Poetry
Contents:-
 | Margaret O’Beirne, Poet |
| Ronan O'Beirne |
| An Irishman’s philosophy |
Margaret O’Beirne, Poet
Margaret is a poet and watercolorist in County Wexford, in what she calls "the sunny south east coast Of Ireland." From her Web site, http://www.iol.ie/~pobeirne/mobeirne.html we learn that she lives on Tara Hill with her husband Patrick and their two dogs, a Jack Russell called Tiptoes, and a Tibetan Spaniel called Sumo. She has published her poetry in "Link," a Gorey magazine widely read by emigrants. Her "Matins" series were broadcast on RTE (Irish Television) and others have been performed at the summer festival in Kiltennel and on Southeast Radio in Wexford. With a group of six other poets she read her poetry in English and Italian at the "L'Isola Nell Isola" festival in Sicily. Her husband is Patrick R. O'Beirne, the Managing Director of Systems Modelling, of whom more anon.
We chose two of Margaret's poems, which we hope, appeal to our widespread audience.
Making the Fire:
The Rebellion of 1798
| Take the dry stick of repression. That ladder, frame for a flogging, A cap of pitch to quicken the flame; Heave in a door-post used for a hanging, A thatched roof or two - There's a fire will 'set an example' Brand with 'traitor' the swinish herd. |
| Rake the fire with floggings and burnings, A cache of pikes makes a show of sparks, Sweep the border with Hunter Gowan, Flush out the croppies from the red bog, Now the fire paints the sky, tinges with Gold the May bush; when the ash settles Smoke curls from the wet straw. |
The Wild Oats.
| Who sowed the barley in the fallow field, The ears silver as a scythe, Thick as the wild colt's mane, Restless as the waves? |
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Ronan O'Beirne
Ronan O'Beirne is also a poet but is otherwise unknown to us. However, this poem was published on, the Web by "The Poetry Exchange," who listed an e-mail address which was unfortunately out of date, and our letter was returned by that most awful of non-persons, the Mail Daemon. But if you try this latest address you will be able to contact him. Ronan@openline.demon.co.uk
Love Poem 203
| The silence that you leave behind I shiver in its smell The place to which you lead my mind Beneath your darkest spell I will wrap your absence round me So it may keep me warm Until the moment when I see The presence of your form  |
An Irishman’s philosophy
| There are only two things to worry about.  Either you are well or you are sick. If you are well, Then there's nothing to worry about. But if you are sick, There are two things to worry about. Either you will get well or you will die. If you get well, Then there's nothing to worry about. If you die, Then there are only two things to worry about. Either you will go to heaven or hell. If you go to heaven there is nothing to worry about. But if you go to hell. You'll be so damn busy shaking hands with friends! You won't have time to worry! |
No doubt written by that most famous of all Irish Poets: A.N.O'N.
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