stuff.
Catalpa please come
And take us away
Away from corona
To far Botany Bay
Stockmen will wait
With lamb on the spit
Then we’ll pray
For the lost ones
And true Irish grit
Dublin is quiet
I hear a door mouse
While old ghosts sit lonely
In each public house
The birds how they sing
There’s hope on the lake
With sparrows and cuckoos
And Latin corn crakes
Bushels of grain
Sailed from the docks
And we were just left
To cling to the rocks
Black forty seven
It came and it went
Skeletal urchins
To heaven were sent
We’ve suffered before
We thought on the hoof
When rabbiter’s prices
They shot through the roof
Christmas is distant
We must isolate
Our neighbours and Boris
Have walked out the gate
Perpetual motion
Produced by the sea
Will make cleaner power
For you and for me
Donald is tweeting
Of what I don’t know
It could be of China
Of Cork or Mayo
The bulrush is buoyant
For only a while
And those who are ruling
Shall pass through the stile
I painted a monster
Twas chieftain by name
Built to cause mayhem
With thunder and flame
Yet there it lay sleeping
Far from the war
In Wicklow’s green garden
With no hidden door.
Number one of many many many…..
Click to buy for Kindle.
Tom Clancy, Trad, Folk, Musician
