Scribing words to call the music in your soul
I dreaming saw
The Enchanted Isle
Beneath silver wings,
Dublin glowing in the dawn
Waking to the day
Shivering and eager,
I dreaming heard
Pealing bells
Streets crowding rumble,
Horns and whistles blaring
Bringing hordes
In ordered confusion,
Learned colleges, museums
Cathedrals of renown and graveyard stillness
I saw,
Teeming pubs, boisterous crowds
Songs voiced rowdy, poignant
I heard,
I, Dublin dreamed.
© 2023, Maggie Grimes
Sunrise at Baily Lighthouse, Dublin. MJG
Who is she that mourns?
Some forgotten beansidhe
Lost in time, transformed,
Still mourning
Through ages of bitter wars
And famine
Weary in her grief,
The loving patience
To bear such sorrow.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
Beansidhe are women of the fae folk. They are mainly remembered now for the association of some with death. A beansidhe would wail in portent of a death in a family or keen in grief afterwards. My painting is inspired by a photo taken by Liam McNamara of “Ireland From My Lens Photography”. MJG
Breathe, the sea rich air inhaling
Life filling lungs
And heart and soul
Sail, the sea billows surging
Energy lifting prow
And heart and soul
Explore, the sea reaches calling
Unknowns enticing thought
And heart and soul
Listen, the sea dreams singing
Music firing mind
And heart and soul
Brave, the sea tempests taunting
Courage driving endeavors
And heart and soul
Seek, the sea realms freeing
Hope stirring resolve
And heart and soul.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
Grace O’Malley was a daughter of mac Lir. Although a woman of the sixteenth century, her life seems more fitting for a warrior queen of the ancient Celts. She went to sea as a child, learning the skills of sailing, battle, and command. She faced Elizabeth I as an equal and won her respect. Grace O’Malley was a sea called and sea molded pirate queen. MJG.
Tom Crean,
I’ve read of him
Born a Kerry man, a farmer’s son
He ran away to the sea
Not quite seventeen but tall,
Nigh three decades service to the Royal Navy giving,
Tom Crean,
Three times he dared Antarctic ice,
Once dancing across broken floes, he saved the stranded men,
Another time he trudged eighteen lonely hours to save a fallen friend,
He was one of the six, fighting tossing seas and ice
And still faced the endless trek for the castaways,
Tom Crean,
Always ready to laugh or sing
Teaching his fellows, leading,
A strong man, tireless
A pipe clasped in his teeth
Lips eager to smile,
Tom Crean,
I marvel at his dauntless courage, unfailing cheer
Did he dream green fields and sweet breezes
To keep back the crushing darkness?
How did he keep on going
Fighting the tiller, singing?
Tom Crean,
I’ve read of him.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
Tom Crean has been a hero of mine for years, an Irishman in the British Navy. He went to Antarctica, twice with Scott and later with Shackleton in the push to reach the South Pole. In each effort, Crean was noted for his indefatigable strength and good humor, willing to risk himself to save others. Times like these, his spirit lives in the heroes fighting covid-19. MJG
It is dark
In the beginning,
The stars
Distant and cold,
The wind chilling
What warmth survived,
Sheep and shepherds
Huddle for warmth
Dreaming sunshine and spring,
Imperceptibly the darkness
Brightens to blinding light,
A whisper grows
To living thunder,
“Fear not
I bring joyful tidings,
A Savior is born
To God’s glory
And peace for earth,”
Eternal gift of Hope
Light unconquerable,
He is born.
© 2019 Maggie Grimes
May the hope and joy
of Christmas and a
Blessed New Year
be yours.
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
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
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
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
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
celtic singer 