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My Name
© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.
They gave it to me with water and oil, blessing it from the beginning,
And I’ve carried it long through tear and toil and the times I have been winning.
It sets me apart from the rest you see, a cause of awe and pride,
And carries a great responsibility, for it’s always by my side.
It takes a beating now and then, and sometimes a little praise,
But I hope it’s the mark of a gentleman, who respects all human ways.
The ways of good and honest men of every creed and race,
It’s heard I hope in unison, with the swift and slow of pace.
‘Twas a gift from the ones I love so well, and I cherish it like a jewel,
And if I think not enough of it, you may go and proclaim me fool.
I shall carry it with me to the grave and until the ‘obits’ claim it,
I hope your displeasure you will save, for the day I go and shame it.
Perhaps it wont be remembered in time, but it shall not be recanted,
So, please, good folks you may use my name, but I’m damned if it’s taken for granted!
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
Suirside Carillon.
© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.
Oh, happy carillon and bells of my youth, by the river Suir now sounding,
How near and how dear to my heart’s truth, in quiet moments never-ending.
By Cathedral bell’s sound one day I was born,
Amid musical sounds of a river that sings in my heart
In moments forlorn and in my happiest moments ever.
To play and to school my life was to rule,
By the bells and the river determined; by green banks and bridge,
By the Ursuline school, my earliest life was thus fashioned.
And, however, how often I may wander away,
Be it near or far over the ocean, I shall hear in my mind
The bells peal and play their carols of happy emotion.
Carolling, carolling , carolling ever, always in tune with the song of the river,
Oh, bells of my heart and my home now ringing ever and ever sweetly singing.
Tom Ryan, “Iona”, Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
 Kickham Street, Thurles, Co. Tipperary 28/2/2018 A Winters Tale
© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.
I saw a tree, 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 greeting’s
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.]
Love Lines For St Valentine’s Day
[ © Author & Poet Tom Ryan. ]
No more I seek sweet paradise or absolute truth and beauty rare.
I see my heaven in your eyes and in the shining of your hair;
No more I seek in sonnet, song or music’s sweetest, deepest sound,
That part of me so lost for long, which in your being I have found.
No more I wander through the hours, fearful, lonely, without cheer,
For you, oh fairest of the flowers, are here my love, sweet love, are here.
My every sense now wildly soars to joy beyond this transient earth,
Sweet scented life, oh beauteous bower, oh, bright and light my happy heart.
I wish and you are always there, my light, my courage and my soul,
You are enchantment everywhere, you bless, embolden and enthral.
And so not death nor worldliness shall keep us two, now one, apart;
Oh, magical our happiness, eternal our united heart.
END
Tom Ryan, “Iona,” Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
“SPRING”
(© Author & Poet Tom Ryan.)
Under the far and flickering stars
On this bright and lovely night of Spring
In that children’s place of memories
By the river down the Mall .
Tell me it isn’t beautiful.
That place where street lights magically
Trace their pale and orange shimmering shapes
On the ever flowing river
Serenading each life’s journey.
Tell me it isn’t beautiful,
In secret silence swans
From out the mysterious mist of night,
Play with the lighted patterns on the water.
Buds on bare boughs breast the air.
On grassy banks crisp frost appears.
Oh tell me it isn’t beautiful.
And in those hours when magic fails,
And worldliness can faith assail,
I then envision swans of Spring.
Solemn and splendid hearkening
To the language of each living thing.
Oh, tell me it isn’t beautiful.
Tom Ryan, “Iona,” Rahealty, Thurles, Co. Tipperary.
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