A Roundabout

Ballybunion Road entrance to the cycle path

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Simple and beautiful playthings

When did you last see a child play with marbles? These primitive toys were cheap and colourful. and hours of fun.

My collection

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Roundabout on the Ballybunion Road

This roundabout takes you away from town and on to the relief road for Tralee.

This is the commemorative stonework marking the official opening of the new road.

The stonework is beautiful.

I’m presuming the stones were carved by B. Leen and C. O’s.

I have no idea what the significence of this is. Could it be that we’re all broken but there is a golden core of goodness in everyone?

Maybe not.

There is a bit of celtic knotwork on this stone. I know a man who thinks that Listowel deserves the title of the World Centre of Celtic Art.

I don’t know if this roundabout has a name. If it doesn’t, may I suggest calling it after John Pierse. It is located beside Teampall Bán. John did Listowel a huge service by researching and documenting the history of this place of pain and anguish…Listowel’s worst wound.

Because of John and his beloved Tidy Town group we will never forget.

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Progress at Lidl site

I’m a bit behind with my photos.

This looks to me like a huge building project.

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A Poem

On Lough Annagh, Co. Mayo

The Fisherman

by W. B. Yeats

Although I can see him still— 

The freckled man who goes 

To a gray place on a hill 

In gray Connemara clothes 

At dawn to cast his flies— 

It’s long since I began 

To call up to the eyes 

This wise and simple man. 

All day I’d looked in the face 

What I had hoped it would be 

To write for my own race 

And the reality: 

The living men that I hate, 

The dead man that I loved, 

The craven man in his seat, 

The insolent unreproved— 

And no knave brought to book 

Who has won a drunken cheer— 

The witty man and his joke 

Aimed at the commonest ear, 

The clever man who cries 

The catch cries of the clown, 

The beating down of the wise 

And great Art beaten down. 

Maybe a twelve-month since 

Suddenly I began, 

In scorn of this audience, 

Imagining a man, 

And his sun-freckled face 

And gray Connemara cloth, 

Climbing up to a place 

Where stone is dark with froth, 

And the down turn of his wrist 

When the flies drop in the stream— 

A man who does not exist, 

A man who is but a dream; 

And cried, “Before I am old 

I shall have written him one 

Poem maybe as cold 

And passionate as the dawn.”

A Fact

Alcoholics Anonymous was founded in Ohio in the USA in 1935.

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