From Tullabeg

A stately father looms in my conscience,
As he earnestly toils the stricken land.
It yields at best, a life threatening harvest,
Barely strong enough to eat, lest trawl.

This evil blight casts a long shadow of death.
My pre-existence falters,
As he treads the narrow valley
Between life and death.

Empowered only by his faith,
His weak spirit gently lights up the land.
Spreading hope; and life.

Only the sinewy grass
Offers him a moment of strength.

The sun shines mercilessly on his weary back;
His prayers usher back the poison,
As it recedes toward its earthly core.

A woman beckons; and his pain sets forth.
And from these grass roots,
Generations have spawned.

A prayer of gratitude we owe this great man.
For although his tomb is grassed over,
‘Tis these grasses that rendered us life.

No more empty voices
Shall bellow and beg;
As we recall the grassy sprawl,
Of Tullabeg.


Written January, 1997.

New adventure

This is the start of my adventure into the blogosphere. In my enthusiasm to find an original site and username, not to mention an attractive skin, I now feel too weary to write anything of note. So here is daring to be different. Let the journey begin.