For my childhood, my adolescence and young adulthood, the Ireland I knew was one of emigration, as it was for my parents, their parents and their parents. Our family farm was in the Mountains of Mourne, looking down to Carlingford Lough.
we walk
the foreshore
of wrack and wreck
kicking stones
as bones
of people lost
we look
up
to rills
of rock
that now
alone
forlorn
and lost
stand
as broken ribs
on mountain bare
where years before
our people
cared
laboured
loved
lost
at such a
cost
and what
a cost
to them
but
such a gain
for me
and
for
you
Poetry by Peter Humphreys
Read 1069 times
Written on 2007-05-04 at 14:06
Tags Ireland Love Emigration
Save as a bookmark (requires login)
Write a comment (requires login)
Send as email (requires login)
Print text
today
todaywe walk
the foreshore
of wrack and wreck
kicking stones
as bones
of people lost
we look
up
to rills
of rock
that now
alone
forlorn
and lost
stand
as broken ribs
on mountain bare
where years before
our people
cared
laboured
loved
lost
at such a
cost
and what
a cost
to them
but
such a gain
for me
and
for
you
Poetry by Peter Humphreys
Read 1069 times
Written on 2007-05-04 at 14:06
Tags Ireland Love Emigration
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
|
M Heathcote |
|
kath |
|
Rob Graber |
| Texts |
 by Peter Humphreys Latest textslifethe grey green sea emboldened beyond beyond we knelt |
Increase font
Decrease