On Dermie’s bog. (For the day that’s in it)

Tags

bog, fork, life, purple, turf

On the day that I was nearly famous

I went saving turf on Dermie’s bog.

In purple skirt and black jumper

I leaned into the handle of the old fork

smiling through my splintered life

which is still my way.

 

Photo Credit Nutan.

 

 

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At loss for words in summer.

Tags

flowers, jumbled words, lakes, mountains, sea, silence, solitude, turf

A while ago i wrote of how

i was filled with words 

but something has happened since then

 and now

it’s my heart that’s full

(my brain has emptied)

i no longer want to speak 

or even write since summer has arrived 

Instead I want to leave those jumbled words behind

and go

where wildflowers grow haphazardly in soft purple ditches

where rushes whisper by lonely lakes and white bog cotton shyly dips

her wispy head among rows of darkened turf

and clouds are of importance

where blue shadowed mountains are mysterious and beckoning

where the singing sea is soothing 

where i can be silent and wandering

i will go there soon enough 

soon enough

soon

Turf.

Tags

haiku, mountains, the yellow bicycle, turf

I love this photo. It is the epitome of my summers in the west of Ireland, spent exploring small boreens and never knowing where I will end up. (though never getting lost as the twelve pins are always there somewhere in the background). Here is a type of Haiku, not completely true to form. An Irish Haiku maybe;

Brown turf heaped messily

the yellow bicycle resting

and look beyond!

tidy mountains and a certain summer sky.