"kinsale" poems
The albatross once filled the skies
Cormorants watched silent, from the shore
These are echoes of times long ago
There's nothing here for them any more
The coastline littered with sunken ships
Villages full of ghosts
Empty buildings and empty lives
Where just the sea gulls act as hosts
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out past the breakers and out to the sea
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out on the Ocean, where my soul is set free
The cod stocks have dwindled
There was no need to stay
There's no catch of the day, son
From here to Gaspe'
The canneries shuttered
The landscape has changed
I may be a sailor
But, my life's rearranged
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out past the breakers and out to the sea
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out on the Ocean, where my soul is set free
The Grand Banks are empty
Our boats are in hock
There's nothing that grows here
Except depression and rock
While others moved onward
I'll stay 'till I'm dead
Now, I feed off the tourists
I work the casinos instead
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out past the breakers and out to the sea
Oceans away lads, Oceans away
Out on the Ocean, where my soul is set free
The salt air still calls me
The wind in my sails
The sound of the rigging
Heading off to Kinsale
The coastline is empty
Where Ghost towns now stand
It used to be vibrant
But now just sea grass and sand
Oceans Away Lads, Oceans Away
On out past the breakers, and out to the see
Oceans away lads, Oceans Away
I still am a sailor, and I always will be
Nov 20, 2013
Nov 20, 2013 at 11:29 PM UTC
COME round me, little childer;
There, don't fling stones at me
Because I mutter as I go;
But pity Moll Magee.
My man was a poor fisher
With shore lines in the say;
My work was saltin' herrings
The whole of the long day.
And sometimes from the Saltin' shed
I scarce could drag my feet,
Under the blessed moonlight,
Along thc pebbly street.
I'd always been but weakly,
And my baby was just born;
A neighbour minded her by day,
I minded her till morn.
I lay upon my baby;
Ye little childer dear,
I looked on my cold baby
When the morn grew frosty and clear.
A weary woman sleeps so hard!
My man grew red and pale,
And gave me money, and bade me go
To my own place, Kinsale.
He drove me out and shut the door.
And gave his curse to me;
I went away in silence,
No neighbour could I see.
The windows and the doors were shut,
One star shone faint and green,
The little straws were turnin round
Across the bare boreen.
I went away in silence:
Beyond old Martin's byre
I saw a kindly neighbour
Blowin' her mornin' fire.
She drew from me my story --
My money's all used up,
And still, with pityin', scornin' eye,
She gives me bite and sup.
She says my man will surely come
And fetch me home agin;
But always, as I'm movin' round,
Without doors or within,
Pilin' the wood or pilin' the turf,
Or goin' to the well,
I'm thinkin' of my baby
And keenin' to mysel'.
And Sometimes I am sure she knows
When, openin' wide His door,
God lights the stats, His candles,
And looks upon the poor.
So now, ye little childer,
Ye won't fling stones at me;
But gather with your shinin' looks
And pity Moll Magee.
2.3k
This is the story of Felix Riley
An Irishman from County Cork
Conceived during the great famine
And delivered by the stalk
He was one of ten; 6 brothers, 3 sisters
All of whom he cherished
Both of his parents passed away
From starvation and cholera they perished.
His father was a peasant farmer
From the port town of Kinsale
Working every single day
To bring home bread and ale
He died in the summer of 47
A year that many did
His wife Breanna heartbroken
But from the kids she hid
Not long after, she died too
Taking with her 3 little chislers
Poor Felix Riley was left solitary
When split from his brothers and sisters
He learned to fend for himself
And then met his lovely wife Bria
He never saw his kin to that day
And probably wont again, he'd fear
Like his father he worked and worked
To bring home food for their little one
And one day hoped he could earn enough
To buy a table to eat it on
He worked every hour he physically could
Almost every one god sent
But every week when he got his envelope
The money was already spent
Never disheartened he loved his wife
And his little daughter too
He remained optimistic in any weather
And through tough times powered through
Alas his determination was futile
In the face of the aftermath of the blight
He died at a tender age of 26
After putting up a hearty fight
His story is one of over a million
Who's stories are somewhat hidden
From the books and lessons given in schools
Their telling is almost forbidden.
Oct 19, 2018
Oct 19, 2018 at 5:49 PM UTC
WILD WAVES CRASHING
ABOUT THE OLD HEAD OF KINSALE
I scramble
into your bed
like I'd do when I was 2
or four or more.
Rub your back for you
(you my 95 year old child )
until sleep gathers you in.
Just like you did for me
when I was your little boy.
I listen to you as slowly slowly
your dreams capture you.
I love your each and every breath.
And when you awake
two hours later
there I am
still rubbing your back.
You smile and tell me
your mother would do the same
when you were a tiny boy
waves crashing about the Old Head of Kinsale.
So here we all are
the backrubbers of the ages
all in the one place
sharing different times
comforting...soothing
easing all the pain
waves crashing about the Old Head of Kinsale.
Mar 9, 2019
Mar 9, 2019 at 3:55 PM UTC
WILD WAVES CRASHING
ABOUT THE OLD HEAD OF KINSALE
I scramble
into your bed
like I'd do when I was 2
or four or more.
Rub your back for you
(you my 95 year old child )
until sleep gathers you in.
Just like you did for me
when I was your little boy.
I listen to you as slowly slowly
your dreams capture you.
I love your each and every breath.
And when you awake
two hours later
there I am
still rubbing your back.
You smile and tell me
your mother would do the same
when you were a tiny boy
waves crashing about the Old Head of Kinsale.
So here we all are
the backrubbers of the ages
all in the one place
sharing different times
comforting,,,soothing
easing all the pain
waves crashing about the Old Head of Kinsale.
Mar 9, 2018
Mar 9, 2018 at 4:18 AM UTC