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Best Poems Written by Seosamh De Burca

Below are the all-time best Seosamh De Burca poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Details | Seosamh De Burca Poem

The beast of Hidden Moon


A hidden moon sails above the darkened cloud
Confidant, arrogant and so hauntingly proud.
A stirring mass crawl’s the darkly naked trees.
A chilled malevolence creeps amongst the breeze.
A cracking twig races the heart, suddenly skips a beat,
You spin around wondering of the horrors yet to meet.
You scan the woods for signs; you train your searching ear,
All the time your heart races, thumps, increasing latent fear.
A distant howl vibrates, stirs the gathering mist,
Nocturnal sounds grate the nerves, hard to resist.
It grows louder, the clawing bushes rustle and shake,
You step away from the trees a decision to make.
Flee or stand, face the terrible entity of fear,
The noise increasing, what horror will soon appear?
You taste the bitter bile as your hands wildly tremble,
The shape grows into something your thoughts resemble 
A terrible cry escapes your lips and fills the darkened night,
As neighbours pour out of doors to check the haunting sight.
A beast bounds from the woods and knocks you to the ground,
Only then do you realise, it’s your loyal and loving hound.


S.de Burca.......© 6th May 2013

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013



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The Raindrop

A solar wind caresses the mighty oceans blue,
Creates the waves, stirs the hearts of the true.
The spirit leaves the sea and floats on high,
To gather the dreams that make poets sigh.
When they reach saturation they at last take flight,
In search of lovers, adrift in the darkest of night.
Each dream a raindrop that freefalls though time,
Each drop a perfection, each dream sublime,
A prism to the soul or perhaps an angel’s tear,
As it floats and drifts, through the atmosphere.
Its colour and shape so clear and fragile,
Yet set on its course despite all the toil.
To replenish the land, refresh us each and all,
Oblivious to their beauty as they tumble freefall.
Each bead of perfection races to shatter,
On the land, its people and all that matter.
To wash the dry soil, to cleanse the city,
To grow the crops, dull the gritty.
Yet fail to heed its might and splendour,
When it can destroy, kill and can render.
There’s sorrow in those raindrops, so to glee,
It’s visible in its beauty-beast so plain to see.
As it gives life as it dies, a true resurrection,
The raindrop can certainly be a cruel perfection.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

Details | Seosamh De Burca Poem

Whisper's

                                      WHISPER’S

April rain fell like whispers on grass,
Soft and light like a half felt apology.
Dark clouds wafted overhead in shamed silence.
Distressed by a cold winter’s return. 
Daffodils wept and bowed in fading despair,
My Father’s favourite plant was slipping away. 
As my Father had done and now my Mother too
Lost to a world of cold whispers and sorrow. 

Dead flowers I had placed on their grave so light
Were fading like a memory, a star un-bright.

Still the rain whispered but failed to cleanse,
The grit of sorrow that inhabits my heart.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

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THE SHADOWMARE

THE SHADOWMARE

This ancient tale from so long ago,
Thought to be lost for years, you know.
Strangely now it’s been resurrected
Far sooner than anyone expected.
This ancient story buried within a pit,
Never read alone unless light is lit
A tale so dark it’s beyond compare
Known only as The Shadowmare.
As recalled by elders from times past,
Some said the words as was their last.
For when all alone and light is lost
No good will come of fingers crossed
For in the dark lurks a shadow there
Yes, that my friend is the Shadowmare.
You blame your eyes for tricks that deceive
But fear holds you fast you dare not leave
Did you see it move? Or a trick of the eye
Did you hear a sound? Or a haunting sigh.
It’s just your imagination taking flight,
But still it keeps you awake every night,
Till time is fled and your mind does snap
And fatigue wears you down into its trap,
To loose your mind to an irrational fear
That is when the shadowmare will appear.


 28th September 2016

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2016

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Crystal Morning Song

Crystal Morning Song

Smokey dark clouds ooze steady slow across the evening sky, 
Green patchwork hills slide stiffly to the bland suburbs.
No birds glide the sky of quite calmness at this moment,
Perhaps already resting. In perches of lofty sways and rhythms.   
Lolling asleep in small feathered dreams of exhaustion.
Of lands new yet old, of flights long and necessarily made,
To rest and feed and start anew, a spring of blessed rebirth.
Still by mornings new and rested sleep I shall hear them sing, 
Awakening me with crystal morning song from my sleepy sway.


2012 © S.de B.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013



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A Hug's Breath



Silent tears as friends hug restricted bodies,
Lingering awkward silences for moments long gone.
A hugs breath on his cheek as friends leave him alone,
Lingering smoke and whiskey shades tints the mind.
A parting quip and a crystal tear shivers in the air,
The gesture wave of failing friendship walks unsteady.
A lonely discomfort nips the soul, a hugs breath,
Clutching a card stained with friends pain,
He leaves for home and retirements reign.



2008 © S.de B.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

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The Oxymoron


                  The Oxymoron

Dark light flood - seeped the small room,
Music droned loud with a dull sharpness.
As people stood and danced alone together,
Violent sways of percussion brushed my ear
A teenage adult smiled grimly as courage fled,
When I, dared to ask the girl woman to dance.
I stood shuffling in brave fear like the living dead,
A serious joke that I hoped no one laughed at. 
Her smile frowned as she moved in an irregular pattern,
I made my forward retreat to the other side of the room
And watched her then in the now deafening silence, 
With such sweet sorrow, as she danced with another.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

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Whale Song

The Curach (currach) is a traditional Irish boat made from animal skins / hides (now canvass). The hides vibrate when a whale sings.

 
                                       Whale Song

How gentle the waves lapped the boat almost bobbing me to sleep,
My liquid turquoise mattress with its secrets buried cold and deep.
A curious dolphin glided past, its snout smiled in its personal joke,
As it observed my ungainly presence, (this awkward land folk). 
My man made curach of pitch, wood and canvass stretched taut.
As she masters the sea with courage to return the fish she caught.

Now as I lolled towards twilight a strange sensation vibrated the boat,
It hummed an angels tune that rippled the canvass, with a glorious note.
And there in the distance, a great humpback whale trumpeted the clear air
As I sat in heaven blessed company with nature, in the middle of nowhere.
The whale approached my flimsy craft with a natural grace that was serene 
One of the most beautiful creatures that shares this wonderful marine.

And so the whale passed by with the gentlest disruption of space,
And I think it was amused when he saw the look on my face.
I sat there drained yet elated at this wonder I had shared
No camera or witness to observe the scene or to have cared
But I was there and my soul was touched like a child once again
To witness such beauty often befouled by the actions of men.

Now as I lolled towards twilight a strange sensation vibrated the boat,
It hummed an angels tune that rippled the canvass, with a glorious note.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2016

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Celtic Mist

            CELTIC MIST
Through mists of time and legends lore,
a Celtic mist invades our core.
Haunts our soul, stirs our mind,
looks through eyes forever blind.
To ancient times, lost along the way,
like an orphaned prodigal prodigy.
Mark the thought and slip back in time,
where honor reigned and stood sublime.
The year stirs awake from its icy wonder,
animals rouse from hides buried under.
Life buds swell, grow and start to bloom,
resurrected life, fresh ready to consume.
The livestock loose from shelters shell,
and pass through Beltain's fire like hell.
The bright time season as was once known,
of new born lambs and crops fresh sown.
A time of fertility when wars would rage,
of invasions passed from Druid’s sage.
The May Queen glares on the fires of Bel,
flowers freshly picked, decked the holy well .
The great Elk wanders, crunching under foot,
waving his antlers that from his crown did jut.
Like Cernunnos, god of the underworld dire,
feared by man, yet seduced by its desire.
To tame a land, too harvest its seed,
but sows the grain yet reaps the weed.

The Pooka stares, with its evil eagle eye,
harries the innocent, destroys with a sigh.
To mysterious waters, brine coloured despair,
lost to elder’s cries within Balors dripping lair.

Sidhe flit’s across the mind, a spirit of the dead,
arousing hidden memories lost within your head.
Morgana calls, the Queen of the fortunate isles,
prompting you awake, as you step the Celtic stiles.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

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The Featherbeds

The feather beds are a string of mountains near where I live, famous for its raised bog lands, where my father and his brothers cut turf for many years. In spring / summer a wild cotton flower blooms giving the mountains their name.


In youths embrace I walked in mountains,
My father’s steps I tried to follow.
He led the way from town to wilderness
And there it was my soul he freed.
Windswept hills of raised bog and peregrine,
Swooped winds flared the will of the wisp.
Cotton top flowers waved their white clouds,
Beckoning me,  to loose myself in awe.
Slain and sod, man and muscle worked as one,
Bright Heather draped the hills a regal hue.
Bracken fronds greened the soil of spring.
Larks and curlew cries hung upon the air. 
As my father shushed us to silence and embrace,
His wonderland of peace.
At seasons turn and Bracken colours fade,
Gorse and heather flair their restful hues.
Sheep saunter through with heads bowed, 
They slowly leave the mountain once again.
The feather beds dim as clouds dip low and veil.
And silence flees before winter wind and rain 
In adults disgrace I left the mountains,
My father’s steps hard to follow.
Still longing to find the way of wilderness
To free my soul once again and be with him.

Copyright © Seosamh De Burca | Year Posted 2013

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