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brian madden
Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374
ireland

0 posted 2000-06-19 04:49 PM


The remains of a castle crumble in an emerald meadow.
Once wars were waged in its shadow for the simple gift of freedom,
presently sheep graze with its gutted remains.
Somewhere else a Dolmen majestically stretches towards the sky,
an towering stone monument against a dull overcast sky,
its foundations seep to the summer solstice of druids.
My heart my soul bathes within a thousand shades of green,
Through my vein flows the blood of High kings, Celtics,
Invaders and settlers, poets, priests and pagans.  
In my mind is inscribed the revolutionary works of O' Casey,
the passion and pain of Wilde, Yeats, Heaney and so much more.
I wander the stony grey soil that Kavanagh so despised
yet could not help but love. How it tortured him with isolation,
marked him with fragrance and blessed him with wisdom and compassion.  

I drink where countless souls were drown, toiled with their demons
and celebrated a zest for life, intoxicated by that intangible sense of Celtic magic.
In the words of Oscar Wilde " We Irish are too poetic to be poets,
we are nation of brilliant failures." This is the essence of being Irish,
to know that we survived a famine on the spoiling of one crop
and so many revolutions all of which we lost after all this
we still have a sense of humour, that fiery spirit
that dances in the face of adversity.
A nation united on the front but divided in six counties.
A great rift, in which the murders hunt, the conflicts of religion
are fought  for a thousand years, its cause so senseless.
We cry for peace, that serenity of the emerald hills,
the gentle stillness of an abandoned hill or a boureen.  
The leaves rustling, draw on mystic breath and know I am Irish.

On the edge of the European County, Dublin reflects
the glories and dreams of every major European city.
To be in a small country that has grown in leaps
and bounds in the last thirty years, growth industry and prosperity
and a new myth called the Celtic tiger, that may have lived
in a short burst before being put to sleep. This is calling to
all the immigrants see how your homeland has grown.
This is Ireland, rare to see a thatched cottage on her horizon,
Only kept there as a tourist draw, a dead part of heritage.
The ocean, stormy turmoil eroding her sides,
Our fiery temperament reflected in the waves,
We lost so many of our children to its depths, fleeing the famine,
Fleeing the depression. Still some remained some fought and survived
This is what is means to be Irish.

< !signature-->

------------------------
"WE IRISH ARE TOO POETIC TO BE POETS, WE ARE A NATION OF BRILLIANT FAILURES."

Oscar Wilde.



[This message has been edited by brian madden (edited 06-19-2000).]

© Copyright 2000 brian madden - All Rights Reserved
Honeybee
Member Ascendant
since 1999-12-26
Posts 5372
Ontario, CANADA
1 posted 2000-06-19 05:54 PM



Brian, once again I'll say it, your mind is brilliant.  This poem is so very well written and is a great addition to the challenge.  This poem was a breath of fresh air and explored everything (good and bad) about Ireland. Some day, I hope to tour Europe and of course I'll visit Ireland.  It sounds so magical and beautiful.

Take care o' wise Irish friend,
Melissa  

Dennis L. White
Senior Member
since 2000-02-17
Posts 1463
Michigan, U.S.A.
2 posted 2000-06-20 09:35 AM


Brian,
  As Melissa has said, this work is magical indeed! Our transport to ancient times to safely witness the violent history, the pride and the tenacity of the Firey Irish Spirit, tempered and/or bolstered by the Famous Irish Humour. You have stisfied the Challenge and gone well beyond to share with us an insight into the Irish Mind. WELL DONE!
Dennis :^)

brian madden
Member Elite
since 2000-05-06
Posts 4374
ireland
3 posted 2000-06-22 01:38 PM


Melissa, thanks for your wonderful response and your very kind words. Ireland is a beautiful country, but there have been many black periods in our history. I wanted to convey its spirit. Thanks for reading and replying.

Dennis, a wonderful challenge idea. Well I don't know I am a typical Irish mind lo. Thanks for your wonderful reply.


A rock pile ceases to be a rock pile the moment a single man contemplates it, bearing within him the image of a cathedral.
Antoine de Saint-Exupéry

Broken_Winged_Angel
Senior Member
since 2000-04-06
Posts 994
Small Town, Somewhere
4 posted 2000-06-23 07:49 AM


Brian,
  *applauds*   Wow..This was fabulous.. Then again, you're exploring my heritage with it, so I was bound to love it.   My dad always told me everything was Irish except for my hair.. So thankyou for doing such a wonderful work of art on the Irish people.

I awake to a world I don't want. There is no transition for me. I am in heaven. I am in hell.

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