This Hallowed Ground Free Derry is
Where once the martyrs bled.
It’s such a merry merry place,
Yet full of reverence for the dead,
Where from the soil of tragedy,
Watered with blood and tears,
The flowers of love bloom graciously
Beyond those evil years.
Two little girls their heads now pop
Above the terrace wall.
Their shouts and laughter will not stop,
And on an on I return their call.
Thus Bobby Sands has his revenge
Now with their shouts of joy,
And peace and justice will arrange
A shining bright new day.
And I, now lost, two women ask
To help me, and they do.
I jig and reel and happily bask
In their love of home so true.
One shows me the way
To where I stay
And tells me that she feels
As though she’s known me all her life
And throws her arms around my neck
And issues a cackling laugh
In the city of muralled walls
This first day of the week.
My lodgings here are cozy in the Abbey B&B
Where I can leave my door unlocked.
My good friend Séamus Ó Cinnéide
Sneaks up on me while I work
On this poem
Before I hit the street and roam.
Two gents down in the Central Bar
Have stood me drink on drink.
The people here my family are.
We many a sláite clink.
I stroll along the heavy wall
Not many ages old,
That many a battle can recall,
With cannon long since stilled.
I cross the lovely Peace Bridge
That elegantly curves, all while
The cold wind blows along the edge
From off the River Foyle.
And then I walk through Brooke Park’s lawn
The dry leaves issuing their scent,
As the magic goes on and on
Though summer came and went.
But most the Cathedral of St. Eugene
I stop to kneel and pray
In the finest church I’ve ever seen,
And it’s open every day.
The ladies polish brass and floor
With reverence from above.
From the altar to the door,
I feel a Holy Love.
I hold my Guadalupe now,
And now I pray and kneel,
And you are here, but who knows how?
Your loving presence too I feel.
There’s something that I leave here,
There’s something I must do.
When I return, you needn’t fear,
For you are coming too.
I lay my shoe and sock
Upon the hard and loving rock
Upon the sandy strand.
I feel your loving hand.
I stand upon the strand.
The tide rolls in on me.
I slide into an altered state
Within the sounding sea,
And feel you now my gentle mate.
Your heart is here with me,
Here where my memory
Softly speaks to me.
Two fishing boats, they lie at roads,
Not bringing in their payday loads,
The first gale of the season
Perhaps the reason
They went not out today.
The storm is on its way.
How many times their women’s fear
Sped them forth to grief,
So many many a widow’s tear
In Our Lady only found relief.
Last night we saw the Milky Way,
My gentle friends and I,
While they led me on my way,
Their loving dinner served.
The starry light like planets bright
Amid the black of night
That holds the sky.
If I could be Proprietor
Of all of Ireland,
I’d trade every inch of it for the touch
Of your strong and loving hand.
Ten trillion dollars isn’t much
And never even more
Against the wrath of your violent kiss.
This is what I miss.
But soon I will be flying home,
Coming home to never roam
Without you by my side,
My darling bride.
No, I will roam no more
When I hold you at the threshold of the door.
I board the final ferry
Late in the afternoon.
The first gale of the season
Will be roaring soon.
On the lonely Isle of Turk
Where fair friends bid me well,
There the sailors do their work,
And we cast into the swell.
The passengers below,
Beneath the roof they crowd.
The wind begins to blow.
The waves start growing loud,
While here above we sit,
Two Donegal gents and I.
The swell grow bigger every minute,
The storm is closing the westerly sky.
The surf is breaking tall and white
On the cliffs of a desert rock.
The rain is coming into sight.
The boat begins to rock.
The swells grow bigger by the minute.
I see the whitecaps now.
The swaying boat and everyone in it
Grow more tense somehow.
I grip the rails hard, fore and side,
And brace myself and buck
Out in the wind enjoying the ride
Against the ocean’s knock.
And for one future moment,
I see us not far hence
Locked in some heated moment,
Burning, bright, intense.
By now our vessel’s landing,
And moored at Roonagh Pier,
And everyone is standing,
And all are running clear,
I start the car and drive away
With but most cautious care,
And then to Westport make my way
And find my lodgings there.
A drizzle light and stiff cool wind
Come upon this street,
And I the pub An File find,
And settle down to drink and eat.
Through close Medieval streets I wander,
Famous made by a poet’s wonder,
Toward this modernist hotel four-star,
With you afar, afar, afar.
I will not lose my way this time.
These Irish streets
Begin to look the same more all the time,
And time retreats.
In Sligo Cathedral in the darkened nave,
The Rosary I pray and genuflect
Upon the Stations of the Cross
Within the peace I crave,
Here the world cannot the spirit toss,
Here for Christ lies all respect.
Returning then, I find that gift for you
That I with careful thought planned.
I carry now this gift for you,
A Claddagh for your kindly hand.
The carillon will ring the ghostly hour
When time stands still,
And on these streets his strange poetic power:
The Old Master is with us still.
The swans both cob and pen now lead their cygnets
To sail and feed on the River Garavoge.
My task is done, I’m coming home,
Where I await your hug,
My Spanish Lady Fair who waits
And all her kisses saves
For me beyond the airport gates
And across the many waves.
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