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
The adventure approaches
Drawing close
Anticipation and chaos
Handfast in preparation
Heart yearning for home
Yet hard to leave
Roots strain across the water
Inviting
Dreams can alter, grow
And not be lost
Her voices call me
Ireland.
© 2023, Maggie Grimes
The painting was inspired by a photo of Benbulbin by CarverPhotograpy. I look at it and it is easy to think of Ireland. It invites an adventure. MJG
Summer’s ripe,
Days loath the yielding to night
So rousing early,
Old Bridey stirs,
She’ll be out soon
Tending her day,
If she sees me,
Mist soft
She’ll speak,
She’ll wish me good morn,
Then share the village gossip
As she works,
Bridey will remind me
I must leave her hens alone,
I always do (unless they stray),
We are comfortable together,
Old bones warming in the sun
With our shared memories,
Our babes born and grown,
Seeking their own adventures
Still loved and missed,
Stretching I rise,
Knowing Bridey’s Blessing
I stalk the hidden mouse.
© 2022, Maggie Grimes
I look at a lot of photos of Ireland which inspires much of my art and poetry. One was of a fox which reminded me of the one that I sometimes see. We share quiet communications in our solitary tasks; I tending the horse and the fox its survey for it’s lawful prey. We are comfortable with the other’s presence. MJG
I wept for you
My sons
My daughters,
Ragged, starving
Hounded from the land
Grieving its loss,
I cast you free
My daughters
My sons,
Strong stories
Wild music soaring
Guiding through the dark,
I blessed you
My sons
My daughters,
Long years labor
With hearts undaunted
Home remembering,
I welcome you
My daughters
My sons.
© 2021 Maggie Grimes
Fastnet Lighthouse is the westernmost of Irish land, the last sight of home for so many Irish emigrants. It is known as Ireland’s Teardrop. Eriu wept with her children.MJG
Little springtime
Are Nature’s blessings
That brush aside
Winter’s tousled hair
Clearing her wild eyes,
Brief, bright moments
Of stolen sweetness
And cherished warmth
While harsh winter rests
Her frigid labors,
Such stillness calls
The battered spirits
From their struggles
To bask reveling
In warm caresses,
Little springtimes
Are Nature’s blessings
Intimacies
When Earth delights
In shivering pleasure.
© 2021 Maggie Grimes
The first of February is celebrated as Imbolc, the beginning of spring. Although Brighid, Dagda’s daughter is bright and eager for fresh beginnings, frigid Cailleach doesn’t let go easily. Still, early blooms peep through the snow, eager for life. MJG
Winter’s darkness blankets
A broken world,
Fear, hatred and grief
Familiar companions,
But not forever
Even in this abyss
A spark burns,
He lives
Indomitable hope
Refusing defeat,
Upholding, empowering,
He lives
The light unquenchable
Love eternal,
Rejoice and be glad. His light vanquishes all darkness.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
Have a loving and Merry Christmas
and a blessed and Happy New Year
Maggie Jane Grimes
Christmas 2020
May
Christmas memories warm you
Laughter delight you
Peace and hope renew you
And the light of His love guide you,
May
You know the Mother’s sweet joy
The Father’s quiet pride
And the Child’s deep faith,
May
You feel the joy of the season
Hear the song of the angels
See the glory of His gift
And share the wonder of His birth,
May
You have a Merry Christmas
And a Happy New Year.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
I wanted to share some of my poems and art of past Christmases. Nollaig Shona Dhuit. MJG
Tom Crean,
He amazes me
How he faced the darkness and the danger
Days of freezing labor
And Death a spectre waiting,
Cheerfully he gave his strength
Sharing songs and laughter
Refusing defeat
Hoping, believing
Indefatigable and indomitable
Yet he came home to a different adventure
In his family content
Finding his own South Pole there,
No old and endless polar tales
But focused on the living
His friends and family serving
An Irishman was Tom Crean,
His life amazing.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
After his medical retirement from the navy in 1920, Tom Crean and his wife Ellen opened a public house in Annascual. He called it the South Pole Inn. He never tried to relive past glories or bask in old accolades, focusing on his family. He died at sixty-one when his appendix burst traveling to an available surgeon. He was an incredible Irish hero. My poems Tom Crean and Tom Crean’s Dance were posted earlier. MJG
I am young
Maid innocent
Beauty fresh,
Years stretching
Endlessly hopeful
Invincible,
Eager wife
A husband joining
Consuming passion births,
Heart, belly, breasts
So full and nurturing
Matronly duties mine,
A crone’s reflection
Haunts me
Gnarled hands wringing,
I watched my children
Long these years
Life so full and fleeting,
Roaming, building
Casting aside
To build anew,
A savage maid
Matron, crone
Await,
My heart breaks
But hope remains
The future beauty holds,
Oh the years
Taunting and capricious
As the wind.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
I realize that the triadic goddesses of Irish mylthology don’t represent the stages of life, but rather mystical truths ruled over by different aspects of a triple goddess. I am a poet of Irish-Celtic ancestry and this is how I heard their words. In ancient times we lived in harmony and balance with the natural world. We respected Nature and our place in it. We have forgotten these truths and are now paying for our hubris. MJG
I tremble in eagerness
At the crest of the hill,
Above me the searing sky
Pristine and close,
The young wind rushes past me
The world is new
And my soul is fevered to explore it,
I would cast aside
This cumbersome husk,
It fetters and anchors my spirit,
I would burst forth
From the shambles of the past
A phoenix rising
To greet the new found sun,
Something holds me here
Draws me back to the world I know
A quest I’ve yet to complete
For that I know not and yet must seek.
© 2020 Maggie Grimes
Tir na nOg is described as an island paradise. It is a supernatural realm of everlasting youth, beauty and joy, a land of poetry and music. Adventures and trials await any who attempt to earn its shores. In a sense, Ireland is my Tir na nOg. The Cliffs of Moher on Ireland’s western coast seem a place one might go hoping to glimpse Tir na nOg. I tried to capture that feeling in my painting of the Cliffs of Moher. One day I will walk there myself. MJG
celtic singer 