Poems

[BostonTim]

I'll add to this, slowly I'm sure. Please join in if you wish. I'd like that.

Love irish poetry (usually). You may already knows I've been deeply immersed in Yeats since High School. And my second go to Irish poet is Patrick Kavanagh,

Memory of my Father​

Patrick Kavanagh


Every old man I see
Reminds me of my father
When he had fallen in love with death
One time when sheaves were gathered.

That man I saw in Gardner Street
Stumbled on the kerb was one,
He stared at me half-eyed,
I might have been his son.

And I remember the musician
Faltering over his fiddle
In Bayswater, London,
He too set me the riddle.

Every old man I see
In October-coloured weather
Seems to say to me:
"I was once your father."

When dad passed I saw him or parts of him, everywhere. When hearing his beloved music especially.

Cheers, BostonTim

 

[HAMMERMILL]

She offered her honor
I honored her offer
and all night long
I was on her and off her

Sorry you were doing real poetry

 

[Sean- son of Lifer]

A Father's Legacy​

Late at night, when my soul is quiet
I sense his presence so strong and true
He stands before me, soul revived and strength replenished
Comforted by his meaningful smile, it gives me faith anew

When times were tough, he was at his best
Beneath his calm, the sheen of steel
A man of his word, no promise ever faltered
His character of honor, to each man he did reveal

He was a quiet hero, a man of subtle strength
Many ways a wonder, though perfect he was not
Always gracious and giving
Forever my flaws somehow forgot

His shining smile, his wit and wisdom
Become precious memories profound in my heart
Known to all and respected by many
His life a vivid painting, a masterful work of art

The land his passion, an unfathomable part of his life
A valued and precious gift, deemed worthy of respect
His love of the land was witnessed by all
My life it would affect

He was a giving man, always foremost to help
Giving to many, no need ever forsaken
All who knew him observed his giving
The talents he exhibited became his secret fortune

His departed family called to him, their voices sweet and assuring
Willing to embrace him in an angelic arm
Gently he waited, a last wish to be resolved
Knowing that his loves would be in grief, but suffer no more harm

His final days were difficult, his beloved family by his side
But, strength of spirit he did display
His thoughts were always of his family, never of himself
He left on his terms, onward to God on his mountain stairway

Now, he stands unassumingly before the Lord
Unabashed and unafraid, his duty deemed complete
Humility and humbleness were his gifts to us all
The Lord smiles on him now restored, his wings strong and replete
Michael Deskis

 

[BostonTim]

The Wild Swans at Coole​

Play Audio
By William Butler Yeats
The trees are in their autumn beauty,
The woodland paths are dry,
Under the October twilight the water
Mirrors a still sky;
Upon the brimming water among the stones
Are nine-and-fifty swans.

The nineteenth autumn has come upon me
Since I first made my count;
I saw, before I had well finished,
All suddenly mount
And scatter wheeling in great broken rings
Upon their clamorous wings.

I have looked upon those brilliant creatures,
And now my heart is sore.
All's changed since I, hearing at twilight,
The first time on this shore,
The bell-beat of their wings above my head,
Trod with a lighter tread.

Unwearied still, lover by lover,
They paddle in the cold
Companionable streams or climb the air;
Their hearts have not grown old;
Passion or conquest, wander where they will,
Attend upon them still.

But now they drift on the still water,
Mysterious, beautiful;
Among what rushes will they build,
By what lake's edge or pool
Delight men's eyes when I awake some day
To find they have flown away?

 

[Sean- son of Lifer]

View: https://youtu.be/5KmHWjzyVYw?si=1JvB32nz8WdE1Xip

A Dream Within a Dream​

By Edgar Allan Poe
Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow —
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand —
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep — while I weep!
O God! Can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?

 

[Sean- son of Lifer]

“Alone”​

By Edgar Allan Poe
From childhood’s hour I have not been
As others were—I have not seen
As others saw—I could not bring
My passions from a common spring—
From the same source I have not taken
My sorrow—I could not awaken
My heart to joy at the same tone—
And all I lov’d—I lov’d alone—
Then—in my childhood—in the dawn
Of a most stormy life—was drawn
From ev’ry depth of good and ill
The mystery which binds me still—
From the torrent, or the fountain—
From the red cliff of the mountain—
From the sun that ’round me roll’d
In its autumn tint of gold—
From the lightning in the sky
As it pass’d me flying by—
From the thunder, and the storm—
And the cloud that took the form
(When the rest of Heaven was blue)
Of a demon in my view—