Thurles Information

A Winters Tale

Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©

I saw a tree; its branches like five gnarled fingers,
Bare, barren, against a sky of austere lead,
And I shivered.
Cold, gaunt the time,
The mist’s on the mountains.
Night shadows fall fast on the day.
The wind moans in the haggard, crying for summer.
And each human’s greeting
More a wheeze, a cough, a sneeze.
The woodshed’s full.
A cat, back to fire,
Glares at secret places round the house,
That warm retreat from winter and from woe.
We clap our hands for warmth.
For comfort grimly eye the sky.
And all in vain,
We sip the tea,
With hearts in one great hurry for the Spring.

END

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

A Woman’s Mystery

Courtesy of Thurles Author & Poet Tom Ryan ©

The world is from the beginning
In a woman’s arms;
She is the beginning of each beginning
In an ebb and flow, unending mystery.
Say that you love her, even hate her,
But never say her mystery is yours.
You may touch upon it, at best,
Be captivated by its spell,
Rail against that mystery,
Betray all for it,
Heart and home, faith and fatherland,
All that you hold dear,
Fades before a woman’s wonder.
Kingdoms fall and nations go to war,
A thousand ships have sailed for her face,
The strong have been reduced by her,
The weak with her are strong as strong could be.
Cowards rise to heroism,
Brave men falter,
The noble are ignoble,
And wretched beings are giants,
Because of a woman’s mystery.
No book or wise old being
Can comprehend it,
Nor strong brave youth master it,
And when you think you’ve conquered it,
‘Tis you that has been conquered.
A mystery beyond time and space
Has an eternal quality,
Source of all we are, will ever be,
So love her, like her, hate her
But be not fooled.
Think what you may of a simple country lass or queen
You, dear man, shall never know
Nor fathom
Her unfathomable mystery,
Nor, perhaps, will she!

END

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