The Giant of Lisbellaw
Stood I there, that last day,
On an iron bridge...
An aqueduct by design,
Where, looking dreamily out over
The Ernes Lower Lough,
My compressed shadow
Momentarily paused -
To contently recline:
Amidst coy Junes radiant beams
of sweet benign!
All was stilled, all was hushed,
Save vast reed beds sided by the
Shallow hills of Lisbellaw;
And I am lost to enchantment
Of such beguiling thoughts -
Then noon stumped up...
Squatting idly down on
The far eastern shore.
Stirred bloods mixed and
Glowed,
Risen inside the linings
Of warmed and prominent veins,
Starkly contrasting against a
Bleached and weathered rail of
Coarse and twisted grains;
Whereon, my hands staid by
Wonderment,
I dissected my solitary years
Of three singular and two score
More;
When, suddenly, down the narrow
Lane:
The loudening sounds of
Motoring -
Progressing steadily along
Emanating from a diesels engines
High-torque drawl.
From this carriage alighted an
Elderly man -
But what a giant of a man who
Now stood before!
With shoulders like a Donegal
Bull -
He must have still stood well
Over Six foot- four.
And with a courteous nod of the
Head
To an impassioned peroxide
Blonde,
Whos ample Bosom could bring
Comfort
To any mans bed -
Would such that desire should
Implore,
Stepping assuredly away,
Gently closed the big cars door.
Here was a gentleman schooled
In concision;
He a masterly exponent in the art
Of communication
Made more effective by
Elimination of redundancy;
Economy of language, economy of
Movement...
Deliberate, terse, and very much
Versed,
In this, his brevity of
Installed incumbency.
The thin lines of orange and
Mauve,
Tracing like fizzing peat turf
Flame,
That squared within his pale
Blue shirt,
Criss-crossing at right angles
Across
His torsos colossal frame;
Where one could plainly see,
With merely just a single glance,
Demonstration of a mighty fulcrum
Centred by the heavy silvered
Buckle -
Whose leather belt drew in at the
Neatly pressed pleats
Of the softly blackened corduroy
Pants.
Compromised somewhat,
And anticipating a reaction
That might be considered rather
awkward and a little adverse...
Suggested by the immense manner
Of ambling approach,
I stumbled over meaningless
Words
As I struggled for something,
However nonsensical,
To almost apologetically broach:-
"There is rather few Bream",
Said I -
"But the river is brimming over
With plentiful good sized Roach"!
A quizzical look flickered and then
Mapped itself
Over that impassive face,
A look that younger or more
Foolish folks
Might have mistakenly
Misinterpreted as an arrogant
Reproach.
Stared he down into the glare
Of the rippled depths...
As if examining the thinness of
My mortal soul;
Stared he distractedly across
The bays great expanse
As if imploring unto mysterious
Currents,
Swimming with beguiling Nivian
In swirling dalliance,
That may offer up, like Excalibur -
Some fantastic vision to behold!
Intently pondering;
Perhaps, I reasoned, In search of
His forefathers soothing muses of
Old
Drawn from legend of folklore:
Doubtless could fortify depleted wit...
And thereby his heart console;
Wherefore, in slow response...
The worthiness of this bridge he
Didst prepare,
Therefore - to so virtuously extol!
A dialect, commanded by
Measured brogue,
That over me enveloped
Like fog upon Cuilcaghs mystical
Hills of continually eroding
Sandstones,
Developed through ancestral
Enhancement...
Indelibly immersed in Fermanaghs
Guttural and broad undertones;
Enriched by successive generations
Rejoicing in their Heavenly bower:
Now just buried bones
Rehearsed and blessed in public
Liturgies
Delivered under Alberts great
Tower -
Upon whose mouldering caskets
The bells striking chimes
So forcefully atones;
And a voice brought hence to this
Place,
A voice born to converse in
Singularly articulated lines...
Fortified by propriety of grace...
Whence he spoke:-
"GOOD WORK - DONE BY GOOD MEN -
FROM OLDEN TIMES"!
Without more ado, and uncaring of
An answer,
He turned and strode away;
Leaving me feeling,
During that brief intrusion of
Heavenly interplay,
As if this had been one of Gods
Emissaries descended,
During zenith of Prime Meridian,
Upon this devoid and hushed
Highway.
Quickly re-ensconced,
As if demanded by higher
Authority
To react swiftly through
Necessity of immediate response,
Bridling horsepower once again
Reined;
Mighty pistons, growling to life,
Contained -
Within the exploding bore and all
Its fiery strife!
Wherein the cast block:
Pivotal rods pushing down hard upon
A ground cranks bolted constrains -
When powering my receding vision
Away...
Away into the diminishing dusts of
Hosannas racing refraines.
Left alone,
With head bowed in silent
Deference...
For the ruminations of an older
And wiser mans preference,
I knew that I would forever
Remember
This revered and most hallowed
Day.
For now committed to mind -
Be that Bridges steadfast and
Enduring designs...
And those eternal words...
"GOOD WORK - DONE BY GOOD MEN -
FROM OLDEN TIMES"!
A TRUE STORY THAT HAPPENED TO ME 16 YEARS AGO.
Copyright © John Fleming | Year Posted 2016
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