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John Graham Jan 2015
THE CAMINO CHRONICLES

OISIN’S LAMENT

I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL
IF FAREWELL IS ALL THAT REMAINS TO BE SAID
THE FINAL SONG OF OUR LOVES DAY
1 CANNOT BEAR TO FOREVER HERE STAY
ALONE ADRIFT IN TIMES ETERNAL TIDE
ALONE, SO ALONE WITHOUT YOU BY MY SIDE
I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL
WHEN IN EVERY CANDLES FLAME I LIGHT
I SEE YOUR LAUGHING EYES YET SHINE BRIGHT
1 CANNOT BEAR TO FOREVER HERE STAY
WHEN IN EVERY TWINKLING STAR I SEE
YOUR MISCHEIFS SMILE SPARKLING AMID THE COSMIC SEA
I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL
FOR WITH EVERY SINGLE BREATH I TAKE
YOUR SCENT FILLS MY CHEST WITH FRESH HEARTACHE

I CANNOT BEAR TO SAY FAREWELL. .

I CANNOT BEAR . . .

SIDHE NO BAS
(SPIRIT NO DIE, WAR CRY OF THE CELTSIDHE)

SOUL ******
ALL DESIRE FLED
FROM HATE

I CUCHULAINN, MURDERER
THRICE CURSED HOUND
I SOAKED THE SOIL OF ERIN
WITH MY GREIF
I CUCHULAINN, ONCE SETENTA
PROUD WEARER OF LAURELS
FIANNA OF THE RED BRANCH
WARRIORS OF EIRIU IMMORTAL
I CUCHULAINN, ONCE GEATHA-I-MUIR
MAKER OF PEACE, HEALER OF ALL WOUNDS
COMPASSIONS SHEILD AND SWORD
AMERGHAIN-GLENNA-GLUN
I CUCHULAINN, THE THRICE ACCURSED
SON OF THE FATHER
WHO SACRIFICED HIS SON CAANAICELT
WHO SACRIFICED HIS DAUGHTER, AINE
I SLEW MY BROTHER, FERGUS-MAC-ALBA
I CUCHULAINN, THE BROTHER-KILLER
BROTHER OF THE SWORD, OF MY BLOOD
LITTLE PAIRSIDHE, TO MY HECTOR ONCE
I CUCHULAINN, THE LOST
MINION TO THE BEASTS LUST
WHO COULD NOT DIE
WHO SO WANTED TO DIE
I CUCHULAINN, OF THE ****** HAND NO MORE

FERGUS MY BROTHER FORGIVE ME
MY BEAUTIFULL BROTHER
I THANK YOU, SAORSIDHE
SAORSIDHE. . SAORSIDHE. .SAORSIDHE

(SAORSIDHE – LIT. FREE SPIRIT)


MEMORIES CANDLE

I GO
BE A MAN TODAY
THE ENEMY COME

FATHER
BROTHERS COUSINS ALL
CLANN, CHILDREN OF EIRIU

I GO
BE A SHEILD THIS NIGHT
FOR WANS WEE

FALLEN! SO MANY. .
HOLD! HOLD!
FOR LOVE OF EIRIU

HOLD! HOLD!
AIEEEE! WANS WEE

SIDHE NO BAS!
Glenna Dumey Dec 2016
Wreathed in kinetic wisps of fog,
the trees achromatize,
then re-emerge, verdant.
Chi Gong students wave hands in clouds
- no longer a metaphor,
but this morning ...
                                    breathable.
Stillness envelops all
until leaf blowers and edge clippers
cleave the calmness with
their sounds of domesticated gardens.
As if defeated by the din,
the fog retreats back towards the ocean,
leaving but a token of itself
shimmering on the grass.

Glenna Duméy
10/22/11
Extraordinary experience, the only way to capture it was in a poem.

— The End —