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A Poetic Collage of Old Irish Scenes (5 Poems)

Updated on August 8, 2017
Coast of Donegal
Coast of Donegal | Source
Rolling hills of County Monaghan
Rolling hills of County Monaghan | Source

5 Irish Poems

In an Auld Irish Shebeen*

In the rolling hills of County Monaghan

not far from the Northern Irish border

sits an old Irish farmhouse amid

a grove of rustling linden trees

below rising hedgerows on a green brae.

If you stand near this deserted home,

you can almost hear the laughter

of potato-whiskey drinking farmers

enjoying this illegal brew as thought it

were some sort of ambrosia from

Druid gods of olden times in this

two-room shebeen, and if they were

just a bit lucky they would see at the

bottom of their glass a bright red cedar

berry adding a touch of flavor to help

them greet the rising of the moon.

*Unlicensed pub selling potato whiskey

Sitka Fusion

Deep within an Irish

cow pasture lies a

plantation of Alaskan

Sitka spruce planted

over thirty years ago

on a slope of a hill

in rows from top to

bottom where another pasture

begins. As I descend

through the woods I cannot

help but remember walking

through a grove of Sitka spruce

in Taku Inlet Alaska

about thirty years ago

when I sensed the presence

of a lumbering dark bear

who remained unseen but

his weight crackled twigs

and branches a hundred feet

behind me and then I

heard that sound again

only to see an old milk cow.

Coast of Donegal

Giant thumbs of rock

appear and disappear in

veils of mist and rain as

strong winds whip wet ferns

along dark sea cliffs

where protective hollows

shelter bright orange

blossoms of mombritia

that seem to make up

for the lack of sun.

Dublin Saunter

We amble along the Royal Canal

talking of Henry David Thoreau

and going eastward, not westward

toward Dublin town stopping to

nibble on hawthorn seeds and

plump, moist blackberries lingering

on the vine making us feel like

captains of a huckleberry party.

We pause at a spot where we

can see bright copper domes

and church tops silhouetted

in a hazy sun but are glad

we remain distant enough from

the city's din along the Royal Canal.

The Wicklow Mountains

High up in the Wicklow Mountains

far above the humming motorways

built in the age of the Celtic Tiger

with very big machines that can

move tons of pure granite,

once removed by human hands

back in foggy megalithic times,

I stand in windblown heather

staring out into a vast Irish space

linking whin bushes of this little

island by tectonic plates with far

stretches of the powerful Atlantic,

pitching man against Nature,

but allowing human ego to dare

to think it stands alone in first place.


© 2015 Richard Francis Fleck


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    • juneaukid profile image

      Richard Francis Fleck 2 years ago from Denver, Colorado

      Thank you Audrey;I guess I am a landscape or spiritscape poet.

    • AudreyHowitt profile image

      Audrey Howitt 2 years ago from California

      Your pieces paint such a vivid portrait of the landscape--beautiful work