Eyes in the wood.

    Eyes in the Wood.   Someone said to go there. To walk down the tree-lined lane And enter the moss covered passageway Of beech and hazel. Deeper now with thicker moss beneath my feet, I step back into the past, And wonder whose steps I have followed Into the darkening shadows. Silence is everywhere. Moss covered and listening always To my next step back in time, Where night creatures roam about. I step around a...

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A river poem.

Slaney   Oily river flows toward the widening space Of  Norse Gods creeping below the tidal fall. The rolling waves move inexorably downstream As the exiting tide adds freshness to its salty taste. Deeper here and greener with a tinge of brown. The folding wefts of water make rivulets In the passage from brackish and then to salt. The wind scurries across the uneven planes to rippling squall. Dark stones watch from the...

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Bagger island has been released.

My latest book in the Conor and Anne trilogy has been released. It is available at Amazon or on Kindle.   Chapter 8   The cackling voices of fast flying puffins disturbed the morning scene as they approached the high cliffs on Bagger Island and began to descend onto the soft tufts of grass.  The comical birds returned from a fishing trip and were getting ready for their last few weeks of habitation on the island before going back out...

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An Aran poem.

A smoke in Aran   Background grumbling Brings closer words around me. A slow stream of familiar scent From plug tobacco packed loosely in a pipe.   I turn to see this silent silhouette Swaying slowly at the bar. Aran jersey pulled, blue colored, Under a grease stained jacket.   Another sip of the black stuff. Another puff on the pipe Anchored by well-worn teeth In a salt-cured face.   Nicotine stained fingers press tightly On...

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Dublin

DUBLIN Stone statues view strangely the sights below Copper dye melts around the hallowed heads And drips down to form pools of green. They sit upon the ancient stones And watch the urgency far below. Tram tracks now covered deep. The old ways  buried with layers of seasons past. Dublin watches with her dons of old Her Georgian facades hide songs of older times She moves within her cast of sculptures; frozen. Rusty steel arches stands...

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