Newry News and Irish Fun
It was late evening when, as I had promised nearly six weeks earlier, I again approached the almost deserted village. The landscape was awash in pastel azure moonlight, while inky black shadows etched sharp outlines to starkly highlight the austere habitations. Candle light glowing from the shabeen‘s doorway illuminated the yellow sand churned aloft by the swirling winds of dust devils as they made their way into the night.
Two months later I returned to the village. As dusk fell and the last rays of sunlight cast an eerie glow upon the majestic river, I made my way as usual to the now familiar Shabeen. Rachel was not there – in her place was a much younger girl who seemed to be somewhat intoxicated and not very articulate.
I first met her in her secluded village on the western banks of the
We were teenagers in the Sixties ….
Saturday night at The Hop
We’d dance till early morn ..
I still can hear the music ..
I remember every song …..
There’s them that’s afeard of the fairies
Aye – right up to this present day –
Sure the stories the oul’ folk come over
Can never be let astray!
I live within waving distance of a railway line; but, although I have kept a long and patient vigil, I have never once seen passengers fighting on the roof of a train – even a stationary one.
It’s entitled, “Tears for Winter Island”.
Tears drench sombre faces
as trees bear summer fruits;
mothers scrimp and save to pay
for dead men’s suits.
Solitude takes hold whilst empty
chairs fill lonely spaces.
This night week, at 8 00 pm in the Carroll Gallery of the Hollywood Arts Centre, our regular contributor Sean Maguire will launch his latest book of poetry.
He has graciously allowed us to print a few selections here on Newry Journal.
This first is called Mind Games.
You sang along
To a song on the radio –
it was old, vintage stuff
nineteen sixties, I presume
the melody lingered in my head
as I ploughed through
City Hall records
pruning branches on my family tree.