by Peg Prendeville

A bit of poetry this week to get away from the troubles of the world at the present time.

Recently I wrote the following poem:

Home by the Kerryline

The Kerryline from Glasha to Blaine

Feels like home to me

As I travel along this country road

I am swamped in memories

Of growing up in the Mountain Home

The house where I was born

Where the Faleys lived for many years

And worked hard from early morn.

A small thatched house with two bedrooms

No water or electric light

A well down in the meadow

Water drawn home before each night.

Three generations were born here

And thrived in the mountain air

All happy and contented

With no time given to despair.

Memories keep coming

As I pass by Glasha Lake

My mother at the open fire

Baking me a birthday cake.

The murmur of people in the bog

Footing on the famed round bank

Or pikes of dried hard black ciarans

Heaved into the lorry of Mick “Gol Dang”.

Oh yes I’m carried back the years

To this place where I belonged

I think of Higgins, Langans and Falahees

Windles, Daltons  Lynches and Longs.

So as I drive though this Kerryline

It brings solace to my heart

And tho I left it years ago

I never really did depart.

For in this little valley

With hills on either side

It’s like I’m wrapped in mother’s arms

And it’s here I want to hide.

Safely cuddled in her embrace

With kind neighbours all around

Their gentle presence is still felt

In this sacred boggy ground.

I sent it to George Langan  who replied in verse as follows:

(we will include George’s reply next week)