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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