Sons of Erin

Erin’s sons
For freedom fighting
Gray clad soldiers
Join the fray
Gladly strive
Tyrant’s yoke defying,

Erin’s sons
For freedom fighting
Blue clad soldiers
Join the fray
Gladly strive
Send traitors fleeing,

Glory seeking
Erin’s sons
Blood stirring
To battle march
Honor sends
A new home saving,

Fearsome warriors
Erin’s sons
Eerie cry
To daunt
And threaten
Ranks of foemen storming,

Erin’s sons
Meet other brothers
Each convinced of right
Mortal combat
Banshee wails
Sons of Erin dying,

Erin’s sons
For freedom fighting
Duty’s sacrifice
Is paid
Battles ended
In death uniting.

© 2019 Maggie Grimes

Over the centuries, the Irish have fought in many wars. They were fierce warriors and greatly feared. The armies of both North and South contained thousands of Irishmen. Whether bluecoated or gray, they were brave soldiers fighting for their homes and honor. MJG


It is obvious that I am no expert in the fine art of designing and navigating the intricacies of blogging. I am learning. I was encouraged to start the blog as a means of archiving my writing and art. I’ve been writing poems and stories since I learned to manipulate a pencil; the drawing and painting is much more recent a thing.

I write about places I’ve been, people that I have known or studied. History, stories, mythology intrigue me. The world of Nature calls to me. These are the things that move me to write.

To whomever reads my words, I hope that they cause you to feel or think or dream or hope or something. I would like to hear from you, to learn where my words have traveled, to whom they have spoken. Regardless, thank you for finding my words and best wishes to you. MJG

The Conscript

The conscript stands at attention,
Fearful of the coming battle
Wondering why
He thought he left off fearing
When Erin’s shores slipped beneath the waves,
He was drafted ere he made a home,

His hands were hardened used to plowing
And hauling nets from the sea
No longer
His musket is a marvel to behold
A lethal toy in his grasp
Yet awkward still, and unnatural,

His sea gray eyes are bewildered
Anxious of the future horrors
Fear shadowed
He was used to work and laughter

Now hides within the clown

His buffoonery a refuge,

His sergeant despised him
Thinking him cannon fodder only
Wasted training
Uncaring of the hidden man
Struggling to fulfill a duty
He didn’t seek nor understands,

He shivers at the cannon crashing
Remembering lush, green fields
Dreaming thunder
Longing to see his love once more
Enfold her in the comfort of his arms
And wipe the tears from her cheeks,

He watches as the enemy fires
And stares at the dying
Heart cold
Fearful as his time approaches
Resolved to brave the Morrigu
The conscript stands at attention.

Copr. 2019 Maggie G.

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