Home Turf

Some are curved as Mammoth tusks. Others squared off in biscuits. Blade-hewn ochre rainbows. Steeped all. Brittle now, once wet forged. Rough on fingertips. Dying whorls as intricate as Kells books. Bleeding whisky-hued water- pooling in cracks dark as blood. Some riddled with gnarled roots. Others smooth-grained as coffee grounds. Now mere husks. Seasoning. Earth…

Selkie

If I have had a past life, I feel I may have been a Selkie. Folklore tells of this mythological race of seal-people that could shed their skin and walk on land. They had to leave their seal pelts on the beach before growing legs, but if they failed to return then they would remain…

Irish Roads

Gentle, sweeping curves trace a path across deep earth- Fierce in hues of green.   © Tom Tide 2017  

Back to Work

  A Treasure Map. In my workaday pockets, brushed by inky, clammy fingertips. Once pristine, lacking any wrinkles. A land to discover. Now dog-eared, yes, but also gilded with love. My memories, awoken by this talisman? Emerald roads, scarlet paths, like veins- All leading to wide- sweeping beaches. Undulating hills with cloud-shadowed flanks, now just sleepy…

Heartstone for Helen

    When I am gone my love, hold this in your hands. It is full of all I hold dear. I give it all to you. Tossed, scoured shaped by waves. My heart, fashioned over millennia, to lie nestled now in to your cool palm. Brush its concentric circles with your thumb. Feel, at…

Waveform

  Shattered fishing float: Mimics waveform at its crest; Jagged, yet so calm.   © Tom Tide 2017

Little Wonder

Little wonder Eire breeds so many World Travellers. Look: in one wild rock in the far-flung North West blossoms a lichen globe. Whole wide shining continents- each with  new borders to cross. And all this glimpsed in one misty minute. How many broadened horizons birthed by one swift glimpse of this single slab, across centuries?…

Bog Wood

A seed. Long dormant. Lovingly laquered, cradled womb-like by gentle turf. For many generations. By some fair chance comes an unearthing: A keen eye fashions wings from time-frozen knots. Carves a thrusting neck and beak. Unleashes a Phoenix, now poised mid-arc, Or bursting from beneath the fish- harbouring waves. From this crucible centuries long, Soars…

Dunfanaghy

I’ve waited a lifetime to reach Donegal, With its mountains encircled by seas: To see roads tightly-wound, around peat-enriched ground, Every gorse bush a chorus of bees. To drink in broad bays topped with high tide-flecked dunes, All bedecked with pastel-hued stones: To see broad-sweeping beach stretching far out of reach Save for deep-walled, hewn…

Ballyduff

They’ve a flair for lettering. Especially the pub signs all flamboyant. Worthy of manuscripts. It could be the Wild West here: Streets laid out Frontier-wise. A chapel at the top of town. The drugstore. Banks with barred Windows. A flag or three. Round, wall-jutting clocks telling the right time twice a day. Wagons, rolling on…