liveIreland

Irish Internet Radio and TV from Dublin, Ireland.

Song

by Thomas Moore
the greatest Irish lyrist
born Dublin, 1779 - died 1852
Have you not seen the timid tear
Steal trembling from mine eye?
Have you not mark'd the flush of fear,
Or caught the murmur'd sigh?
And can you think my love is chill,
Nor fix'd on you alone?
And can you rend, by doubting still,
A heart so much your own?

To you my soul's affections move
Devoutly, warmly, true:
My life has been a task of love,
One long, long thought of you.
If all your tender faith is o'er,
If still my truth you'll try;
Alas! I know but one proof more -
I'll bless your name, and die!

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Lady Dianne

Such a gentlewoman who seems to love life in every aspect. Like Felicia and Lisa, you bring such a spirit to this group.

We must all keep this poetical little universe going.

Frank
I concur and thanks Frank!
Thank you dso much--will think of you well!
What a lovely person you are! So glad to know you!
Exquisite images--thanks.
Grand, just grand! Pierre -- your soul is guiding your thoughts and your poetic talents and that is what every poet waits for, prays for. Every time you've posted one of your own, the talent has grown.

Isn't it wonderful to be part of this fine family, to so love the poetic form that we are immersed in it?

We few, we happy few, we band of poets!
Pierre,

‘Motherland at Clonmacnoise’

My apologies – somehow I missed seeing this poem. Having said that let me comment. What a wonderful poem! From the opening line one gets an immediate sense of the ‘historic’ past and the presence of that past in the ‘feel of the Elderly Saints.’ The imagery of the ‘soft smell of peat smoke – breath of fresh air – dwellings – fields – as the river flows’ - compounds the sense that this is indeed God’s country – Ireland! The poet is obviously at ‘home’ in body and spirit – ‘no awareness needed’. Delightfully, the reader gets to share in this experience and like the poet has an opportunity to bask for a moment in the ‘comfort of Ireland’ for Ireland is ‘home.’

Well done Pierre!
Pierre,

‘Sun of Donegal ‘. . .

Given that your first language is French one has to be continually impressed by your contributions to the Poetry Forum. ‘Sun of Donegal’ following quickly on the heels of ‘Motherland at Clonmacnoise’ bears testament to this assertion. Your poetry colleagues are indeed thankful for the dedication of ‘Sun of Donegal’ and I for one ‘never cease to yearn’ for the ‘pulse – of the Irish ground.’ You certainly have a talent for making us feel the sense of Ireland in the presence of everyday events. Oh to be . . .
‘Soon in the morning - As I stroll quietly beside a soft bog - And a summer meadow - Unworried.’

Do I get the feeling that there is a Trilogy in the making?

Walter . . .
Well, I was gone for a few weeks and suddenly everyone started posting again. The poems I have been reading as I caught up from page 15 are all wonderful, and as I read them I thought about what poetry really is. Many times, as I read the poetry in this forum or elsewhere, I have two other websites pulled up at the same time and am so busy talking to my friends that I don't always take the time to enjoy the poems. Poetry is meant to offer escape from the rush of everyday life, it is the quiet moment we take to rest our weary mind. Also, a good poem is one that comes from the heart. Last year, when I was required to write five pages a week in a journal for English class, all my best pieces were poems. In fact, I couldn't write much else. I noticed that as my cat and my dog were diagnosed with cancer and slowly progressed to the point where we had to put them down, the poems reflected the dread, sorrow, and tears I was experiencing. The closer their Third Days came, the more my writing reflected my love for them. A good poem is written about what speaks to the heart, what is in the poet's heart. As the day came this year that marked the passing of a year since my dog, Bailey, passed away, I wrote the following poem.

Never Enough Time
One year- plenty of time.
They say it's 525,600 minutes.
That's enough time to learn,
live, love, grow, laugh-
Enough time to
cry,hurt,weep,mourn,frown,or...
DIE.
but it's never enough time to heal.

I still cry.
That night, so vivid-
Cheeze pizza and pizza bones,
pizza bones and Milk Bones,
Milk Bones and bone-thin.
He wouldn't eat.
We offered him his favorite foods-
he couldn't eat.
Why couldn't he eat?
Why did the cancer take over?
Why him?

A bare leg.
A long scar.
An open wound.
No, Bailey-boy, don't lick it,
it'll only get worse.
a large tumor-
more go unseen.

Islept downstairs.
I layed on my comforter,
then that got dirty so i brought down my sleeping bag.
he slept under the coffee table.
I spent all night
talking to Bailey,
my dog,
my brother,
saying what hadn't been said.

It's been 525,600 minutes,
and still I cry.
To all the lovers of dogs that have had a ‘Bailey’ in their lives this poem speaks to the heart. Mine was ‘Chinta’ and ‘still I cry.’ We who talk to our dogs are a unique breed. ‘Man’ has no greater friend than a dog. Thanks Kubana for a wonderful, heartfelt, poignant poem. Bailey had a wonderful friend!

Walter . . .
Bailey will never be gone. He waits for you in Heaven, well and perfect and as energized by unconditional love as he was while here.

Kubana, for those who say that dogs do not have souls, I say -- never try to limit the love of Love itself -- God -- for what pleases His children pleases Him and it is not part of God's theology that He can't put our canine friends in Heaven.

HEAVEN'S DOGGY-DOOR

My best friend closed his eyes last
night, As his head was in my hand.
The Doctors said he was in pain,
And it was hard for him to stand.

The thoughts that scurried through
my head, As I cradled him in my arms.
Were of his younger, puppy years,
And OH...his many charms.

Today, there was no gentle nudge
With an intense "I love you gaze",
Only a heart thats filled with tears
Remembering our joy filled days.

But an Angel just appeared to me,
And he said, "You should cry no more,
GOD also loves our canine friends,
HE's installed a 'doggy-door"!
Jan Greene-1995

Regards

Frank in St. Louis
i can not thank y'all enough for your responses to my poem for bailey. he is indeed with me, probably jealous of our newest dog, tilly, who's getting all of daddy's attention!

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