Island Home
I’ve traveled very little from this island home.
My native land grounds me keeps me in contact
with the rhythms of nature, the sound of the winds,
the call of the wild birds and the dialects of its people.
Tyrone’s inland landscape of moss clad hills and flat bogs
break every now and then like an ocean wave.
Small towns and villages emerge lively and loud
against the woven landscape.
One can drive for miles across back roads criss-crossing
town lands whose names mean; stony path,
fairly coloured field or hill of midges; before
a village appears out of the hedgerows.
Fintona, Seskinore, over the mountain to
Fivemiletown. across the side road to Sixmilecross,
Carrickmore, Gortin and to Omagh again, the view
always lifts the spirit.
Gortin village is one such place, hidden within
the protective fauna of the forest and rough mossy
hills flanking the road into the village.
Fiddle music sails up from the music store.
I may not have traveled far; but this island
Home; were the ancestors have left their marks on the land;
in the form of art and awkward names,
This will take me far away in my mind at times.
Living on the Island of Ireland and the North especially has shaped my poetics as much as
its writers have. Songs, debates; dialects, myths and words all play the part; not
withstanding the landscape from inland to the coastal waters. One’s affected by the
weather, the wind loves to blast so much harder, winter seems to linger more, the seasons
don’t argue they just do their job. I don’t need the weather forecast, I just look out the
window; if there’s snow on the Sperrin Mountains, there’s sure to be snow in the valley of
Omagh town at some stage during the week ahead.
First published in
http://soylesipoetrymagazine.com/download-issues/
