Best Lough Poems
Summer's sweet swans share
white winged feathers
Wild and free as they bow their
long graceful necks.
Artistic as a poet's painting
of fecund flora,
Nature's lough at Coole, their
peaceful dwelling place.
These white majestic creatures
swim silently near shore,
Aesthetics adorn blue wondrous
waters in a white flotilla
As reposeful ripples evenly extend
to encompass the heart.
Coole's liquid sheen shimmers in
Lugh's luminous aquatic
Oneness, as mating pairs begin
their winsome waltz
On placid waters where swan
calls echo in stereo.
Lilac's sweet scent in breezes
serene and romantic
Elevate the soul as evening's
elysium visions enshrine.
6-27-20
~First Place~
Summer Love Poetry Contest
Sponsor Chantelle Anne Cooke
*Coole: ( Irish: An Chúil) is a village in County Westmeath, Ireland
*Lough - Irish word for a lake - a body of (usually fresh) water surrounded by land
*Lugh-the god whose name means "shining one" was a Celtic sun god.
https://youtu.be/RsImDaZzDUQ
Erin Go Bragh
At Ben Bulben’s feet Sligo stands,
The home of such creative hands
Where poet William Yeats did grow.
The Nobel Prize his poems did know.
On my trip to this emerald isle,
I yearned to visit a long while.
As sun poured through the misty sky,
Shedding warmth with its golden eye,
I stood beside the lough in awe
At dancing diamonds that I saw
Near Connemara’s tall twelve bens
O’er lands of ancient souls that wends.
I sense their haunting watchful eyes
And feel my roots where rivers rise.
I hear their voices lost at sea,
They echo on eternally;
As with the thousands who took flight
During the worst potato blight.
Their sadness streams across the seas
Where most souls died with unheard pleas.
Those sad and tragic days long past,
And Erin’s joys returned at last
To verdant Lee and sandy shores,
To music heard across the moors,
To people with the kindest hearts,
Is what this isle to me imparts.
Repost from © 2013
*Erin go bragh means "Ireland Forever"
*lough means a lake
*Ben means Irish, a mountain peak
Happy St. Patrick's Day Everyone!
My thanks to this wonderful website:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VAviOxkIhXE
Without doubt a small isle but one of natural beauty
Such a tranquil emerald place, the Isle of Innisfree
Set in Irelands Lough Gill in the County of Sligo
And holds for me fond memories of so long ago.
I met my first love at the loughs shore, a pretty colleen
Grace Ann was her name and she was just sixteen
And that first long hot summer that we spent together
Still plays on my mind and the love we had for each other.
We'd row across to the Isle often and stay all day long
And spent many hours talking and singing our song
A pact we both made, that we'd be together for life
I as her loving husband and she as my loving wife.
We'd dream of building a house there, just her and me
And later we'd have children, our very own family
We would have a laugh about that, it was just fantasy
But I knew that we'd be happy wherever we'd be.
We finished school in September and were waiting to see
If we'd been successful in our application, for Dublin Uni
Sadly, some of our friends, had their application's rejected
But Grace and I'd been lucky because we'd been accepted.
The week before our departure , she went with some friends to town
And as they crossed a busy road, a drunk driver mowed them down
Two of her friends were slightly injured but Grace died at the scene
Her young life taken from her; she'd just turned seventeen.
I became very withdrawn and just wished it'd been me
And lost interest in everything and even a place at uni
I went to the funeral home to see, one last time her pretty face
And there in a white coffin lay an angel; my beautiful Grace.
I blamed myself for her death; she'd wanted to stay in with me
But I said "Go out with your friends and have a farewell party"
After her funeral I left for England and joined the merchant navy
In the hope I'd leave behind memories of that awful tragedy.
I couldn't face going back home and its now been thirty years
Just the thought of going back there would fill my eyes with tears
In my free time I'd go up on deck and just stare out to sea
And my mind would drift back to that summer, with Grace and Innisfree.
Written 11th December 2020.
Inspired by The Lake Isle Of Innisfree by Irish Poet W. B. Yeats
At Ben Bulben’s feet Sligo stands
The home of such creative hands
Where poet William Yeats did grow.
The Nobel Prize his poems did know.
On my trip to this emerald isle,
I yearned to visit a long while.
As sun poured through the misty sky
Shedding warmth with its golden eye,
I stood beside the lough in awe
At dancing diamonds that I saw
Near Connemara’s tall twelve bens
O’er lands of ancient souls that wends.
I sense their haunting watchful eyes
And feel my roots where rivers rise.
I hear the voices lost at sea,
They echo on eternally;
As with the thousands who took flight
During the worst potato blight.
Their sadness streams across the seas
Where most souls died with unheard pleas.
Those sad and tragic days long past,
And Erin’s joys returned at last
To verdant Lee and sandy shores
To music heard across the moors,
To people with the kindest hearts
Is what this isle to me imparts.
© 2013
*Erin go bragh means Ireland Forever
*lough means a lake
*Ben means Irish, a mountain peak
In the lough near Kylemore Abbey
Floats a little green fishing boat.
It wears with pride its battered paint,
From years of wear it lost its coat.
It made bitter the old man's heart
After sweet Emma passed away.
He now keeps next to home and hearth
As all his days are colored grey.
No persuasion can coax him back
To do what he once loved to do.
He was fishing when Emma died,
Even though she begged him not to.
Emma had been ill for some time;
A long spell since he'd heard laughter.
She felt that day that she would die.
Guilt would plague him ever after.
In verdant park her gravestone stands.
Her sense of sweetness still abides
In the old cottage they both shared,
Along with him her ghost resides.
8-17-16
Note: lough sounds like lock and means a lake
My poem was inspired by the titles of the six popular novels of
My favorite lady poet and writer Miss Jane Austen. One word from
each novel is included in my poem.
Title's of Miss Austen's Books:
Northanger Abbey
Persuasion
Pride and Prejudice
Emma
Sense and Sensibility
Mansfield Park
chieftains trade their loyalty behind the clouds
high mountain king Carrantouhil commanding his Macgillycuddy Reeks
men of begotten rank, scheming skulduggery
secrets hide out of sight, Comeragh mystery shrouds Coumshingaun
flighty earls flee from the Lough Swilly shore
priests conspire, a king, a queen, a lord-protectorate exact revenge
imported evil stalks the land and soul of Ireland
near-on half give way, massacre, starvation, transportation and slavery
annexation by stealth, abomination
exposed Shannon artery, remorseless draining through lakes of tears
solidified karst corpses dissolving
into central mireland, ringed by coastal ramparts and remnant towers
turloughs disappear where the ground is leaking
playboys drink from black frothy pools of humour where the craic is good
where sad refrain gives way to rhythmic distraction
where song, stories, poetry, plays and dance merge in murky island brews
native chiefs are stripped of their Ulster lands
to control, anglicise and civilise a rebellious region
the area most resistant to English rule
official and private plantation, top to bottom colonisation
Gaelic hands across the channel disrupted
Scottish and English incomers, presbyterian and church of England
town and country, protestant domination
Irishmen uniting for briefest moments on higher ground
descent into cold depths of history
the Cliffs of Moher plunging from The Burren's bald barren bleakness
disfigured fingers pointing blame, shame and guilt
like the peninsular lands, Beara to Iveragh, Mizen to Dingle
stretching out to a new land of migrating hope
escaping hunger and abuse of long-robed men and women
the stifling heavy hand of implanted culture
two main layers of tradition now overlaying an unfathomable past
Freshwater slumbers,
From the calm whisper of reeds:
The tranquil lough sleeps.
Far out to sea in the great expanse of water an island lies
Shaped like a crescent or bulls horns called the islands of the moon.
White sands blown by gentle winds and washed by azure sea
Lush forests filled with abundant shrubs and every fruiting tree.
Animals roar and squeak some crawl and slither by
The cool thermal air with everything that can fly.
The outer ridge is like a sheer cliff wall where gannets dive,
While within the crescent is calm and peace as gentle breakers roll.
Clear green water with no weed clog shelter exquisite reef
Where turtles come ashore at night to lay their precious eggs.
Sea maids stretch out on the sands and sing their wandering song
And passing whales reply with notes ponderous and long.
Butterflies in glorious colour, cloud and gather in flittery throng
While hummingbirds buzz and sup sweet nectar juice all day long.
Caterpillars smoking hooka pipes sending smoky tendrils high,
Moths both small and mighty trying to be the best in the sky.
Within the central island a lough spreads and expands,
Where waterfowl of everykind swim with nests close at hand.
There is a mountain tall that towers over them all,
Caring and protecting from stormy weather squall.
His name is not known to mortals like you and I.
His children alone know to pronounce it you would die.
The islands of the Moon lie far out in the great sea,
Tales alone are all we know as no eye has ever seen.
Sailors, pirates and all who sail the mighty seas of the world,
Under darken sky and myriad star all tell of something odd
When on a misty night as the doldrums have taken hold,
Sometimes can be heard the song of sea maids bold.
To search all the seas would take a lifetime or more,
Better to be safe asleep in hammock till ye snore.
(C) Andrew Mcintyre
Strange sedition stealthy sets
cloaked in artificial greening phiz
some by prejudice inquiring,
“Where are you from”?
others in feigning frame avoiding,
finding paths away from you,
Though harmless your looks.
There be those secluding,
choosing space dodging.
deliberate speed the drama,
of Conceited Bias unspoken,
The loss of childhood innocence,
Deprivation infinite,
miscarriages of Justice,
preferential treatments innumerable,
spites and Obvious denigration,
strange glare on nature's kiln,
The sun made me shine little mind,
I don't envy You in this cold.
The spite, multitudinous,
The Jeers, unprovoked contumely,
At work,
The Bus,
the Malls,
The elevator,
the peevish looks,
uncertain repudiations,
Even in Church secluded,
The brief suspense at the “sacred” ground
Exclusivity,
We see it, watching in silence.
Some time too Obvious,
Unspoken Nepotism,
“We first”, You Last or voided.
The denigrating use of “Minority or Others”
As though the described are less human,
I am African, NOT "minority" or "others"
we know these sieving schemes.
In civility we ignore,
A better knowledge Leads
This dying carcass a mere container,
We are not inferior,
we are not a threat,
We are beautiful ,
We observe,
We lough at these ,
And when the manacles of Justice is snapped by the creator of colors
then shall you know,
We are all sojourners here.
Yesterday it was
me in the dust-
while you in the
peanacle
How u loughed
at me,
But today a
different story
I choose not to
lough for i know
tommorow the
opposite might
be truth for me
So i will pray
for your up-
comings-while i
fight to keep my
position
A misty morning in Donegal.
My sheep are scattered over bog.
Must wipe the sand man from sleepy eyes.
Put on the kettle when I rise.
Rex is already outside half door.
He senses mist may rise some more.
No delay on this most Irish day.
Drink my cup and let's be away.
The little windey road ahead
leads to bridge then gap in hedge.
Where they escaped once before.
Those silly sheep now over Barnesmore.
At brow of hill I see Lough Eske.
The view always takes my breath.
Away Rex, lets get started.
At the escape hatch through which they parted.
Staff in hand I guide them in
Whistle to Rex what a good dog he's been.
This time ensure gap is closed.
Home in time to enjoy repose.
Rough as in ruff,
Spelling can be tough
Though as in fro,
Just so you know
Bough as in how,
Seldom seen now
Cough as in doff,
Just laugh it off
Lough as in lock,
Spelling can rock
Enough!
Enough!
Enough!
written May 21, 2022
A fertile wind lures a petting call
from the bull who will swim the Lough.
Immortality lurks within its perfume
of dynasty and a future king.
The scent of tomorrow makes love extinct
for our genes are perfumed with success.
Prada and Versace can make the lemon sweet
but the offspring will question this statue,
we call David.
Poets will bleed a loves embrace
this beauty of presence a royal write.
While nature spins the spiders web
of a lover who creates life with death.
These tears will soon be forgotten,
in the rose that greets the winter.
For love grows cold in the markets of man.
But love should not be abandoned
for creation is a spiritual thing.
As the warrior holds his head against the tree,
unspoken words transcend this earth
that only his isolation can see.
And in its meaning
love can find a nobility,
that prostitution will never be.
Love was a word that once made empires fall,
now reduced in the confetti of modernisation.
A face book soul caught in the pouting lips
of adolescence,
staring into the depths of an old man unseen.
And the obese teenager that parents adore
go blind to this locked door .
While mirrors delight in snow white dreams
and a wardrobe that secretly desires perversion.
For the window of **** gags for that.
Sex is the ticket to the premiere
that eventually all her friends will see
and the weak will be the spillage
Of a corn sack filled
by a man that only a rapist will see.
Walk into this gas chamber
And succumb to a kiss,
prostituted by a River Island fee
and a Rimmel greasy lipstick.
That makes the suitor hard
inflamed by the chemical caress of perfume
which will procreate another lost child
Into oblivion.
And love will show its face once more
In the bottle of regret
and a being too fat to work.
Spilling the grease from his chips
while watching the latest premiere
Of another adolescent dream
life must go on........
happiness must not stop.............
even though u leave me.........
i left alone , but life must go on........
cry a lot but in alone....
being sad.....but not share.....
have problems adjust with them.....
but life must go on.....
cant sleep...take a pill
cant lough..just make it on......
don't complaint... just go through it......
night is temporary..just wait for the shine...
because life must go on.......
no no no like this life cant be going on...
just ask what u want.....
just say what you need.....
just show what you have.......
may this is quite dramatic.....
but that's the way life must be.....
and happiness will be there ......
if only you ask life to be going on....
The Bough
My pretty lady, how art thou?
My eyes are glued to thy picture now
And I can't help but wonder how
Thy lips I'll kiss someday, if thou would allow.
Many a king, at your beauty would bow
Offer themselves, your fields to plough
Buy thee loads of diamonds, ferried on a scow
And build thee a palace, by a peaceful lough
Not a noble; I work hard, till sweat falls off my brow
Yet,thoughts of thee are always in my heart somehow
And I wonder if my lady can truly avow
That, though there be nobles on thy tree of friends, I will be the bough