This poem was first published in Soyles poetry international may be offline now but can be found in my second collection 'Guth An Anam (Voice of the soul)'
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 it’s 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
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 Island
of Ireland ,
there’s sure to be snow in the Sperrin Mountains town at some stage during
the week ahead. ~ valley