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Giant’s Causeway and Poet De Vere.

Swallows arrive
From far away lands
Home for the summer
in Legion-like bands
The Curlews look over
A wondrous Lough Arrow
Filling my bones
With joy to the marrow
The Green Glens of Antrim
Where leverets hide
And Fionn’s mighty steps
Are lashed by the tide
Tir Chonaill is sanguine
And lovely Gweedore
Is flaunting sweet music
As royal ones soar
Drays as a team
Stretch sinew and tendon
Wicklow is rife
With pink rhododendrons
A lark in the morning
Sings by the Foyle
Well spoken bards
Read ‘Silent, O Moyle’
Rain softly falls
On brave Enniskillen
I think of such poets
As Ledwidge and Dylan
The Bridge of Athlone
And men without fear
Where cold rushing waters
Inspired De Vere
Mahon’s white falls
And lone Lackendara
Resembling things
In wild Connemara.

See you soon …!

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SpaceX and Listowel Writers.

SpaceX is launching
For Heaven this day
Two stout pioneers
God’s speed on your way
Listowel has fallen
All writers must wait
For paradise lost
John B. at the gate
A boulder-like stone
By castle and keep
Oh Shannon’s clear waters
Where wild salmon leap
Dun Aengus is bearing
Her chest to the sea
Whilst folks walk the boreens
Barefooted and free
A marbleous city
In Leinster’s soft cot
Bewildering hurlers
Each boy girl and tot
Bagenalstown echoes
With chaffinch and sparrow
Brown trout are rising
For flies on the Barrow
Two meters remains
The rule on the chart
Together we stay
By keeping apart
Foxgloves converge
In hedgerows and bars
Wee bells on stalks
Reaching for Mars
The Blaskets are dreamy
The sun is their clock
While beehives sit cozy
And safe on the rock.

I’ll be off…!

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Newgrange # Yeats

Hawthorns are swaying
Outside of Drumcliffe
While herons are patient
Their victims to miff
A Trove of fine treasure
By Boyne’s river mouth
Chests filled with Folklore
In wee county Louth
Swift is the hunter
With arrow and quiver
Softly she rolls
My own Silver River
This pest is upon us
Yet we shall not flinch
With Pike and true valour
We shan’t give an inch
There never has been
A flower so bright
So apt and so scented
The pure Lillie White
No deaths today
A masterful step
Some grist for our mill
A well deserved pep
A large open fire
With crane pot and pan
A gateway of wonder
To when time began
Mysterious Newgrange
A museum of fine art
Carvings in stone
Light to it’s heart
A Leacht is adorning
At Queen Maeve’s grave
And Yeats’ Glencar
Did cleanse Connacht’s brave
Bold Emmet once shouted
Aloud from the dock
‘Be rid of all irons
And banish all stocks’
I faced the great Haka
Performed by the Maori
Then watched the girls dance
Each one had a dowry.

Thanking you ..back soon!

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Mozart # A Concerto

Fierce howling winds
Blow from the Atlantic
Curates and Parsons
And fiddlers are frantic
Windmills are spinning
On far away hills
As waves hit Bundoran
In thunderous spills
St. Mullins is waiting
For news from the Barrow
Limerick’s ploughed gardens
Are ready to harrow
The rich halls of Tara
Where harps did resound
Looked over the plains
Of Hibernia’s Royal ground
Where did young Mozart
Learn how to play?
He learned from the blackbirds
And linnets each day
Young Heaney the poet
Learned how to dig
By watching his father
Stoop slice and jig
I can play a concerto
Self taught may I add
Some reels and some hornpipes
Some airs sweet or sad
How shrill is the call
From pheasant and tern
How dappled the trout
That glints in the Erne
A poet will wander
In bliss all alone
Then pen lines of musings
Before reaching home.

To be contd……!

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O’Brien, Kavanagh # Bloomsday.

Red roses enchanting
Outside of Mooncoin
As sun soaks the valley
Beneath Sliabh na mBan
Blue skies enshrouding
There’s one place to be
Where the Mountains of Mourne
Sweep down to the sea
Folks of good purpose
They chit and they chat
In search of the answers
With hope on the mat
An orchard is thriving
God’s fruit to produce
As horsemen dismount
To enter Dunluce
The fires of Uisneach
They redden the sky
A toast to our Royals
And each passer by
Bold Flann O’Brien
And his black pint of plain
When he met Patrick Kavanagh
A plan set in train
They rode across Dublin
With Joyce on their minds
Re-enacting a Bloomsday
Like no other kind
A place of damnation
Our wonderful west
‘To hell or to Connacht’
At Cromwell’s behest
A bard from the Banner
Left nothing to spare
When he sang of his heaven
The west coast of Clare
Five million people
Splashed by the spray
While legions of victims
Pass on everyday.

To the west….!

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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

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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…..

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New to blogging

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!

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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…..!

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Yeats and No Second Troy. Blog.

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!

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