In Church Street
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Shared by David Kissane on Facebook
And more wild orchids flourishing in our land in Lisselton, with a host of bees and butterflies in the May sun! That’s the top of Cnoc an Fhómhair in the background.
And a poem about a strange man who cut turf here one time…
The Man With the Sleán
By David Kissane
I met a man on Lacca Hill
On a summer day when the sky was still
There were larks’ song’s music all around
But his head was turmoiled towards the ground
His sleán was idle in his hand
An uncut turf-bank was his stand
His gait said soon my world will end
In style and substance he was condemned.
His drooping shoulders said let it be
There were stitches dropped in his tapestry
His essence drained by the every day
His unstoried life in a raging May
I looked away for words to speak
That wisdom’s wings would touch my cheek
I absorbed the valley down below
Saw a blackthorn flower that would be a sloe
I perused the bridge by the rippling stream
Where old Brennan ironed the wooden wheels
There were shimmering fields down in Loughanes
And bees were buzzing round buachalláns
There was hope and beauty in every patch
From Rathoona’s waters to Farnastack
So I turned to him who was sad that day
With an arsenal of words I had to say
But when I arched to see his face
There was no one there, just an empty space
And a splink of wisdom on me did dawn
-That I was the man with the idle sleán
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In My Favourite Charity Shop
Happy, Smiling volunteers, Nuala, Hannah and Mary in the St. Vincent de Paul shop, Listowel on Friday May 24 2024
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The Maid Of Sweet Coolard
A poem I found in Maurice O’Mahony’s History of Coolard School.
The poem is by D.C. Hennessy.
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A Fact
Today’s fact is not a fact per se. It is a definition from my newly acquired Devil’s Dictionary. Since it has more than a grain of truth in it, it is nearly a fact.
Eloquence; The art of orally persuading fools that white is the colour that it appears to be. It includes the gift of making any colour appear white.
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