Aground

She rests
Amidst the marshy grasses
Dreaming
Days plying the island routes
Wind and wave lifting
Lost in time,

She danced
Sea spray lacing her bow
Sailing
Her paint fresh against the waves
Chasing lightly the seals
Her frothy road guiding,

She felt
Her Master’s hand
Guiding
Firm upon the wheel
His voice next to God
Sending deck hands leaping,

She labors
Fishing or cargo and passengers hauling
Serving
Racing rising storm
To best the wind and drowning waves
For home’s sweet calm,

She rests
Amidst the marshy grasses
Dreaming
Days plying the island routes
Battered but harbor safe
Lost in time.

© 2019 Maggie Grimes

The painting and poem are inspired by a photo taken by Liam McNamara. The poet in me saw no defeat in the boat, battered though she was. I wish I could have done greater justice to his photo. MJG

Tales of Eire

There is a place
Of swirling mists
And sparkling seas
Craggy cliffs overtowering
Pounded by crashing waves
Seals drowsing on the shores
Dreaming stories,

Mystic waves of people
Coming and claiming
‘Til battles’ clangor the peace destroying
Mists reclaiming
Gods of power falling
Fae of sidhe
The Great Hunt riding,

Clans and kingdoms rising
Heroes born, trained to purpose
Fighting exquisite monsters
Braving terrors, following honor
And impossible quests
Gifts of songs and stories
Bequeathing.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

All I’ve read, studied, heard, and dreamed of Ireland only serves to inspire more writing, more painting, more studying. I am well past the naivety of youth to believe that Ireland is perfect but she still entices. MJG

Manannan’s Children

Tonight I am free
Taking flight on night dark wings
No shackles of thought holding me,
The winds call
Awakening the slumbering magic
Stirring the old wildness,
I hear the murmurings
As strange forces whisper
And the sea summons the storm,

Come my children
Come be free with me,
I am drunk with power
Filled with ancient secrets
And dreamed memories,
Sea magic fierce and wild
Magic of forgotten lands
Guided by unknown stars
Loved by one sea,

Wild magic
Living magic
Held by the sea.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

I hear Manannan’s voice calling in calm seas or in storm. It draws me to the ocean in wonder, to study, to play, to learn. It is irresistible. MJG

Children of Eriu

We are your children
Lost
Longing for home
Crying in the night,
Forced to leave
From want
Or danger
Or daring
We do not belong,

We have built places
Fought
Raised families
Labored
Sacrificed
For strangers,
Still we look back
Missing ourselves,

We wait in darkness
Hoping
Listening for the voices
Of our mothers’ singing
Or the stories
Of proud heroes of our fathers,
We yearn for home
Knowing we must choose
And in choosing lose.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

I was born and raised in the USA. I am a product of predominantly Irish immigrants, with a bit of Scot and Welsh added to the mixture. I’ve noticed in others of similar ancestry that our ancestral home seems to call us. We share a sense of loss, of homesickness for a place we have not lived. Familiar and missed. MJG

Epitaph- The Progeny

Oh my fathers, can you tell me why? Why my skies are gray and my rivers filth? Why the forests are passing memories found only in legend? Why, oh why did you murder the sea?

Oh my fathers, when you were young, the sun was a golden disk in a vibrant sky. The earth gave birth to wonders of joy. The sea was wild and filled with promises. Your night was warm with the dancing stars.

What blinding greed drove you to create the world you bequeathed me? It is lonely in this world of gray silences and death.

©2019 Maggie Grimes

I wrote this many years ago when I first started teaching. I taught that all life is precious and interconnected. Conservation was the wise, sustainable use of limited resources. I hoped that my epitaphs for nature would help awaken in my students a sense of relationship to the world that is our only home. Burning rainforest, melting ice caps, dying reefs, we are running out of time. MJG

Hello

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 intrigues 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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