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Best Poems Written by Tadgh Quill-Manley

Below are the all-time best Tadgh Quill-Manley poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

Details | Tadgh Quill-Manley Poem

The South of France

She walked along the promenade 
Joined by her dog
She was so awfully glad

Here, there were the rollerblades 
And all the tourists out in cascades 
It was down on the beach
Where they joined the tide
And the tumultuous heat
Never, ever, left their side

From the road
There was a view
That of the sea
Its water - rich and blue

The lifeguard went about his day 
No problems yet
What else could he say?

To many, success was rare 
But on a day like this 
Who else would still care?
For the sand was warm 

And gone was the storm 
That had plagued
The ice cream sales 
Yesterday.

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The Life of 'AE'

On a mild Spring’s night
In the heartlands of Ulster 
A prodigious child was born 
For Ireland, to save her

A man of modest means 
Yet formidable wit
The mystics he joined 
A cause to commit

In poems and paintings
He found self expression 
Yet through a noble pursuit 
Would leave his impression

He traversed the country
On a campaign of recruitment
To free the impoverished through struggle 
And the Co-operative movement

With Horace Plunkett and Connolly 
He struggled for justice
Yet the Gombeens and the despots
Outweighed Caesar Augustus

Though Russell did not stop 
In this quest for social reform 
From misery to prosperity
One sought to transform

But the inconsiderate dogma 
Of the Irish Free State 
Meant to delay his mission 
As the ‘Homestead’ must wait

George William Russell grew older 
Crippled by usury
To wretched cancer, succumbed 
Rest in peace, ‘AE’

Details | Tadgh Quill-Manley Poem

The Grand Town of Macroom

Along the Muskerry Light Railway
One can watch the flowers bloom
It will not be much longer now
’Til the old town of Macroom

Arriving at the station
Collecting bags from overhead
To depart I am too keen
After all it is just not
The train letting off steam

The cattle mart’s in action
I better not be late
As a deal on a good Dexter cow
In the next lot I await

A good time to grab the paper
And some salted butter too
The Urban District Council is convening
I wonder what they’ll do

Sods of turf are being loaded
On a cart they’ll set their course
Up the dirt road to Clondrohid
The little donkey’s tour-de-force

I ask for the donkey’s name
“Father Peadar,” I am told
“A good writer he must be,” I said
A decision rather bold

To my lodgings, I head forth
Owned by a local businessman
No need to pay ‘till signing out
That sounds like a plan

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Dear, Ballyvourney

Located deep in the Muskerry Gaeltacht
The old village of Ballyvourney
Seen from atop Mullaghanish
One better not leave prematurely

Walking through Ballymakeera
I see the Holy Well draw near
Down here in green Ballyvourney
Where Gobnait found nine white deer

I look over the bridge
Gliding to me 
Is a gentle black swan
Not an unusual sight
On the River Sullane

The mist drifts above the roadway
At the gates of the graveyard
Old relatives, re-acquainted
Memories no longer jarred

In the fields, on the outskirts of Coolea
The cutting of turf can be seen
Yet as the day moves to nightfall
Hear songs of Poitín

Again, I emerge from the hillside
And turn off at Slivereagh Cross
Then take the path north to Millstreet
Too much time on the doss

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Freedom for Some

In the Mansion House
On a January day
The framework of the nation 
And its future did lay

Deputy Johnson
Brought forth his brand-new assignment 
If the Democratic Programme did pass 
T’would alter our social alignment

Yet, Johnson and Labour
Were met with strict opposition 
Economic democracy
Was not the Gaelic League’s mission

Instead, fix the language 
And paint the letterbox green 
To feed the bootless children 
They were none too keen

A state of ‘freedom’ being 
Rhetorical and flowerful
All that changed was
The colour of the flag
And the accents of the powerful

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The Cork Solicitor

Carrying their brief to Washington Street
Ready to present before the court
A solicitor’s compelling case
Based on the law of tort

The judge arrives on the circuit
Yet in his ways he is hardwired
To let this case run on forever
An efficient ruling, anything but

An hour later, the judge cries
“Time to break for lunch”
Soon, we’ll find the defendant’s motives
About which I have a hunch

Across the street lies there
A sandwich and hot tea
Although those desperate junior counsels
Will beg for soup from you and me

Come evening, sessions close
There’s a bus home from the quay
Emails from the Law Society
Ask us to record our CPD

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Sun Room

Sitting in the sun room 
At a nearby hotel 
Reading a new book 
All was going well

Ringing, the phone danced 
I had an incoming call 
“Who is this?” I wondered 
And answered it I chanced

The heat travelled through the glass
My sweaty palm grappled on the phone 
An anxious voice was on the line
“We need you quick, come home!”

To the car I ran
And fired up the motor 
Onto the road I glided 
Like an old milk floater

Back at the house
I had arrived
To see an ambulance
“Your mother’s died,” the medic said 
A moment anachronous

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The Olde City of Cork

At the Butter Exchange
Is grand commerce in motion 
Yet be under no illusion
Of the merchant’s potion

‘Clip, Clop,’
Go horses’ shoes
On the cobble stones of Lancaster Quay 
From nearby office windows 
Proprietors observe with glee

The little children of Sunday’s Well 
Are taught a well-known adage 
That they must hold their balance 
Whilst traversing Daly’s Bridge

Great ships unload boxes of tea 
Outside the Customs House 
Bringing Ceylon’s finest
To the financier’s spouse

When evening strikes
The Savings Bank closes
And across the river
An alderman’s motion proposes

The Corporation tram 
Carries the workers to dinner
Their journey brightened 
By a passing street singer

Yet throughout the city
Lies an abundance of misery 
A reminder of poverty
And economic bewitchery

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Pebbles

The little stack of pebbles
A long way from the ground 
Taken from the quarry
To a new driveway was bound

In the lorry went
Through the gates of the house
Its loud engine frightened everything 
From the chicken to the mouse

Dumped onto the road
The pile of stones poured out 
And this little stack of pebbles 
Found themselves in doubt

One new beginning lay ahead
A life of glitz and glam
But when the hailstorm washed them down 
The pebbles cried “oh, damn!”

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Baby Swallow

The time had come
For the swallows to leave 
Travelling to South Africa 
Over the Pyrenees

One chick in particular
Was not ready to go
Despite being urged by its siblings
In a to-and-fro

Into the stable
Its mother flew 
“Tswit-tswit,” it sang 
There was one thing to do

Using her claws
She picked up her chick
What she was about to commence 
Would make it think quick

Over the orchard
This mother carried its chick 
As it was time to use
That age-old trick

Down the chick went 
As the mother let go 
Its new found talent
It was about to show

Out stretched its wings
In the nick of time 
Gliding over
The wild mountain thyme