03-06-2012, 10:29 PM
Edit 2. Billy X 2,erthona
Galway trips to bodhran drums. The rhythm bounces bones
and massages the land into the flesh of those who stay.
Bromine brown, the home hearth peat hangs sepia clouds in reeking air.
Embalmed and gladdened by the smoke, kippered cousins drift like shoals
on Nimmo's south-east pier; fishers all, they shoot the craic, and judge the fickle sky.
The bodhran pulse, sound metronome of life, drifts wind-sheared from the shore;
mixing madrigals of wild excess with songs of shifting shingle and hissing marram grass.
A drowning sun spits gilded flecks upon the hammered pewter bay; where shadow-men,
cast long from black stone quays, flit broken-imaged on the flashing sea.
Then molten red, before the night turns round, ruby dripped ropes are hauled.
Bearded chains strain taught, pluck straight, and flick fat mussels into brine.
Anchors weighed, encrusted more than trust would choose, 'cept to a Galway man,
hang and clang against the heaving bows; the emptied harbour echoes with the sound.
The bodhran makes a maudlin mile, the sombre thuds afloat on dense night air.
A mile, a fractioned second's leap; but soon the boats will ply the tide and league by league
the fading beat will substitute for hearts of men. The Galway fleet is on the swell;
sure, all is well, boys. All is well.
Tectak
Galway
2004
In s1l5 originally was "ghuagach" meaning fickle. Changed to avoid cries of foul, on grounds of obscurity. It is not obscure in Ireland but we are not in Ireland. Irish readers please note. Put it back if you wish but help me with the correct spelling. The word I heard used on many fishing trips but the Irish argued the "h"
after the "g" until all were better informed but none the wiser. Then we came home.[/color]
This is an exercise in lyrical and lilting irish verse. There are way too many adjectives per stanza but it was great fun to write....you may enjoy destroying it!
Galway trips to bodhran drums. The rhythm bounces bones
and massages the land into the flesh of those who stay.
Bromine brown, the home hearth peat hangs sepia clouds in reeking air.
Embalmed and gladdened by the smoke, kippered cousins drift like shoals
on Nimmo's south-east pier; fishers all, they shoot the craic, and judge the fickle sky.
The bodhran pulse, sound metronome of life, drifts wind-sheared from the shore;
mixing madrigals of wild excess with songs of shifting shingle and hissing marram grass.
A drowning sun spits gilded flecks upon the hammered pewter bay; where shadow-men,
cast long from black stone quays, flit broken-imaged on the flashing sea.
Then molten red, before the night turns round, ruby dripped ropes are hauled.
Bearded chains strain taught, pluck straight, and flick fat mussels into brine.
Anchors weighed, encrusted more than trust would choose, 'cept to a Galway man,
hang and clang against the heaving bows; the emptied harbour echoes with the sound.
The bodhran makes a maudlin mile, the sombre thuds afloat on dense night air.
A mile, a fractioned second's leap; but soon the boats will ply the tide and league by league
the fading beat will substitute for hearts of men. The Galway fleet is on the swell;
sure, all is well, boys. All is well.
Tectak
Galway
2004
In s1l5 originally was "ghuagach" meaning fickle. Changed to avoid cries of foul, on grounds of obscurity. It is not obscure in Ireland but we are not in Ireland. Irish readers please note. Put it back if you wish but help me with the correct spelling. The word I heard used on many fishing trips but the Irish argued the "h"
after the "g" until all were better informed but none the wiser. Then we came home.[/color]
This is an exercise in lyrical and lilting irish verse. There are way too many adjectives per stanza but it was great fun to write....you may enjoy destroying it!