Dingle Peninsula

First published in  Corvus magazine 

Dingle Peninsula

down from the rising altar stone of

Binn Diarmada,

na Gorta Dubha spread below

through the reed beds we go

to the wiry dune grass

where the bones that have travelled

make the beach white, the mind wide;

bodies who sought sanctuary from the storm

delivered cold and sightless

given back when the waves tired

of their playthings

montbretia clinging to stone walls,

keeping its nobbly toes dry

wears a headdress, of closely cropped briars

black-beaded with the taste of summer

glorious in the autumn sun;

a larder of winter food and shelter,

a place behind which you might heap up a new field,

for a future generation.

i find the fellowship of myself here

and all who have gone before me

in this holy West of Dingle peninsula

i find the same landscape

is cradle and grave,

knows the brooding, and the gathering,

the harvest, and the beach comb,

the storm, and its aftermath.

lives like candle flames

shelter behind  stone walls

from the onslaught;

each man rediscovers his own cave,

where he is companion to himself,

and all that he can carry.

 ©Copyright Niall OConnor