Short Ulster Poems

Ulster poet Seamus Heaney
ever a favourite with me
In which nostalgic childhood shines through
to become a Nobel winner too...

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I've wandered long through the wilding storm 
And many all-night the cold, 
To meet the turn of the sudden road 
And ever the Word behold....

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In my secret heart I’ve felt
Like a blood-crazed Celt,
Scottish, Irish, either one,
Killing Britons with my gun.

Or with broadsword or with knife,
Dirk, or dagger, taking life
In an Ulster alleyway,
Or Culloden Moor that day.

Smoke and blood on heather grass,
Celtic reverie must pass,
Like a distant, dimming dream
Drowning in a dank, swift stream....

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on way to Ulster
saw a cumbersome cluster
in a big bluster

while amicable
did become despicable
was predictable

when perusing on map
flowing from tree was much sap
between ears big gap

when with day of grace
of what we saw was a trace
egg all over face

when wearing bloomer
based on the latest rumor
died from brain tumor 

being demented
was hard when he had hinted
hair would be tinted

of ice cream ate scoop
saw another nincompoop
doing hula hoop...

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