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wind speed: 4 m/s NE
sunrise: 5:18 am
sunset: 9:39 pm
 

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Still Now The Hurling Hero’s Hand

Still Now The Hurling Hero’s Hand

© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.

[Dedicated to Thurles Sarsfields Hurlers of the past.]

Still now the hurling hero’s hand
That wedded to the ancient ash of his camán
On green and glorious fields of youth
Forged memories magical.
Abandoned now the stalwart hurl of pride,
Hewn from the ash of Killough Hill,
That in many a field of trial had fashioned
The powerful poetry of play.
The game is over,
The nets are down,
The passion spent,
The hero’s home.
He hurls but now in memories
On dark, cold winter nights
By the fireside’s of Cuchulainn’s Gaels.
Or wherever hurling folk assemble
With the ash in their head and heart,
To play and play again
The stirring games of yesterday.

End.

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.

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The Bright Side Of Loneliness

The Bright Side Of Loneliness

© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.

I have lived my life on the bright side of loneliness.
Scorned the darkest secrets of within,
Laughed at them nervously and then
Resolved to on and onward go again,
Till those dark shadows
Steal around my soul once more.
Unbidden, unexpected and dark as black,
Memories of some deep hurt of yore.
Life is what is, you can’t take back,
But yet I hold this world a splendid place,
And splendid too each feeling, human heart.
And every girl I loved had special grace,
And every man some virtue to respect.
Little after that I sought – a roof, a bed and fire,
A little bit to eat and drink and love.
And I have all and no more to desire
From this great earth or from my God above.

End

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co.unty Tipperary

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Summer Evening At Holycross Bridge

HolyCross Abbey, Thurles, Co Tipperary  on Vimeo  [Courtesy G. Willoughby.]

Summer Evening At Holycross Bridge

© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.

The Abbey of the Cross stands sentinel
In the evening summer stillness,
Dumb, splendid witness to a thousand years of time
To such as now in the ease of a May-bush summer.
The cuckoo calling,
Take time lightly
In the midst of summer scents and cherry blossom pink,
As the waters surge by the old stone bridge to the sea.
Laughing summer children tease the fish and wish,
And old men through a purple haze from pipe tobacco
Dream and dream
Of summers close to heaven.
From a quiet place beyond the weir
The river softly sings tranquillity
With its centuries old hymns to creation,
And languid by the old mill wheel – silent and still
Young lovers lose their hearts
To the spell of the evening.
The swallows of the mid summer early
Chatter circle in symphonic joy.
In the sweet, balmy air by the bridge
A girl in a long, wine summer dress,
Whispers to the waters
Words magical.
Fishermen toast their catch
And old ones in the riverbank hostelry,
In the twilight lit by yellow lanterns,
Speak of hurling, horses, hounds and fickle fortune.
On the upland past the walnut grove of the priests,
Engoldened by the evening sun,
Dumb cattle in the lush, green grass lie,
Eyes lost to a far horizon.
White washed cottages of thatch,
By lime and blossom now half hid,
Give out the light of welcome,
And a couple in a boat in a secret cove
Quietly steal the moment.
Enthralled, I bask
In a quiet warm intimacy with all,
For, as in the loveliness
Of a distant summer youth,
I am so happy here.

Ends

[Tom Ryan,”Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.]

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“Cuckoo Song”

Cuckoo Song

© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.

Over the emerald fields of summer,
By the blackthorn bush of May,
The cuckoo wheels and dips
On this lovely summer’s day.
From afar, through blue skies travelled,
Cuckoo, hear her call
Butterflies, bees and posies,
She sings the joy of all.
Gentle harbinger of happiness
Winging over field and flower,
Cuckoo song enthralling,
Calling hour by hour.

End

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.

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“Bridge Of Memories” By Tom Ryan

Barry’s Bridge, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.

Bridge Of Memories.

© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.

By the mossy bridge at the ford,
Where tired cattle drink,
My folks were all around me there,
Or so I like to think.

Near my mother’s house of old
This lovely spiritual truth,
Oh, joyous, warm abode
Of a dear and distant youth.

Midst the flowers and the scents of the summer air,
I felt, oh, I feel, they are still yet there,
My gentle folks of the mountain land,
By the sparkling waters, on either hand.

We brought the cart to the bridge below,
To cool the iron-rimmed wheels,
With a tired old jennet I once loved so,
Who’d gifted me a thousand thrills.

We bathed our little children’s feet,
Splashed till joyous hours were done,
All day playing in sun and heat
Hearts and heaven in unison.

Midst the flowers and the scents of the summer air,
I felt, oh, I feel, they are still yet there,
My gentle folks of the mountain land,
By the sparkling waters on either hand.

Where magic through cool water flows.
And foxes, hares run fast and free
Oh, fluttering now my heart it goes
So carefree now in memory.

I felt, I feel, and will not yield,
My people love e’en yet this field;
And we who live and they now gone,
Are still, in love, in unison.

And all around me in the air
Hearts that love and hearts that care,
In this sweet place I loved when young
Happy my flesh and blood among.

Midst the flowers and the scents of the summer air,
I felt, oh, I feel, they are still yet there,
My gentle folks of the mountain land,
By the sparkling waters, on either hand.

End

Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.

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