Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
donall-dempseyPoems
RUNNING THROUGH HISTORY( for Grandfather Sheedy ) I, a creature of flesh & mud. Mostly mud I train...run...running across Curragh Plains...pain...pain. School cross country running is - not: my forte. I, being constantly told I am not my grandfather. Obviously. I plod after grandfather's famous footsteps inheriting only his calf muscles but not...his stamina. I am all skin & bone merely my mind keeping me going. Grandfather Sheedy is running on into history. I, the clod forever running after his fame into many a Curragh sunset. I run back through time. 'In the year of the world 4608.. ' The Annals of the Four Masters a running commentary in my mind. I run through my mythological past the ghosts of kings famous before time began. Cobhthack Gael is still killing Laoghaire Lore. He highfives me as I stagger past. St. Brigid casts her cloak it covers the entire plain. I greet and thank her with a wordless nod. The Curragh Camp of today coalescing into being thanks to the Crimean Campaign. I recite Tennyson to startled furze bushes. 'Furze bushes to the left of me furze bushes to the right of me...' into my mind rides the 17th Irish Lancers leading the Balaclava Charge their mascot terrier Jemmy following close behind barking at the Russian guns surviving it all to roam around where I am raoming now. My Uncle  Tossie's familiar greeting 'How ya...howya...how ya are ya winning...are ya winning! ' Grandfather and Uncle Balaclava dog & mythological kings and saints all urging me on claiming I can do it. I can & I will ...come...last. Me the non-runner runner driven by history
0
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
RUNNING THROUGH HISTORY( for Grandfather Sheedy )
RUNNING THROUGH HISTORY( for Grandfather Sheedy ) I, a creature of flesh & mud. Mostly mud I train...run...running across Curragh Plains...pain...pain. School cross country running is - not: my forte. I, being constantly told I am not my grandfather. Obviously. I plod after grandfather's famous footsteps inheriting only his calf muscles but not...his stamina. I am all skin & bone merely my mind keeping me going. Grandfather Sheedy is running on into history. I, the clod forever running after his fame into many a Curragh sunset. I run back through time. 'In the year of the world 4608.. ' The Annals of the Four Masters a running commentary in my mind. I run through my mythological past the ghosts of kings famous before time began. Cobhthack Gael is still killing Laoghaire Lore. He highfives me as I stagger past. St. Brigid casts her cloak it covers the entire plain. I greet and thank her with a wordless nod. The Curragh Camp of today coalescing into being thanks to the Crimean Campaign. I recite Tennyson to startled furze bushes. 'Furze bushes to the left of me furze bushes to the right of me...' into my mind rides the 17th Irish Lancers leading the Balaclava Charge their mascot terrier Jemmy following close behind barking at the Russian guns surviving it all to roam around where I am raoming now. My Uncle  Tossie's familiar greeting 'How ya...howya...how ya are ya winning...are ya winning! ' Grandfather and Uncle Balaclava dog & mythological kings and saints all urging me on claiming I can do it. I can & I will ...come...last. Me the non-runner runner driven by history
donall-dempsey
Written by
donall-dempsey
Jan 3, 2018
Jan 3, 2018 at 6:11 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem